tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44363528244297807362024-03-13T18:53:09.806+00:00Cycling To Australia (and beyond!)A journey to Australia, overland as much as possible, setting off from Oxford in May 2007John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.comBlogger203125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-22860103886285670612010-03-19T19:58:00.004+00:002010-03-19T20:05:14.532+00:00Combe - Back homeIt’s has taken me a long time to write up the last little day of my travels, so to make up for it you have a bit of waffle to go with it.<br /><br />The ride from Aylesbury to Combe was uneventful, but pretty much what I expected, after all I was following a route I knew for the first time in almost 3 years. The trouble was that suddenly <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinzAJQD__LMRIHd8Dhc7xJ0cCUAVVcQ7c10xKgZ0N0lNjlqCyKpokUC3a6kX-KdBaF2m9u1RZpLQZY6mgx57Z2qFHTb4TOjxs29FQzxILBDIagY1zQxbcH1jpFfv3VAAOfJQL-e-SjLmoX/s1600-h/P1000051%5B1%5D.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 315px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450437589206992306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinzAJQD__LMRIHd8Dhc7xJ0cCUAVVcQ7c10xKgZ0N0lNjlqCyKpokUC3a6kX-KdBaF2m9u1RZpLQZY6mgx57Z2qFHTb4TOjxs29FQzxILBDIagY1zQxbcH1jpFfv3VAAOfJQL-e-SjLmoX/s320/P1000051%5B1%5D.JPG" /></a>following a known route made it boring, I knew every junction ahead of me, every hill, I knew exactly how far there was to go. The unpredic- tability was gone, though as it turned out not entirely. The closer I got the more I thought about that pint of beer in my local, the Cock Inn in Combe. It was a vision I have had in my head for a long time, something that would mark the end of the journey. For those that don’t know, there is nothing in Combe other than the pub, so I rather liked the idea of finishing such a long journey is such an ‘insignificant’ place. I made the last turning on the back road to Combe, just one last little hill to enter the village, a hill that I <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyAYPH6kiYK-GHoBcgsZUo4cdDpJY6lmd9_M39UoD3FLSA3-8zNWXgbJkbTlSCbxxtpFUDNXPESIIaaZsDKj4_oPPh2hiG3nJcuQBTq3TnyEbHHLUQGFTEiKNriJuJjEa1P_-995kHkODt/s1600-h/P1040908.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 308px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450437439071228674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyAYPH6kiYK-GHoBcgsZUo4cdDpJY6lmd9_M39UoD3FLSA3-8zNWXgbJkbTlSCbxxtpFUDNXPESIIaaZsDKj4_oPPh2hiG3nJcuQBTq3TnyEbHHLUQGFTEiKNriJuJjEa1P_-995kHkODt/s320/P1040908.JPG" /></a>hardly noticed and seemed so small after all those hills and mountains I had crossed. I entered the village, nothing had changed, it all looked exactly the same. I arrived at the green, the pub being on one side, so I did a quick lap to see it from all angles and bring back the memories, then pulled up at the pub. I strode proudly up to the door and without breaking my stride pushed down the handle and went to enter, but my body crashed against the door in a very undignified manner….the bloody place was shut! It was a cold March day, I just sat outside, back against the wall, a cold wind blowing. So here I was, the final turn of the pedals had been made, I was no longer cycling around the world, I had finished, from now on I can say I have ‘cycled’ around the world. So how does it feel? Actually, nothing like I had imagined, I didn’t feel joyous or jubilant, though I did feel content. As I said to the students in Philadelphia recently, I don’t think it as a great achievement, but it most certainly was a fantastic experience.<br /><br />I rode the 200m back to my house (See photos, before and after the trip) and introduced myself to Dave and his family living there. I spent 2-3 hours there. It seemed strange being back at my home, but with other people living there, other people’s furniture in a very different layout to my own. I was shocked by the amount that the plants in the garden had grown. From there I cycled the short distance to stay with Lorna and Brian. They had kindly bought me some white chocolate (did I mention I like white chocolate? Everybody I visit seems to have some for me!), but Demelza and Tim had found it and already eaten it, surely proof enough that it is damned good stuff. In the evening I went bell ringing at Woodstock. They had their best turnout in months, partially as some of them knew that I would be there. It was great to see so many friends, nobody had changed, but it felt strange that their ringing had advanced so much. I am still on my little UK tour of visiting family and friends, I have been made very welcome everywhere. It has been a real joy to catch up with everybody. We went to the Woodstock Arms after ringing, at last that pint of beer was in sight. The pub was shut!<br /><br />As I finished my journey I thought about how I would like to live life when I eventually returned. I would really like to live life simply, a small place to live, few possessions, no clutter. Right now I feel sure there will be another trip, so the idea is to keep life simple so that I can easily pack and be back on the bike at a moments notice, easy. As I did some washing up I picked out a pair of scissors. Just looking at those scissors made me realise that it might not be quite so simple. Even something so small and simple is just part of our everyday lives. Could I really live without a pair of scissors? I could use the tiny pair I have on my Swiss Army knife, but are they really robust enough for the day to day uses? It is going to be a challenge. First things first though, I would need a new phone. I checked out the deals and made a decision for a new sim card and went into a shop to sort it all out “We just need your name, address and telephone number” I was told “I can give you my telephone number in a few minutes when you have told me what it is” I replied. “I need it before you can go ahead with the purchase”, “I don’t have a telephone number, that is why I am in here trying to sort one out”. “We have to have one. You can just give a number of one of your family or friends”, “I don’t have any family or friends, at least none that would want to speak to you anyway”. “Don’t worry, it’s just so that we can get hold of you if we need to”, “Well, given the fact that I don’t have a phone and I am just about to by a mobile number from you, if you want to get hold of me I think that number would be the best place to start, don’t you?”. “I am sorry sir, we have to have a number for you before you can buy a sim card”, “So you are telling me I can’t buy a phone unless I already have a phone?”, “Yeah, I guess so”. Scissors and phones are already making my life too complicated. Is it possible to live in Britain without a house full of stuff?<br /><br />Here’s a little story that I forgot to put in the last entry. A few weeks back I booked the flight home, then printed off the ticket. It was only when I saw the printout that I saw I had mistyped my surname, I had written Harwppd…oops! I called the airline to book the bike on the flight and asked they to correct my name, “That will be $75 please”, “$75! For changing two characters”, “Yes, we have to recreate the whole e-ticket”. What a rip off! I called back the following day to check the bike was booked on and as it was a different person tried again to get my name corrected, the answer was the same. “So what happens if I leave it and just turn up at the airport?”, “You can do that but they will charge you $95”. I was really pissed off at my own stupidity and at them for trying to rip me off. I had visions of turning up at the check-in and having a good argument about it but getting nowhere. Then I read a book about attracting things towards you by positive thoughts. It suggested visualising the desired outcome and even creating dialogue and saying it out loud. I thought it was worth a go, there was nothing to lose. I didn’t bother with the dialogue but I did visualise a friendly conversation and them eventually correcting the name for a reduced fee. The day arrived, I turned up at check-in, handed over my passport and started sorting out my baggage waiting for the inevitable. I saw the puzzled look on the woman’s face and asked “Is there a problem?”, “Yes, there is. The office staff are useless, they have spelt you name wrong”. This was sounding good “Oh dear! Aren’t they silly?” I replied. I was instructed to go and see another woman around the corner and she would sort it out. With this woman I had the cheery conversation I had envisaged, job sorted. Final cost….nothing! Blimey, it works!<br /><br />So that just about wraps up what is probably the last entry on this blog. I have to say I have enjoyed writing it, it has made me reflect on what has happened, what I have seen, the people I have met, the conversations I have had. Without all your comments and emails I would probably have lost the desire to continue with the writing, but knowing people were out there reading this stuff has made it worthwhile. So thank you for all you words of encouragement, whoever you are, friends, family, people I have met, people I have never met. It’s been fun having you as ’company’ along the way. Thank you.John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-13929032134688553482010-03-09T13:16:00.002+00:002010-03-09T13:18:10.553+00:00Aylesbury (England)<div>I had a great time with Auston, Sam and Tom, they had made me very welcome. My three different locations for accommodation in New York had worked out very well, a nice diverse selection of people too. I left at 10am, I had some time to kill before the flight home, still enough time to meet some incredible people. I cycled back to Manhattan, I wanted to cyc<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9CngoZI3bhAZzt9Wc2us418h2QiKRDUgHLCHD7pP8kR4Fgtfs81lkMJo_TXAe1w58k-zOtSkbo0PUM2kRtS7OQdcPtc4cRy2Hs80XwHmGM23WkVpIQY4w5gvfwU71jJlFnOKo8_ruWmb7/s1600-h/P1040904.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 163px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446622655164787698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9CngoZI3bhAZzt9Wc2us418h2QiKRDUgHLCHD7pP8kR4Fgtfs81lkMJo_TXAe1w58k-zOtSkbo0PUM2kRtS7OQdcPtc4cRy2Hs80XwHmGM23WkVpIQY4w5gvfwU71jJlFnOKo8_ruWmb7/s320/P1040904.JPG" /></a>le over the Manhattan Bridge, but it doing so I cycled over something very undesirable and picked up 2 punctures from sharp bits of metal sticking in the rear tyre, I was glad I had time to spare. I was in Chinatown so stopped off at a diner for lunch. As I went to use the bathroom a man from a table I passed asked “Is that your bike out there”. I stood there talking for a while, then suggested I come and join them at their table, it would be easier to talk. Ben Hom and his son Matthew were full of admiration for what I had done. I found it hard to understand why when it was me that was in full admiration for what Ben had done. Ben is a fire fighter based at a station around the corner and had offered me accommodation. He was amongst many fire fighters that responded to the 9/11 attacks on New York, he kept telling me that it had been a terrible day. I have little doubt that it was, but thanks to his courage he had pulled out 3 people from the rubble. I can’t begin to imagine the satisfaction of saving other people’s lives. For 2 ½ months they worked on the clear up operation but of the 50 men based at his station there are now only 6 remaining from that dreadful day. Ben even paid for my meal, it should have been me paying for his. I rode out through Brooklyn to JFK Airport, the road surface was terrible. I punctured again but didn’t bother to repair or check for more metal, I went straight for the spare tyre.<br /><br />I flew home via Iceland and Reykjavik Airport. There is nothing particularly special or different about airports around the world, but I found the adverts fascinating. In the US it was all the latest electronic gadgets, here the competition was for the warmest knitted socks, hats and jumpers, all in styles you would never be seen dead wearing at home. I checked out the postcards, I was heading home but from the little I had seen at this airport it made me want to explore the place, they certainly had something different to offer.<br /><br />I arrived back at Heathrow on time and was pleased to see my sister Cathy waiting for me, armed with food and coffee, all very welcome as I had been too tight to buy any food on the flights. Like the rest of the journey of the last 3 years time slipped by unnoticed, it was soon time to move on. I was heading towards London for my final night on the road. I had one last person to visit that seemed very appropriate, a very fitting end to my travels. Way back, almost 2 years ago somebody called Jacs posted a comment on my blog, she had enjoyed reading it and had been in the Phnom Penh, Cambodia, at the same time as I had been there. She commented again from Thailand, we had been waiting at the same place in Bangkok to see the Queen who had been at one of the temples near where we were both staying. After that I sent her an email. During the time when Aoiffe was ill and in hospital she wrote me another email. I was amazed at what she had written, here was somebody who understood exactly how I felt, knew exactly what I was going through and I found it very comforting. We started to exchange emails regularly, we have been ever since, we have talked on the phone too. Jackie ended her travels and returned home to Glasgow, then ended up working in central London where she has been for over a year. So a few miles of cycling along the A4 brought me to her flat. From the moment I had read that comforting email I had wanted to meet her and her I was knocking on her front door. It was wonderful to see her at long last, she always called me her ‘long lost travelling partner I have never met’ and to me it was like meeting an old friend, I felt I knew her already. We walked around to a local pub full of character where I had a pint of London Pride and I can tell you it went down very well. With her iphone Jackie booked a half price meal at a Moroccan restaurant which the GPS on the iphone guided us to. I would seem that in 3 years technology has passed me by a little!<br /><br />By the time I woke up the following morning at 10:45 it seemed my plans to be away by 10am at the latest weren’t looking that good. I really wanted to finish in daylight, but by the time I finally departed London at 1pm things were by no mean certain. Jackie had given me a cycle map of the area which was really useful. I rode along the Thames Path for a while before switching to the Grand Union Canal. That could have taken me all the way to Aylesbury but my intention was to try and keep to it to Uxbridge. There were a number of gates obstructing the path with ’hoops’ for cycles to pass through, but after the 5th, all of which were right at the waters edge, I decide to use the roads. Each hoop was a struggle with a loaded bike and as they were right next to the water I had visions of ending up in the canal. Time was pushing on, I didn’t even know how far I had to cycle, but I could finally relax when I saw a signpost saying ’Aylesbury 23’. I rode past an office block, it filled me with dread, how could I possibly work at such a place, work 9-5, 5 days a week, I was mighty glad to only be passing the place. I passed through Wendover with plenty of time to spare, I savoured the last few miles. I arrived at Aoiffe’s house with plenty of daylight to spare. The strangest thing about my arrival back was that it didn’t feel strange, it didn’t even feel a long time since I had been here. I sat and talked to Aoiffe and Naomi as I would have done if I had only been away for a couple of weeks, but I guess I have to thank the internet and cheap phone calls for that.<br /><br />The following day Cathy had arranged a gathering at my father’s house (photo). It was great to see everybody again, but nothing felt strange, everybody looked the same, for some reason I expected them to all look a little different. A lovely spread of food was laid on and in true cyclist fashion I am sure I ate the most. Over the next few weeks I will have a little tour and visit them all individually, but it was so good to be altogether, probably the first time in about 20 years!<br /><br />I heard a little of 5 Live Radio, just a few seconds. I couldn’t listen too it, it made me feel terrible, it reminded me of my long commute to work. Last night I had a rough night, I lay there awake thinking about being back at home. I had always thought I would feel elated, I don’t, not at all. In New York I was asked the interesting question ’What has been your biggest challenge in life’. After mulling over it for the best part of a day I decided that setting out on this journey was my biggest challenge, not the journey itself, just the setting out, making the decision to leave everything behind and set off. I also said at the same time that I suspect that my biggest challenge in life lies ahead of me and last night would seem to confirm that I may be proved right.<br /><br />Tomorrow (Wednesday) I set off to ride back to my home in Combe, only a short ride of about 50km, but that will take me to my journey’s end. </div>John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-84338281048914102902010-03-04T06:55:00.004+00:002010-03-04T12:40:11.820+00:00Day 1015 - New York, BrooklynHaving spent a couple of hours in the morning watching the appalling weather reports from around New York and seen the visibility from the 23rd floor disappearing, it was time for me to set off across town from The Bronx to Upper Manhattan. The snow was still swirling as I set <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYdz0FUtctkQo-10HbrkozJpasrgmTvhM2GsPFqMzId6n9al0_FNiH3pQwJXUAGviX5fUceSIlSCz8havUnKqZ7ShvzVfM4c0jtr5Htd8a0GbTgy4dcJB2D95bOf-px4q3iNNdJYKAFmSl/s1600-h/P1040784.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444673812140571602" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYdz0FUtctkQo-10HbrkozJpasrgmTvhM2GsPFqMzId6n9al0_FNiH3pQwJXUAGviX5fUceSIlSCz8havUnKqZ7ShvzVfM4c0jtr5Htd8a0GbTgy4dcJB2D95bOf-px4q3iNNdJYKAFmSl/s320/P1040784.JPG" /></a>off. I had to cross back over the freeways by the cycling path, which surprisingly enough hadn’t been used. I had to push the bike through about a foot of snow which came above the bottom on my front panniers making a nice large surface area to have to push forward. I had to keep stopping for a breather, then once off the footbridges I couldn’t even see the path, it got deeper and harder. I gave up on the last few yards and decided to cycle the last little bit by going the wrong way up the freeway. I retraced down Westchester Ave, I thought it would be the best bit of road as it ran under the subway. It turned out to be the worst and I almost came off with a big slide. I took a long time to cover the 17km, but I got there. I stopped in a café full of Dominicans who were all delighted to hear where I had come from and wanted photos with me. They were a lovely bunch, I would have liked to have stopped and chatted with them longer. Helga, my next host was on the 10th floor with a lovely view over the Hudson Rivers to the George Washington Bridge and New Jersey beyond. It was so nice to be back in the warm. Before long I was heading down town to the Museum of Modern Art, it was free on a Friday evening, a $20 saving, but it did create massive queues at the cloakroom. I saw Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’, a painting I have always wanted to see, but have never really liked. I then took a short walk to Times Square and Broadway. The lights there even put Japanese cities to shame.<br /><br />I bought a 7 day unlimited transport ticket, very good value and entertainment indeed. It is probably no different to the London underground, but it’s the nutters that I love so much, they are so cool. They get on and seem normal, then they start their ’act’. One big Rastafarian started singing quietly, slowly getting louder and more passionate, then started dancing, first slowly, then more vigorously. But the best bit for me is watching everybody around them, they all try desperately not to look at him, behaving as though nothing is happening, but I could see the subtle body language saying “Oh shit! Please don’t’ pick on me”. I also love the emergency procedures on the train. There are different instruction for Fire, Medical and Police, but the first instruction is always the same “Do not pull the emergency chord”. This is truly a multi-cultural city. Different nationalities generally occupy different areas. I have heard so many different languages, most of which I can not recognise. I have spent my time using the trains and doing a lot of walking checking out the usual stuff, the Statue of Liberty, Wall Street etc. The snow was a pain and to make matters worse my shoes are leaking so I get wet feet every time I go out, so when I take my shoes off my feet stink.<br /><br />It was soon time to move on again, from Upper Manhattan to Brooklyn. I would be staying with Auston, Sam and Tom, all friends of Jerome, but they would not be back home until 7pm, so I had the bike and a day to k<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlj1c6mWTiQJgRrhU60N5cCGGeNICTCiKR-eUq6K2KfujeXKs77ik-FPV_2Uhcr1IyVMDzxEhd1nbLBVeFj6MeAnAYJLwcyrX-oHqCMej_iPivIS9RVUVFKIbEQSDYItKeCioXhb1owiz2/s1600-h/P1040801.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 165px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444673061316072034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlj1c6mWTiQJgRrhU60N5cCGGeNICTCiKR-eUq6K2KfujeXKs77ik-FPV_2Uhcr1IyVMDzxEhd1nbLBVeFj6MeAnAYJLwcyrX-oHqCMej_iPivIS9RVUVFKIbEQSDYItKeCioXhb1owiz2/s320/P1040801.JPG" /></a>ill. I made my way to Central Park and did a lap of it. It was all really nice scenes, loads of runners, walkers and cyclists. The cyclist had all the gear, flash clothing, fast bikes, but where are they other than in the Park, how do they get here? I cycled town 5th Avenue, the main drag north/south. People would call out “Where are you going”. In the past I used to say New York, they would be impressed, now I just said “Brooklyn” and they weren’t. I met Shelly, a cycle courier whizzing around on a recumbent bike. We stopped for a chat. It turned out he was the proud owner of 9 recumbents, I would be very happy to have just one. As I rode along I noticed one of the lanes was a fire lane, a bit over the top I thought, until I realised that there are sirens going all the time in this place. I made my over the old Brooklyn Bridge, a suspension bridge and well know landmark. The cycle path and footpath were above the road, there were crowds of people crossing on foot. I passed through a heavily Jewish area, they were all Orthodox Jews. I found the street where the lads lived. I rode down looking for 248, it all seemed to be industrial. People were going into an old warehouse so I asked “Do you know where 248 is?”, “This is it” they replied. It’s a converted textile factory split into apartments. I got on well with the guys, but I <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0juRpvMZ8sXZdzOxPf5_TG7bfaWFU-mGg3nTvmF57GPj0SaQCvyiAVd6Rhaacly4KNJGDZcpLwK5UD4rJnJmLbZjsPndggsYV3sYv9SbLQuygY1BLpv8rnMz8VRTmHSXiISU7Zr4gIwnO/s1600-h/P1040809.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 216px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444673839207512450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0juRpvMZ8sXZdzOxPf5_TG7bfaWFU-mGg3nTvmF57GPj0SaQCvyiAVd6Rhaacly4KNJGDZcpLwK5UD4rJnJmLbZjsPndggsYV3sYv9SbLQuygY1BLpv8rnMz8VRTmHSXiISU7Zr4gIwnO/s320/P1040809.JPG" /></a>think I am glad not to be there at a weekend. The place is even mentioned in Wikipedia “The Lofts are two opposing loft buildings in Bushwick, Brooklyn. They share similar features, such as 5 floors (16 apartments per floor at 255 and 20 at 248). The apartments range in size from 400 to 2500 square feet (various units between the first and second floors of both buildings are duplexes). Approximately 400 tenants inhabit the two buildings. The building has a reputation for hosting raucous all-night "loft parties." Given this, and the preponderance of twenty-something recent college graduates living in the two buildings, the buildings have been given the nickname "Art Dorm." The building was constructed in 1936 and served as a factory space manufacturing various textiles and garments until 1998, when it was converted into residential lofts.” They are talented guys too, covering courses in film making, music and philosophy. The music is impressive, all constructed on the computer, no musical instruments are involved.<br /><br />Today I read a news item on the beloved New York taxi cab. Apparently they are experimenting with sharing the taxis, something<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWsngEuWUon7vh-zR-Vfuf-F94QFhoqs_LFWf98MWPmbpLPCaOy1ro1Q8y5z3rh-jVBhQKLY6j0JQpxxXNws-ywu_FAZ-PnRoAMH1amXC1QNzjx4SGzjKvmS1dPGyj3Md5Dy76q9Kjz098/s1600-h/P1040776.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444673053075705954" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWsngEuWUon7vh-zR-Vfuf-F94QFhoqs_LFWf98MWPmbpLPCaOy1ro1Q8y5z3rh-jVBhQKLY6j0JQpxxXNws-ywu_FAZ-PnRoAMH1amXC1QNzjx4SGzjKvmS1dPGyj3Md5Dy76q9Kjz098/s320/P1040776.JPG" /></a> that isn’t going down too well, “New Yorkers don’t want to have to talk to other people” the report added. It gave some guidelines as what you should do “1) Don’t talk to any other passengers 2) Don’t talk on you mobile phone 3) If somebody talks to you, make a phone call.” What I find interesting about that is the fact that when you are away from the cities it always nice when people talk to you, yet in the cities, if somebody talks to you, you automatically think you have found another nutter. Thinking about it, they normally are! I called in at Trinity Church at the end of Wall Street this evening. They have a ring of 12 bells. I almost gave up waiting and was about to leave as they weren’t ringing, then I heard the faintest of sounds, the sound proofing had all but made them silent. This meant they could practice as long as they liked. We finished ringing on the 12 at about 21:45. I was surprised to find the bells have only been there for about 3.5 years.<br /><br />Recently I have been counting down the days until I head home, now I can pretty much count the hours. It feels strange. It sort of feels like the end of a holiday, but when I used to do that I would think about going home and then to work the following day, but I have no intention of either of those for a while yet. So what of New York? Well, I haven’t fallen in love with the place. It never really stood a chance to be honest. No matter where I ended this trip, it was inevitable that my mind would be focused on heading home and seeing family and friends. I have certainly enjoyed my time here and stopping in 3 different neighbourhoods has made it interesting and yes, I would happily come back. For me the highlight was going up the Empire State Building, something I have always wanted to do, the views were amazing. So I am about to leave the US. It and its people have been very kind to me, I think they top the Aussies in friendliness, but still fall a little short of the Iranians. I have had a great time here and would love to come back and see a bit more, but may be I will wait for warmer weather next time.<br /><br />I am intending to write another two blog entries, though I don’t expect them to be very long, after that I think I will call it a day. This was really written as a travel blog and although some of you may find it interesting to hear how I adjust back to life in the UK, I am not really sure I have the desire to write about it. I will see how it goes.John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-66705527520422517372010-02-28T03:18:00.006+00:002010-02-28T23:49:57.365+00:00Day 1011 - New YorkWhilst I was staying with Jerome he said to me “I would like to show you some photographs” so I assumed they would be from his bike trip across America, where we met in Arizona. They weren’t at all, they were of a project he had taken on. In a park near his home in New York State <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgmUf8PxGrGgzc_yMkun9R8Fd-FLK9ixhHtqSI_ff2XlH79pOjldLWi7f8x_MshauIDGYD7XsNxmbTl6x0l-FEmztAET11ZtDe729tgezTvo1zGwYDFnSYGsOgvd-HFf6u5qloTUSMtnMK/s1600-h/Jerome1.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443129935760807458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgmUf8PxGrGgzc_yMkun9R8Fd-FLK9ixhHtqSI_ff2XlH79pOjldLWi7f8x_MshauIDGYD7XsNxmbTl6x0l-FEmztAET11ZtDe729tgezTvo1zGwYDFnSYGsOgvd-HFf6u5qloTUSMtnMK/s320/Jerome1.jpg" /></a>there is a wall with a mural on. It was old, the paint was peeling and it had become defaced with graffiti and had become little more than an eyesore. He decided that it would be a good idea for him and his friends to come up with something new for the wall, so he approached the local authorities and attended a series of meetings and it was eventually agreed that they could do it. He then had to go to more meetings to get the funding for it and they were finally given $350 for the materials. Over the course of a week they stripped the wall clean and set to work with the new image that they had decided on, one that they thought that local kids who went there to get high on whatever would look at and say “Wow! That’s cool”. During the week they worked on it, other kids (terminology that Jerome uses for people around his age of 20) became interested in what they were doing and joined in and helped until eventually so many kids of all ages wanted to help that he could no longer think of things that they could do. They all had a great time, it became not only a task to complete but also a place to hang out and just talk and enjoy themselves. The task was completed in a week. I have to say I as very impressed<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGvkBf6jTtPHMOL504e0mCAq3nXg6h0TgljGYl9NP3YQjeV6rF8sgSjRQrC2y6uDlLttoHARM6lYjPIzUw8oKGoR4DT3SHCyuRyYLQmMU8kRIEUjv0dZvJUfpYFEp8J5MJeIwFXodfiq4G/s1600-h/Jerome2.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443129944127219362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGvkBf6jTtPHMOL504e0mCAq3nXg6h0TgljGYl9NP3YQjeV6rF8sgSjRQrC2y6uDlLttoHARM6lYjPIzUw8oKGoR4DT3SHCyuRyYLQmMU8kRIEUjv0dZvJUfpYFEp8J5MJeIwFXodfiq4G/s320/Jerome2.jpg" /></a>, Jerome showed me a whole series of photographs with everybody involved. He told me “Kids complain that there is nothing to do, but there is always something to do, it’s just that they do not use their imaginations and can not see a vision”. Just the day after Jerome set off on his two and a half month bike ride from coast to coast across USA. I woke early the following morning and lay there thinking, the paintings came into my mind and I thought about the enthusiasm Jerome had shown in both taking on the task and in showing me the photographs. Then I slowly began to realise that what I was looking at was also a pictorial representation of my journey, my life over the last 3 years. When I set off my little world was a mess, it had graffiti all over it, but I decided to set off on a journey, a journey to Australia. Slowly my life, my world was cleaned down, but I didn’t do it alone, I did it with the help of so many other people along the way, people I had never met before, people who didn’t even know they were helping me. I could see them in the second photograph. With their help it has taken my journey beyond my wildest dreams, I have been taken beyond the rainbow’s end, until now my journey is almost complete and I can see the change as in the last photo, my life feels vibrant, full of light and colour. But I am about to return home and when I get home I have to look after that painting, I have to ensure that I don’t let it<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqCaT7ECi5MvC2AHuxs_MQcyavdpStch40EEt6RsM0JSoDFlQgi7SHd46Z8s5km3Z5Yuxbz-_feK2k_EiAJiq5zW5ppoE2VBPeJvdVvZiQIIVvV3pUyrR66Ax_xF33WieYyGm4JGhesjig/s1600-h/Jerome3.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443129949690935794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqCaT7ECi5MvC2AHuxs_MQcyavdpStch40EEt6RsM0JSoDFlQgi7SHd46Z8s5km3Z5Yuxbz-_feK2k_EiAJiq5zW5ppoE2VBPeJvdVvZiQIIVvV3pUyrR66Ax_xF33WieYyGm4JGhesjig/s320/Jerome3.jpg" /></a> decay and become covered in graffiti. That will probably be hard work, but worth the effort rather than letting it return to the sorry state of the first painting. Then I thought again about Jerome’s words “Kids complain that there is nothing to do, but there is always something to do, it’s just that they do not use their imaginations and can not see a vision” and I you know I think that can also be said of so many people’s lives, you here them saying “I don’t like my job but it pays the bills”, “I have got myself into a rut” and that favourite old British saying of ours “Life’s a bitch and then you die”, but if only people used their imagination, had a vision, fought like Jerome for what he wanted by going to those meetings and getting the funding for his project, then may be their lives could be revitalised like the mural.<br /><br />Jerome had also asked me to give a little talk to his Outdoor Group at the Temple University. I am not a lover of talking in public, I get very nervous, but I thought I would give it a go. About 20 students turned up and I started to talk. I had written some notes, but I thought they were <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfJ8ecjsD2G63wKiLeGC6p9sb-gLoLEa47c1pwHlgDJPWoNTVltkT4vqthE3O4x-KYkqnnMRMGEuvj6sog64U7tDxErgahAmvCIGVeVeYHeGBezr8qynKNeTWqeMUVe7pe4MQxtGL4En4Z/s1600-h/P1040562.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 165px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443131779954145810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfJ8ecjsD2G63wKiLeGC6p9sb-gLoLEa47c1pwHlgDJPWoNTVltkT4vqthE3O4x-KYkqnnMRMGEuvj6sog64U7tDxErgahAmvCIGVeVeYHeGBezr8qynKNeTWqeMUVe7pe4MQxtGL4En4Z/s320/P1040562.JPG" /></a>boring and when I started talking I took a completely different approach. Questions were soon being asked, in fact there were so many questions that it became a question and answer session. I enjoyed it and talked for 45 minutes with ease, I think far longer than I was supposed to. It was also nice to talk to some of the people that stayed behind afterwards including Sierra, a keen outdoor enthusiast who had created the group and a guy who was about to set off on a ride this summer down the west coast. Tabitha, a friend of Jerome’s came back to the house with us afterwards and Eric, whom I had met in Globe cycling with Jerome also came over and we had a really nice evening of discussions. I once again enjoyed Eric’s and Jerome enthusiasm as they recounted some the events of their journey. As Tabitha Left she gave me a couple of packages of food and inside was a little message that read “I look for examples everyday that prove there is more good than evil in the world, I always find them”. I really appreciated that, but it’s also a nice healthy outlook on life in my opinion.<br /><br />The forecast was a 30% chance of rain, but it was already raining when I left. I found it hard to say goodbye to Jerome. I had a short but wonderful stop in Philadelphia and I am so glad I came here. All the kids I met seemed to have good heads on their shoulders, or at least seemed to be in a far better place than I was at that age. As we departed Jerome gave me a booklet which had the original words from the Declaration of Independence, something I had been thinking would be really interesting to read. Progress was slow through all the traffic lights, waiting at them was even worse in the rain. I kept going into cafes in the hope that it would soon stop. It didn’t, it rained all day, the very day I buried one of my waterproof gloves and couldn’t be bothered to dig it out. I paid the price, my hands got cold and wet. My route turned surprisingly rural, just what I didn’t need as the light disappeared early. I arrived at a set of traffic lights in the middle of nowhere, yet there on one corner was St Peter’s Lutheran Church. I called in to see if I could camp behind it. Steve the Pastor said “You can camp if you like, or you can stay in the room downstairs”. With water dripping off me a creating a small puddle it was a no-brainer. I had the Sunday school area to myself, including use of the well appointed kitchen. Steve even returned with a big bag full of food of cooked rice and chicken and some really nice fresh salad and fruit. He also gave me a very old and outdated map of New Jersey and New York City which I tried to turn down as it was of little use to me, but he insisted I take it so I gave in. I would really like to have camped out for the last time, but with the rain falling all evening I wasn’t going to complain.<br /><br />The next day dawned to a very grey day. With a 60% chance of rain I had assumed I was going to get wetter than yesterday, though it just <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0tFxcKPK-Zy46WSsNflzmzT2cN19j93dSu1p-5hKVMWus2CDys3JDD-B8u7bdXuJN5XfXGFy2VNLQA-15o5fZNRJtQc5ttCxpPKexbw9bFgu-bLaL21mOD5FfRPd1GhSSJgS4o5A85sdz/s1600-h/P1040617.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443134238991521778" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0tFxcKPK-Zy46WSsNflzmzT2cN19j93dSu1p-5hKVMWus2CDys3JDD-B8u7bdXuJN5XfXGFy2VNLQA-15o5fZNRJtQc5ttCxpPKexbw9bFgu-bLaL21mOD5FfRPd1GhSSJgS4o5A85sdz/s320/P1040617.JPG" /></a>remained grey. I felt so much better than yesterday and pushed along easily. Thoughts were going through my head and time and kilometres slipped by unnoticed. I passed through New Brunswick and then Elizabeth and on to Newark. Whilst I stopped in a café I overheard a conversation. Now, in America a simple “How are you?” is really just a polite greeting, nobody really wants to know how you are and what your problems are, so when the guy serving said it to a customer he got rather an unexpected answer “I suppose I am ok. Guess where I have just come from to be dressed all smart like this”, “I don’t know….church” said the guy serving, “No, I have just come from my wife’s funeral, still we all have to die sometime”. His friend behind the counter had heard it all before and was either unfazed of not listening “Oh really….Sorry I missed you last week, I was away for the day”. What I saw of Newark was not pretty, either run down or industrial, more of the latter. The roads were terrible with large area of damage and gravel to be dodged. There were also large puddles from the rain. I didn’t dare going through any of them as I had a pretty good idea the road would be broken up underneath the water. I made my way to the ferry terminal to get me across to Manhattan. I used the map Steve the Pastor had given me, it was really useful and had far more detail than mine. The ferry would have been much harder to find without it. A truck stopped in front of me a flagged me down “What’s the furthest you have ever ridden on that bike?” he asked “Well in a couple of hours I will have just about finished cycling around the world”, “Wow, that’s fantastic” he replied, shook my hand and carried on. At the next traffic lights his passenger called out “Have you ridden all the way from England on that bike?”, then at the next traffic lights “How many hours did it take?”. Hours! That made me feel so slow when I yelled back “THREE YEARS”. Manhattan is an impressive skyline on the way across. For the past two years I have been headi<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGXGbhubXkS88BWRfDUSBJcJMDNOijZrTKAjelOr_Ba8KlZS_Z6y6bx0bEdDo8K3Qk5tgCbJzSiAayZV3Hehe1OOFNCfFqCMCr_VijNXkQTYbzYiPxDFRrgiobsLogyd7kG7BDzQ_EysIE/s1600-h/P1040635.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 214px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443131783446187618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGXGbhubXkS88BWRfDUSBJcJMDNOijZrTKAjelOr_Ba8KlZS_Z6y6bx0bEdDo8K3Qk5tgCbJzSiAayZV3Hehe1OOFNCfFqCMCr_VijNXkQTYbzYiPxDFRrgiobsLogyd7kG7BDzQ_EysIE/s320/P1040635.JPG" /></a>ng for New York, it had always been in the back of my mind and there it was in front of me. Strangely I didn’t feel elated, I suspect my little brain doesn’t think I am finished until I am actually back home, even though it is only a days ride from the airport. Jerome gave me some excellent advice for Manhattan so I cycled north along the very good cycle path that runs all the way around. After about 10km I had to leave it and cut across Upper Manhattan in the rush hour. I headed out for The Bronx, it was getting dark and very slow going through all the traffic light as I had to squeeze my way through the queues. I reached Westchester Ave, it was classic big city America as I rode for miles along the road underneath the metro, the trains rumbling above my head. This type of road has been used in many an American movie and probably the very one used in a car chase in The Blues Brothers. I loved it, very atmospheric. I reached the end of the road and knew I was near to my couch surfing host Don so gave him a call. His instructions included footpaths and little grassy tracks to avoid the freeways that are around here. It had long been dark. It was a struggle, I returned to where I started but still couldn’t find the little paths. The final mile took me over an hour, I was frustrated but very glad to finally arrive. Without the map that Steve gave me I have absolutely no idea how I would have got here, it would have been almost impossible, it had been a God send, literally as it came from a church. I have become increasingly turned off from the Catholic religion, a feeling that has grown along this journey, so I thought it would be interesting to Couch Surf with a retired Catholic priest. Don was really interesting to talk to and had worked for 40 years in Africa. I expected him to try and make me see “the error of my ways”, but there was none of it. He was very subjective about all the issues we discussed.<br /><br />I had made it just in time to New York. The 8-14 inches of snow that was forecast was falling by the following morning. It was a horrible wet snow. I caught the metro to Manhattan, though it was much more fun cycling below it. The compressed slush turned to ice on the pavements. Drains were blocked so deep water collected at the roadside which sometimes I didn’t realise was so deep and got soaked feet. I made for the Metropolitan and spent most of the day there. The place is massive, a complete maze. By evening the snow was deep. The weight of the snow had brought 5 trees down and people have been advised to stay out of the parks. As I write this the snow seems to have been falling all night, conditions look terrible. I am due to move on to another Couch Surfer, but I do not relish even the few miles that I will have to travel. Almost the entire time of my route across America people have been telling me “The weather isn’t normally this cold at this time of year, it’s the worst winter in decades” so I shouldn’t be surprised to hear that on my first day in New York, Central Park had a record amount of snow, a record that hasn’t been broken since 1894.John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-4488517409084552412010-02-22T13:38:00.003+00:002010-02-22T13:43:56.300+00:00Day 1006 - Philadelphia, PennsylvaniaIn the last post I had a little moan about American security checks, well I am going to start this one with another little rant. Whilst I stayed in Washington Gene had to go to a hospital appointment. He told me it took him 15 minutes to <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghNUVaqPawxlw0z_NAesiPY5CZ8kUf8lB_phrBqRKm2wblOTwDXxIXqnG2e2Vtmn8VhYMeMVQmbsSgF1jImuZ-zkGdKEmr9hUvldq9JCQgruU0z6KEN8xMfrFv25EXNAybhoVS4W-USsN2/s1600-h/P1040493.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 232px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441062776646344210" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghNUVaqPawxlw0z_NAesiPY5CZ8kUf8lB_phrBqRKm2wblOTwDXxIXqnG2e2Vtmn8VhYMeMVQmbsSgF1jImuZ-zkGdKEmr9hUvldq9JCQgruU0z6KEN8xMfrFv25EXNAybhoVS4W-USsN2/s320/P1040493.JPG" /></a>get there and another hour to get through the 3 security checks before he could enter the place, though most of the delay was due to the queue they created. It’s a hospital for goodness sake! I am getting a bit worried about ever having to use one here following a fall on the bike. I have visions of lying there unconscious in an Ambulance at the gate of the hospital and a security guard shouting in my ear “I JUST NEED YOUR ID AND A CREDIT CARD, THEN ALL WE NEED TO DO IS CHECK YOU BAGS FOR EXPLOSIVES”.<br /><br />My time in Washington continued as before with a bit of sightseeing during the day. Amongst other things I visited the massive National Cemetery at Arlington where I was one of the few on foot. Everybody else opted to pay $7.50 for the short ride between the main points of interest which took me about 45 minutes to walk around. Ok, it was cold walking, but they looked even colder waiting around for the next bus to pick them up. Main points were the grave of John F Kennedy, memorials to the space shuttle crews and the tomb of the Unknown Soldier. From the cemetery were good views over the massive and impressive Pentagon. I ate breakfast a couple of times at the renowned Ben’s Chilli Bowl, a place where amongst the other well know people to visitors, President Obama had eaten there just before his inauguration. The snow took the edge of most of the places, the Pool of Reflections in front of the Lincoln Memorial was an ice rink as were all the paths in the area. The evenings were spent going to a different bar each evening and sampling different beers. Gene takes his beer sampling seriously and writes notes on each beer and even wrote in the local leaflets for CAMRA when he lived in England.<br /><br />It was time to move on. Finding my way out of DC was easy, just one long straight road. I headed north into Maryland which was remarkably hilly. At times the roads were narrow, twisty and steep. They seemed to have had far more snow than DC, though thankfully the roads were all clear. I passed through Westminster and started looking for a place to camp once I arrived in Mexico. By the time I had reached Manchester I still hadn’t found anywhere. With so much snow on the ground, still as much as 3ft in places, my tactics for finding a place have completely changed. Normally if I am near a village I stop looking, I like to be well away from people, but now my only chances are in the villages where snow has been cleared. But it is still a problem, if they are too big I don’t want to stay there, if they are too small I generally still can’t find anywhere. In Lineboro I found a patch of grass under the trees behind the church, so called at the nearby house to find the Pastor (pronounced pasta here). It was well dark before I was finally given permission. I camped in the snow in a graveyard, bliss, life doesn’t get much better does it? As I started cooking I was picked out by car headlights and somebody approached. I rather assumed it was a local person coming to complain, but it was Steve from the house I had been to earlier, inviting me to join them for dinner. Steve and Joan have 4 children, 3 girls and a boy being the youngest, and two dogs. They were all wonderful, a lovely happy family full of fun, but I bet they aren’t always like that! For the second night running I had sweet potato fries, highly recommended. They were interested in my blog. They started with one PC but within an hour they had 5 devices connected to the internet.<br /><br />I carried on along smaller roads and soon entered Pennsylvania. The route was really nice, though a bit tarnished by the dirty snow at the roadsides, sometimes so deep I couldn’t even see over the top. It was hilly, very hilly, even more hilly than the previous day. I eventually reached Lancaster County and a small area I have always wanted to visit known as Dutch Country. It’s an area of about 15 by 20 miles and the home of the Amish Community. They are a religious community also know as the ’plain people’. They dress in black and the men have beards but no moustache and wear what looks like straw hats. They live a very simple lifestyle driving around in horse drawn buggies that have metal wheels making a loud noise on the road as they go along. The buggies are immaculate gleaming things, they probably take them to the buggy wash every Sunday. They also have another mode of transport that I didn’t know about. They use foot powered 2 wheel scooters with a little basket on the front. Apparently even a modest bicycle is too complex a machine for their simple lives. They generally live on farms, easily spotted by the buggies parked outside and the children running around dressed in black. Now in my opinion they cheat on the simple lives. I saw a number of them as passengers in pickup trucks. Apparently they can hire the use of them, including the drivers, but as it is not theirs is doesn’t count, it is apparently alright to use. They don’t have electricity apart from for farm use, though they are rumoured to watch football on televisions out in the barns. Still, it was pretty amazing to seem them, a community of people that looks as though it hasn’t changed for hundreds of years, all living side by side with modern day America. It was another night of struggling to find a place to camp. The villages were too big, there was no space behind the churches, I had little option but carry on. I called in at large house that had plenty of land but just received a friendly no, a sort of “We wish you well, but sod off!” I reached Parkesburg and called in at the fire station and came up trumps. They had nowhere for me to put the tent, but they did have some spare beds at the back. It was another eye opener for me as they informed me that all the fire stations in Pennsylvania are manned by volunteers, there are no paid fireman. If that is not bad enough they even have to do the fundraising to buy the vehicles themselves. We talked a little about travel. Bill told me of a couple of places he would like to visit overseas, but he would never go off American soil, he was too afraid of what would happen to him “I would have a target on my back” he told me. I suspect there are plenty of Americans that have that view, something that I believe is definitely not true, but it also a bit of sad reflection on how they see the rest of the world views their country. I was made very welcome and given coffee and snacks, but as they were volunteers they were off home, I had the place to myself for the night. I can’t imagine being allowed to stay at a fire station in the UK, let alone being left alone for the whole night. Thankfully they told me I didn’t need to know how the vehicles worked, but they did explain how to use the coffee maker. Above the coffee maker are is big long list very detailed instructions such as “Take coffee bag”, “Open coffee bag”, but the last instruction was “Press start button”, but there was no start button and nothing anything like it.<br /><br />Despite being 50 miles to Philadelphia it was pretty much urban sprawl all the way, just small town after small town. It was easy navigation, one road the whole way. I didn’t have to look at them map at all and as I neared the city the tall central building came into view and all I had to do was head towards them. My route brought me into what on the surface seems to be the roughest and most deprived city I have visited in the US, a complete contrast to Washington. A very high percentage were blacks and I suspect most were poor and under educated. Bla<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEtLE1k5zn5Lbg_Mp1m8a3zzeB7Eozl7qrgIwgSPAr0W1fm9qohfJbublrzG_4KCj4nWL4jBLaFIFHVPOiej364kdmteH7nHUfEJfeYEgwYvkM8cHirHtnOUn5F_XLCV7D_Yjhvu24KC2V/s1600-h/P1040505.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 181px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441062895276385922" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEtLE1k5zn5Lbg_Mp1m8a3zzeB7Eozl7qrgIwgSPAr0W1fm9qohfJbublrzG_4KCj4nWL4jBLaFIFHVPOiej364kdmteH7nHUfEJfeYEgwYvkM8cHirHtnOUn5F_XLCV7D_Yjhvu24KC2V/s320/P1040505.JPG" /></a>cks here dress very differently to the whites and there is little integration so it feels as though there are two cultures running along side by side. Jerome asked me to wait in the city centre as he would not be home until around 7pm. I cycled up there in the dark, another rough neighbourhood near Temple University where he is studying. He told me that Philly is one of the worst cities for drug problems and that is mainly overlooked by the police as they can’t handle the volume of work it creates. “If I policeman gets shot in this area it never surprises me” he told me “But I don’t feel in danger either, normally there are enough students around to make me feel safe”.<br /><br />Philadelphia is an important historical city for America. I visited what is now called Independence Hall where on July 4th 1776 delegates of the 13 colonies met to approve the Declaration of Independence. The little tour around the building was really interesting. The Declaration of Independence stated words to the effect of “That all men are equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness”. I little odd then that they still had slaves, that women couldn’t vote and that they would push further west killing Native Americans that were in their paths. I think they omitted the clause “Applies to rich white men only”. Next door in a large, no expense spared building is a series of displays and films leading up to the one artefact on show, the Liberty Bell. It is not that big and very broken, but it was used when the Declaration of Independence was read to the crowd in the square. It just goes to prove you can make a tourist attraction out of anything if you give it enough hype. Surely the building itself and the location is what is of real historical interest.<br /><br />I now have just 2 days cycling to reach New York. Recently I have found the cycling tough, it has been hard to be motivated. It’s a bit of a state of mind. Normally the first and last days of a stretch are the toughest as the first it is hard to get back into the rhythm and on the last I feel I just want to arrive, but on these little ‘hops’ I have been doing lately that is pretty much all I get. Added to that the fact that I am at the end of a very long trip does not help. I think I am struggling for motivation generally, my mind being on returning home, seeing my family and friends rather than being focused on what there is to see around me. I feel I am counting down the days.John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-34814861658215367972010-02-16T04:15:00.008+00:002010-02-16T14:22:20.570+00:00Day 1000 - Washington D.C.On Sunday I cleared Dawn’s driveway so that she would be able to get out in the morning. I guessed it would take about 20 minutes. After 20 minutes I had hardly started, it was hard, hard work. It was deep and had turned to ice with compressed ice at the bottom and painfully slow work, literally. Every now and then I would stop, look back to her car in the car port, them look at the road “Shit! I am still not even half way there yet!” Despite it being cold it was hot work. I worked in a T-shirt and wore no gloves. My hands were get<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRP9BYCHJzF5lys8kg0N6eBaANWYeIrng8jeyvznOmFDv-TFkwN_We4-anshgruVOHHFu8_P8SWr_dJOoRZ-5QQ7u1Y3dSgPUMdI7OY9ZViREJL0ZNuXdOIT3XXIUMlEUyQ4RJE3dPBURJ/s1600-h/P1040279.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 218px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438690631056950770" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRP9BYCHJzF5lys8kg0N6eBaANWYeIrng8jeyvznOmFDv-TFkwN_We4-anshgruVOHHFu8_P8SWr_dJOoRZ-5QQ7u1Y3dSgPUMdI7OY9ZViREJL0ZNuXdOIT3XXIUMlEUyQ4RJE3dPBURJ/s320/P1040279.JPG" /></a>ting sore, then I saw why as my right hand was bleeding from burst blisters. I so wanted to stop, to hear Dawn callout “Don’t worry about that last bit”, but it became symbolic, that snow was not going to stop me getting to the road in the same way it was not going to stop me getting to New York. Now both were so close, yet would still need a final hard push. I got there, but it had taken over 2 hours of sweat. I went back in the house announcing “I don’t do manual labour” to which Dawn replied “Yes you do, you have just cycled around the world”, “That’s not manual labour, that is manual fun”. Actually I felt good for being outside, getting some fresh air, using a bit of energy, it was rewarding.<br /><br />In my bedroom is a TV that is set to one channel, God's Channel as I call it. I think it is really something like TBN (Trinity Broadcasting Network), whatever it is, it is great for sending me to sleep. The other night I listened to a preacher called Joel Osteen. He was in what I thought was a large stadium, but I think it was actually a massive church and the place was packed, it was impressive just to see that, I think it was somewhere in Houston. He told of his friend who was out hiking in the woods in a remote area far from civilisation. Suddenly on the path in front of him he saw a grizzly bear. The bear saw him and came running towards him. The guy thought he was as good as dead, he dropped to his knees and prayed to God saying "Please, please turn this bear into a Christian". The bear had almost reached him when it suddenly stopped, rose up on its hind legs and with its front legs reaching towards the sky it said "Thank you God for the food I am about to receive". I don’t really remember anything else about what he was preaching.<br /><br />Another day, more snow. It was just awful outside so I stayed in all day. Dawn arrived back with her snow shovel in the back of the car so I set to and started clearing the driveway again. It still took much longer than I expected, but at least it hadn’t frozen this time, it took about an hour and this time I learned from my mistakes and wore gloves, though my hand is still sore from my previous efforts. I have been keeping an eye on the news, mainly for the weather to see when would be a good time to start moving again. There are lots of reports about Washington D.C. which has been badly hit and congress has been closed down for 4 consecutive days. They also reported that for each inch of snow that falls it cost $1m to clear up. I had no idea of the going rates, I will be sending Dawn the bill, though I might give her a couple of percent discount, but I should still clear $10m. My next Couch Surfing host in Washington has told me that he slipped over in the ice and has broken his wrist. I hope he is well, but it acts as a reminded as to how easy it is for it all to go wrong. It has also made me feel that I have made the right decision to sit out the weather as long as possible.<br /><br />With a window of a couple of days of no snow forecast in either Richmond or Washington D.C. it was finally time to make a move. During our final evening Dawn wrote down all the new English words she had learned from me, none of them useful, such as lark, cheeky, cheerio, blimey, bloody hell, bloke, plus the odd phrase such as “Is this going spare” and a bit of Cockney Rhyming Slang such as “apple and pears”, “dog and bone” etc, but I was on my best behaviour and didn’t teach her “small brown Richard III”. In return she taught me nothing. The Americans are useless and have added no fun words to our language, they just seem content to pronounce them in a funny way! I arrived here to stay for two days but I am leaving two weeks later. Two weeks! Where has it gone? I arrived a Couch Surfer, Dawn was a Couch Surfing host, we departed as good friends. I really enjoyed reading Dawn’s books, then discussing them in the evening and seeing how those topics related to our own lives. I shall always remember her, I am sure we will stay in touch. I set off a couple of hours after Dawn, which ironically, was a couple of hours after dawn. It felt very strange to be cycling again, I didn’t really enjoy it, especially the bits over ice on a long bridge. Within a couple of hours I had settled into my rhythm and things didn’t seem so bad. I stopped in a café for lunch. There was a bloke there talking on a camouflaged mobile phone, though it was pretty useless camouflage, I could still see it. If you are going to have a camouflaged mobile phone shouldn’t it have a picture of an ear on it? The only time his would have been any good would have been in the woods and he dropped it. Then he wouldn’t be able to find the thing, so what’s the point? It seems to be less hunting orientated up here, probably because there are less deer and more people. I suspect there are about the same amount of guns though, it’s just that in the big cities I am heading for they use them on each other. I made good progress, the roads were clear and much better than I expected. I decided to get as far as possible just in case the weather turned for the worse the following day. By the time I started to look for a place to camp it was hilly, hardly any flat ground anywhere. It looked as though I would have to ask. I went along a long drive to a house where I had spotted some flat woodland nearby. I asked but was turned down “my father wouldn’t allow it” the guy said. As I waited for a gap in the traffic to rejoin the road I was called back “my father said you can camp in the pine trees near the road”. It was a bit too close to the busy road, but beggars can’t be choosers. I started to take a walk into the wood, then decided that this beggar could be a chooser and turned back. The snow was deep, way over my knee, it was almost impossible to walk through, let alone push a loaded bike through it. I carried on reluctantly as I was approaching the town of Stafford and camping opportunities would be even less. I spotted a fire station, so decided to see if I could camp behind it. There was nobody there, but there was an embroidery shop around the back. I asked them instead. “Sure, you can camp anywhere that you are happy with” then Donny showed me a building without electricity t<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw0NzsrSpUDGpi6ESUDewGTpmxjoCPDQYM4_VBDjVKYy6lr81g79ExBuILr8ynmM7t7rCN5TvtMqVipEyaWFf-iPqU0XP2lgKCnZ8_5oaGdojPIvqX9R1TiIjioamOtVUTX2brwlVhrkQ7/s1600-h/P1040299.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 281px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438690928753867634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw0NzsrSpUDGpi6ESUDewGTpmxjoCPDQYM4_VBDjVKYy6lr81g79ExBuILr8ynmM7t7rCN5TvtMqVipEyaWFf-iPqU0XP2lgKCnZ8_5oaGdojPIvqX9R1TiIjioamOtVUTX2brwlVhrkQ7/s320/P1040299.JPG" /></a>hat I could use. It was perfect, apart from the fact that it didn’t have electricity! It was cold in there though. A couple of minutes later Joan came out “Come and stay in the shop, we have a small lounge out the back with microwave, fridge, a TV and a sofa. I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight thinking of you out here in the cold”. It was already better than setting up the tent and about to get much better. Once inside Joan said “Here, take this and buy yourself some breakfast tomorrow” and tried to hand me $10, “No please, I can’t, you have already been so kind” I replied, but she said “But I would love to buy you breakfast”, so I could hardly refuse. Sometimes I feel like a cat, you can throw me up in the air, but I always seem to land on my feet (That is not to saying how I treat cats though!). During the evening I called Dawn to thank her again. Ok so I didn’t use my name when I started talking but she replied with “Err, who is this?”. Clearly I have made a lasting impression!<br /><br />I have to say that a breakfast in nice warm café on a freezing cold morning tastes even better when it has been donated in a good will gesture. It was too good, I really didn’t want to move on but move on I must. After the previous days good distance I was only left with about another 42 miles to Washington D.C., but constant ups and downs, a headwind and more sets of traffic lights in a single day than at any time I can remember, it ensured it would be a slow ride and a day that I never really got into any rhythm. I passed through the town of Alexandria where snow was piled up, seemingly far more than I had seen elsewhere. The traffic was terrible but I soon found out that the road ahead was being closed on and off so that bulldozers could fill up a fleet of lorries with snow. Here they are driving the stuff out of the cities, at the Winter Olympics they are bringing it in, the weather has gone crazy. At last I saw the Cathedral high up on the hill over the city, it seemed so close, but there was still a way to go. I crossed the river and made my way up 14th street, stopping at every block for the traffic lights, the timing was set totally wrong for a bike. I crossed Pennsylvania Avenue with the White House to me left, then shortly arrived at Couch Surfing destination, though I had trouble getting the bike long the narrow path cut in the deep snow. I am staying with Gene, ex military with a background in health and now working as a consultant with the government on health diplomacy. He has travelled extensively and his lovely three storey town house is tastefully furnished with items that have been given to him from around the world. As he took me out for a trip on the metro to see the Capitol at night (photo) I was soon to discover that he is a mine of information, very interesting to talk to about politics and has a very balanced view on it. He explained why Washington D.C. is the way it is. After the American Civil War the north and the south could not agree on where the capital should be, so in the end it was placed right on the imaginary border between the two being it’s own entity and not in either Maryland to the north or Virginia to the south. This creates odd little situations. For example it is not represented in congress, car license plate making that well know with the slogan ‘Taxation without representation’. There is a mayor, but they have no real power. Everything in the city is managed by congress, and not always very effectively. The metro is apparently the only underground in the world that has no maintenance fund, only having money spent on it in emergencies, so many of the cars running on it are condemned as being unfit for human transportation. Later, as we boarded another train Gene breaks the conversation with “…oh, by they way, we are now travelling in one of those death traps”. Still, I felt safe, if only by the law of averages as there had been a derailment only yesterday. We walked back via a pub that sold a good array of decent beers, the first such beer as I have had in a very long time, but unlike the rest of the country the capital has not been hit by the recession, there will always be work for the government, so good beer comes at a good price, but the place was packed.<br /><br />On Sunday morning I made my way on foot to the cathedral. The whole route was walked through the narrow channels cut through the snow, or in the road. I was there to ring the bells and the most challenging ringing chamber I have ever had to find. I knew I had to go up a lift but there were 4 and the little official people wouldn’t let me up before the end of the service, besides, none of them really knew how to get there anyway. I eventually got there about 45 minutes later. Unfortunately they were only ringing 6 of the 10 as 4 bells had snow and ice on them which they could not remove. The ringing was good, they have a very competent band there. The cathedral was a wonderful building and sits on the highest spot in the city giving fantastic views all around. Inside it is crammed packed with stained glass and on a lovely sunny day the coloured light streamed in. One of the windows had a bit of stone from the moon in it, that is if you believe the Americans actually landed on the moon. There is also an ex president buried there. Being the National Cathedral, everything around here is ’National’, the 50 state flags were hanging in the nave, the church filled with the wonderful sounds of the organ, then later the impressive choir. I survived another metro ride to take me to the Mall. This is an impressive open space almost 2 miles in length and about a quarter of a mile wide with the Capitol at one end and a large memorial to Abraham Lincoln at the other with the sides cram packed with impressive buildings, mainly government departments or museums. I made for the National Gallery and a good day was made even better by seeing 5 Van Gogh’s in the impressionist section. Gene and I ate a block away from home in a restaurant cum bookshop known for its human rights campaigning. They are currently collecting 100,000 pairs of shoes to be dumped on the steps of the Capitol, one pair for each innocent life lost in Iraq.<br /><br />I walked down to the White House (photo), much smaller than I expected. I checked out some of the fabulous museums, but had to be security checked at each one. At the Holocaust Museum I again had to put everything including belt, wallet, watch etc through the x-ray machine “This is worse that being at an airport” I joked, “No it’s not” I was informed as I was taken aside. My bag was being rubbed with a small cloth which was then put into a machine “What’s that in aid of? “ I asked, “We are checking for explosives” came the reply. This was part for the Smithsonian Museum, you could spend a week going around them <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8QkPtIrOEUs4TaO6R2oNaMBBwk-8iId6I67LxTM22MofqG_2vayRMaMEK_kcyuYDbLpYKNbDxCzP2hkURggaKcdtOul6L2pUmVxHIGoaQqXG_24hL8tXXj5JsqAOkwRLJLbarwTYifa-0/s1600-h/P1040353.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 175px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438691384545354274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8QkPtIrOEUs4TaO6R2oNaMBBwk-8iId6I67LxTM22MofqG_2vayRMaMEK_kcyuYDbLpYKNbDxCzP2hkURggaKcdtOul6L2pUmVxHIGoaQqXG_24hL8tXXj5JsqAOkwRLJLbarwTYifa-0/s400/P1040353.JPG" /></a>and still only scratch the surface. It even has a separate building, a castle, just for information on the museums. I went it, I was told to go through another security check. This was one too many, I really couldn’t be bothered to go through all that again just to pick up a piece of paper that would tell me the opening times. Do the Americans really think that a terrorist is going to target what is basically an information kiosk? “Hell, they have blown up our embassies on foreign soil, they have targeted the world trade centre, who knows, the information kiosk may be next!” I can’t help thinking it is all political. Instil a little fear into everyday lives of people and that will make them feel threatened and the political decisions and measures can then be justified. Next stop was the National Air and Space museum where the centre piece for me was the actual aircraft used for the first ever flight by the Wright Bothers. I didn’t know they used to make bikes and what’s more, they have lasted better than mine! In the centre of the Mall sit’s the impressive Washington Monument, an obelisk type structure that stands head and shoulders above any other building here. When it was built it was the highest building in the world, but only for 5 years when the Eiffel Tower doubled the height. Now it is classed as the tallest freestanding stone structure in the world. A lift takes you to the top for views of…..snow! From the top I could see the ground below us through the snow, but little else. There was lots of blurb around on the life of George Washington, the first American President and a very important figure in American history. They told us how he was first in war, first in peace, a humble, humane man, they were full of superlatives for him. They also informed the visitors that it stated in his will that “his slaves were to be set free when he died”. Slaves? He wasn’t THAT humane then? It snowed all afternoon but thankfully never settled. As I walked home I witnessed a dodgy transaction, probably drugs. A quick handshake and a small package was expertly exchanged for a bundle of cash and hands then quickly disappeared into pockets. Later I told Gene about it “Did you see if it was a politician or a policeman? It is normally one of those people” he answered. If I tell you that Gene has a beautifully furnished house, doesn’t like to cook so eats out almost everyday, and has a Porsche in the garage, you may get an idea of his lifestyle, very different to mine. Clearly our wallets are very different too, mine is taking a right bashing at the moment, but I can not deny that I am eating good American food and excellent beer. Last night I was taken to one of Gene’s favourite bars. They have 6 cask ales and other 50 on tap and a huge array of bottled beer from around the world. In the fridge in front of me stood a bottle of Hook Norton, and in the folder I was handed which is updated weekly and takes 2 days to do an update, they even listed it as ‘Hooky’. They have a new refrigeration system here, it cost $100,000 but at the prices they are charging it should have paid for itself within a few minutes. It is funny how your mind can quickly adjusts to different prices scales. You can have a 3oz taster for $3-4, a bargain I thought as you can then taste a few. But hang on a minute, that is still about £2.50 and more than I used to pay for a pint when I left home. Hooky was $13 a bottle, I thought I could wait just a little longer!John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-62640034935873467092010-02-07T19:02:00.005+00:002010-02-07T19:06:36.370+00:00Day 991 - Still in RichmondHey, another week on and I am still in Richmond. To make matters even worse I have hardly moved from the house. Dawn went off in a retreat on Monday and kindly allowed me to stay in her house whilst I was away saying “I really can’t think of any reason why you shouldn’t stay<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnRRBCUzdjurt2FM84Nh-pII37UO-i0t0geC8W2AVWEGl1vCE-mch2d2NSfhMkYkRSRYLUcx2aOoMrZjZ4pU4QKZlak7OKmi4u8HJNw12mji_qYBP33PqoPRe7HhYScDgsn8rZFuZjLHwA/s1600-h/P1040235.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435579258040618386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnRRBCUzdjurt2FM84Nh-pII37UO-i0t0geC8W2AVWEGl1vCE-mch2d2NSfhMkYkRSRYLUcx2aOoMrZjZ4pU4QKZlak7OKmi4u8HJNw12mji_qYBP33PqoPRe7HhYScDgsn8rZFuZjLHwA/s320/P1040235.JPG" /></a> here”. This is the sort of thing that makes me feel so good about the world, being trusted in that way even though I had only met just over 48 hours ago, though she did rather put me in my place by adding “You are on a bike, you couldn’t steal much anyway”, but I know what she meant. I am only the second Couch Surfer that Dawn has hosted and I was asked to be very quiet when her parents phoned as “They don’t really get this Couch Surfing lark and would probably go nuts is they heard I was leaving in the house alone for a few days.”<br /><br />Dawn departed Monday, the snow was still deep, but the main roads were clear enough, but the cold nights had made it icy. I rode up to the local mall in the afternoon and was very glad not to be moving on. A little rain as the sun was going down and the roads were soon covered in a thin layer of ice so I had to be very careful when braking and heading in anything other than a straight line. Wednesday was a little better. To be honest I perhaps could have made a move but with a big snow storm with a special delivery for Washington D.C. it was perhaps a wise decision to stay put. Thursday was even better and by this time I was getting so bored that I was cleaning things amongst all my crap that I carry that had never been cleaned before. I read more books and tried to keep myself busy.<br /><br />Dawn surprised me by arriving back early Friday morning. I had expected her back either Thursday evening or Saturday. “More snow is forecast for the next couple of days. 24 inches are expected where I was so I decided to leave before it started” she told me. Just minutes after her arrival it started snowing and snowed pretty much the whole day. It did its best to snow all day Saturday, but I made my way out on foot to the mall, I needed fresh air. Snow on the driveway was deep, but on the main road it was just a deep slush. All the shops in the mall were shut due to the weather apart from the supermarket. I sat in its coffee shop watching life go by. Here not only do the customers stand around and watch the staff bag up their groceries, they also watch them push the trolley out to their car and loaded into the trunk (boot). I am thinking about starting my own service here, for a couple of bucks I will eat it for them!<br /><br />So not having much to write which ironically comes at the same time that I need to fill my time by waffling a little, I <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsxobCAkMw2hFbQENV1UOupUOnYuZ56F2KqfjCI1ndi9dkoEwqlk53HXyjuR5ifp3UbyEXVAyrfQONR32LLVKnQc-n1szaUNE2Eadb1he29LMoBINAKTTgrqDtKGTdzCydSvbzDxlFgA9l/s1600-h/P1040229.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 229px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435579441401369362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsxobCAkMw2hFbQENV1UOupUOnYuZ56F2KqfjCI1ndi9dkoEwqlk53HXyjuR5ifp3UbyEXVAyrfQONR32LLVKnQc-n1szaUNE2Eadb1he29LMoBINAKTTgrqDtKGTdzCydSvbzDxlFgA9l/s320/P1040229.JPG" /></a>thought I would answer some questions that have been asked recently and forgot to answer in the previous post. As I remember there were 3 questions. Aoiffe asked about cleats, the funny things in the bottom of cycling shoes. Yes, mine do have cleats, but not the silly ones that you see some cyclists wearing that makes them walk like a penguin. There are all sorts of cycling shoes and mine are classed as ‘touring’. Mine are the only pair of shoes I carry (currently soaking wet from walking in the snow) so I chose them because they don’t actually look like a cycling shoes, so when worn with non cycling clothes they at least look sort of normal, in fact they probably look more normal than the rest of me. The cleats are reasonably flush with the bottom on the sole so you can only hear them when walking on rough concrete type materials when they grind the surface. They aren’t great for walking in as the metal on the sole tends to make them a bit slippery. Jacs asked to hear Anav’s (of the Twelve Tribes Community) answer when I stated to him that we both considered that we were leading our lives the way God intended us to, so we couldn’t both be right. He told me that each of us were at different levels of spiritual understanding and knowledge and that God wanted us to live the way we were to further our learning and growth. Oddly enough I have since read that same thing in a book, but talking about different religions and it would seem to make perfect sense to me. Finally Frances asked what country I would be visiting next. Well, my days on this journey are coming to an end. I have always acted and headed to where feels ‘right’ at the time, so consequently my journey has taken me further and lasted much longer than I ever expected, but now the time is right for me to return home. From New York I will fly to London and from there it is just a short cycle home. Then I will stop, but for how long I just can’t tell you, I have no idea myself.<br /><br />Having been for a walk in the snow this morning and seen that there is thick ice covering the whole of the road, it does not inspire me with<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG2K7wU6T13eXaFJjSevwPnd-zHK0icPv8a4HSPnEjNpY3BnnSORq-fpmNKCGRPfGnoDTLZqnaXe91MxaMUvrqPzZbnbN1t4IKBCMTcx-t4Zlmdfep7kyG2ZjudN0hyphenhyphenFueOxxeOq_9gUY7/s1600-h/P1040226.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 136px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435579253781288306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG2K7wU6T13eXaFJjSevwPnd-zHK0icPv8a4HSPnEjNpY3BnnSORq-fpmNKCGRPfGnoDTLZqnaXe91MxaMUvrqPzZbnbN1t4IKBCMTcx-t4Zlmdfep7kyG2ZjudN0hyphenhyphenFueOxxeOq_9gUY7/s320/P1040226.JPG" /></a> confidence for hitting the road tomorrow, but somehow I have to get out of this place. The weather is forecasting more of the stuff on Tuesday and Wednesday, so it looks as though my plans for route through to New York are going to have to be changed. It looks as though it is going to be main roads the whole way, though I guess I should just be thankful if I can just get through without having another accident. As requested, a few snow photos for you, more will be uploaded to the album in due course. Sorry Harpo, still none of the bike deep in snow, I am a wimp and staying nice and warm through it all.John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-50576576045527921052010-01-31T16:21:00.004+00:002010-02-07T19:06:55.051+00:00Day 988 - Richmond, VirginiaI made my way north out of Oxford on highway 15 and just before the border with Virginia took a small road to the right to look for a spot to camp. I explored some lovely oak woodland but I could <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibLu4urdHmRHWhhZzcEjd5pe8wQFzXhkleYLjfZd1fXsWoFfozm8dD4oPEeKhh0gKcRbC7eAyeE8nxTeF_F8T4xCXQSQHsUYzuCLswr_Z73wLc79xpuWqL4at2aGWVFLyYpJEZG9Fg_S6P/s1600-h/P1040171.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 146px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432939994612154530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibLu4urdHmRHWhhZzcEjd5pe8wQFzXhkleYLjfZd1fXsWoFfozm8dD4oPEeKhh0gKcRbC7eAyeE8nxTeF_F8T4xCXQSQHsUYzuCLswr_Z73wLc79xpuWqL4at2aGWVFLyYpJEZG9Fg_S6P/s320/P1040171.JPG" /></a>never get completely out of sight of the road so I went in search of permission. I turned down a driveway and asked a guy I met there. I don’t think he spoke English and just said “Boss man, house”. At the house I was approached by a young smart man reeking of beer and carrying a can of Bud Light “Do you know who owns this land?” I asked “I do” he replied and introduced himself as Shayne. I told him what I was doing and asked if I could camp down the road “Here, come and listen to this” he called out to his companions and 4 hefty, rough looking blokes arrived, all drinking beer. We talked for a while but I couldn’t help but wonder how such a man had come about owning a nice house in a secluded area like this, but his “bodyguards” made me suspicious. My suspicions were not eased when we talked about Washington D.C. and he told me “Be careful where you go in Washington, I used to live there, I know it well. Two of my friends were killed when the ’wandered’ into the wrong area of the city”. Still, he told me I could camp where ever I liked “You can even carry on and have a look at the lake and camp there if you wish”.<br /><br />As I packed away in the morning there was a big ‘boom’ from a massive gun nearby. A little later Shayne arrived, “I hope I didn’t frighten you with that gun. The dogs were going through the trash and I just wanted to frighten them. I wasn’t shooting at them”, “That was a mighty big gun, it sounded like a bloody canon to me“ I replied “No, just was just a little shotgun“ he told me. I headed into Virginia, it was pleasant cycling, rolling hills with woods of oak, farmland and buildings dotted about the landscape. There was plenty of roadside litter though. Every now and then I stop to check on ‘interesting’ rubbish that I see, in fact I am currently reading a book that I found at the roadside a while ago, and yesterday I tried on pair of glasses. They fitted well and probably really suited me but I couldn’t see a damn thing through them! I put them back carefully for the next cyclist to try on. I haven’t yet started to go through trashcans (dustbins), but it is only a matter of time. For a long time dogs have been giving me a chase. I get the impression dogs are owned for personal security, so they are just doing their job and seeing me off. They generally stick to the boundaries of their property, even if there is nothing to stop them going further, but those that do go beyond seem to have road sense. Having said that, in the last few days I have seen no end of dead dogs beside the road. I guess they are the ones that didn’t have much road sense, either that or Shane has been out to teach them a lesson.<br /><br />I made my way into Farmsville. I felt I had covered enough distance but still had time to kill before looking for a place to lay my head for the night, so I stopped for a coffee. I set off again only to discover that bicycles were prohibited on the road I needed to go on. I had to head right into town and back out again, much further than my intended route. Now I had a race against the clock to get back out before darkness fell, I cursed having that coffee. I made it out and found a spot, but thought I had better check at the nearby house first. I woman with seemingly a fetish for pink talked non stop, she had a heavy twitch of the eye, or was that a wink that I was choosing to ignore? Most nights now I seek permission, but it is noticeable that the Southern Hospitality is no longer there, I am no longer in the south so why should it be? Actually I like my space, so if it was on offer every night I had to ask it would be a bit of a problem. But people are friendly enough, they almost always say yes, unlike the Californians who didn’t want me anywhere near them. It was hotter in California, it might have been the whiff factor emitting from me.<br /><br />I had a fast run in to Fork Union, pushed along by the wind. I had a rare luxury of a contact there, Arqam, the brother of my sister Cathy’s friend. Arqam works in the maintenance department of the Military Academy there, a huge place in a small village. I found him easily, or more precisely he found me, I suppose I stuck out a bit in that environment. I was introduced to all of his colleagues and taken into the warmth of their workshop. It was still within working ours so after a little chat I was really surprised when they told me they had a room booked for me in the motel next door and they would pick up the bill. Arqam took me to the room and told me when he would be back. He picked me up an hour later in his new 5.7 litre sports car. I got in with my backside almost touching the ground, then we raced through the lanes at a frightening speed to a small farm where he worked a couple of hours each day. I was given a tour, a lovely place with a beautiful pond. There was a small menagerie of pets including a huge Newfoundland dog that looked like a small black bear, chickens, peacocks and best of all, emus. I was also shown the emus eggs, wonderful things, about the size of a mug and a dark green colour. They decorated and made carvings on the eggs which they then sold at the shows that they took the dog to. They breed the emus for the oil, which apparently when rubbed on wounds takes away any soreness instantly. I was then taken at the speed of sound with my eyes shut to an Italian restaurant for a wonderful dinner. Another white knuckle ride and I was with Bambi and Billy and their family who have rather ’adopted’ Arqam in the 4 years that he has been here. We all talked easily, it instantly felt at home to me too. I had just made it to Fork Union in time as Arqam and Billy were heading down to Florida early the following morning, but they had still very kindly given up their evening to entertain me and shown me around.<br /><br />Whilst I stayed at the motel I saw a news item on the television. It said it had been proven that it was not dangerous to talk on the cell phone whilst driving. They had come to this conclusion because the accident rate in the states that have banned cell phone whilst driving has not been reduced. What rubbish! The only thing that this proves is that you can use statistics in any way you like to back up your argument. I would guess that a couple of things are going on here, firstly, who really takes any notice of such a ban? I know they certainly don’t in the UK and I would be very surprised if many people do here, so ban or no ban, nothing much is going to change. Secondly, those that do take heed of the ban are just going to do something else with their ’spare’ time in the car. We have all seen clips in American films where the driver talks to the passengers and doesn’t look at the road for about 10 seconds, well I use to just think “Yeah, right”, but now I think “Oooh, ‘eck!”<br /><br />As I ride up the through the states on the east coast I see no end of churches, mostly small, some in little groups very close to each other, each seemingly a little different in its flavour of Christianity. It is mind boggling to me. Often there is a sign outside, some give worship times, others have little phrases. The phrases themselves vary enormously from the tacky “What is missing in our CH CH - UR” to the thought provoking “To hear God’s voice you need to turn down the world’s volume”, though probably the most common one is “God bless our troops”. I am still struggling with that last one, I just can not understand how it fits in with what is being<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjzOryydRfactVU-8o9K_pAjz_NJwNIFtYiFTGlIIoNJgvjlGsBTm1T9mTcT1o5iJ4tDCb-HjG76VGoyEZJNgJk-aCd-y1O2z4BqVfi9REMmcpLfkjOOaBENUOmIBIy1t8aQT0bMApNUSE/s1600-h/P1040174.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 263px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432940338889740978" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjzOryydRfactVU-8o9K_pAjz_NJwNIFtYiFTGlIIoNJgvjlGsBTm1T9mTcT1o5iJ4tDCb-HjG76VGoyEZJNgJk-aCd-y1O2z4BqVfi9REMmcpLfkjOOaBENUOmIBIy1t8aQT0bMApNUSE/s320/P1040174.JPG" /></a> preached within those walls “Love one another, turn the other cheek, have faith and put all you trust in God. Actually, don’t worry too much about that last bit because before God even gets a chance our troops will save us and kill anybody that might be considered a threat to us, so God bless our troops”. Hey, don’t get me started on the obsession with terrorist threats here, you are not going to make me fall for that one!<br /><br />My short stop in Fork Union had been an attack on the senses. When I met Arqam and his colleagues at the Academy and was taken into their work shop where we talked. Most of them were smokers. It is such a rare occasion that I enter a smoky environment these days that the smoke really hit me, the smell was intense and my eyes began to water. Later in the evening when I was taken for a meal the cheese sauce and the chicken in the pasta were absolutely delicious, a taste that my poor old taste buds found hard to recognise as they have been subjected to either junk or bland food for most of my visit here. I think I need to throw a few spices into the food I cook on the camp stove. Then, as I left the motel in the morning my senses received a third and final hit. When I stepped outside I was alarmed at just how cold it was, I would be crazy to cycle in such cold weather, yet it was only -2c, a fairly normal morning. When I camp day in and day out in the cold my body acclimatises to the low temperatures. I can sit in my tent in the evening and be surprised that it is only 2c, yet I feel cosy and warm, whereas if I was in a house at that temperature I would think that it is really cold. Now, stepping from that warm room to the cold outside air it really hit me and it seemed to take ages for my body to adjust to its new and shocking surroundings. Now I could understand why so many people make comments of how cold it is and that I must be mad to cycle such conditions. I left Fork Union heading east for a change, heading for Richmond. I am not quite sure why I wanted to divert to Richmond, but I thought about my route on Monday and heading to Richmond just felt right to me. Since then the weather has been predicting 12 inches of snow on Friday evening, the very day I arrived there, impeccable timing. I laboured my on highway 6, for some reason it was slow going, but it was hilly. My route through the eastern states has not been very exciting. I have deliberately steered clear of the Appalachians due to travelling during the winter, but it has been remarkably flat, th<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQCPJFxRHXKUiKlf5jNQMIIrHpGnZtm9TY6l5D596ExzxcN60U5mxQQpIftczPw3uLSPyuAMAbl-ZkfnSj9sU1s6wlsYlrqf7iIW4rOr3QFAJSAS2pxFi2JLM33zJNhGRoIyTgytbsdgXc/s1600-h/P1040199.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 313px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432939996922800594" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQCPJFxRHXKUiKlf5jNQMIIrHpGnZtm9TY6l5D596ExzxcN60U5mxQQpIftczPw3uLSPyuAMAbl-ZkfnSj9sU1s6wlsYlrqf7iIW4rOr3QFAJSAS2pxFi2JLM33zJNhGRoIyTgytbsdgXc/s320/P1040199.JPG" /></a>rough lots of pine forests and nothing to get excited about. That started to change around northern North Carolina and has continued through Virginia. Virginia is rolling countryside practically the whole way, I like it, it is all very picturesque. I stopped at a café. These days it is far too cold to stop outside, the temperature had only risen to freezing since I left Fork Union. A guy came in, a well built guy. No, a large guy. No, a very large guy. No, a fat guy. No, a very big fat guy…..ok, let’s be honest, he was a big fat slob of a guy….there, I have said it, not very politically correct, but I have said it! He wore a t-shirt that said “My Perfect Day. 1.Get up, 2.Play video games, 3.Eat breakfast, 4.Play video games, 5. Eat lunch, 6.Play video games, 7.Eat dinner, 8.Play video games, 9.Go to sleep, 10.Dream of video games”. I couldn’t see how he could possibly live his perfect day, surely to maintain that size he would have to eat all day, there would be not time to play video games. He had reached point 5 on his t-shirt, then he proved me wrong, he played video games WHILE he ate his lunch. The guy was brilliant and what he did, he had perfected his technique and stuffed huge handfuls of fries into his mouth leaving about half of them sticking out of his mouth, which were then slowly drawn in as he chewed away. It was disgusting to watch yet at the same time it was compulsive viewing, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. Having finished lunch he left and walked out of the door whilst still playing his video game. I was glad he left before me, I didn’t want him driving up behind me, I don’t suppose there is a state ban on playing video games whilst driving! I rode the last few kilometres into Richmond. I had left my Couch Surfing request very late and only sent out some the previous day, but thankfully Dawn had kindly offered to put me up for three nights. Her house was a little further out of town than I expected, but I think I have been guided to the right person. I instantly felt at home with Dawn, a lovely person and very talented. She writes her own songs and plays the guitar and she has a truly amazing singing voice. She sang a couple of songs that she had written, just fantastic. She is also a artist and took me around the house showing me the framed pictures on the walls. Added to that she is also a very spiritual person and I had a great evening asking questions and learning from her. She kept going to her collection of books saying “Here, you should read this” despite me telling her that I am a very slow reader and had no chance of getting through them all. There are also some wonderful little saying on post-its dotted about the house such as “We can not control the wind, but we can learn how to sail better”, “Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain” and “Don’t look back and ask why, look forward and ask why not”.<br /><br />I was glad to be in a nice warm and cosy house, especially and it was forecast that a foot of snow would fall over night starting at around 5pm. By the time I went to bed there was nothing. When I got up, Dawn had already left for work at the Post Office, but it was snowing and there was an inch or two accumulated on the ground. It snowed all day, I kept looking out of the window and each time I looked Dawn’s car parked outside was slowly disappearing (photo). The forecast was right, the foot of snow arrived, just a little later than predicted. Dawn arrived home at about 3pm, a couple of hours later than normal, but she had only completed about a third of her round and had abandoned the rest as it was just too dangerous in the blizzard, she couldn’t even see the sides of the road. This morning there is a beautiful blue sky, but with the temperature not rising above freezing it looks as though I may be in Richmond for a few days. It would seem that I am a slow learner as I sit and wait for the storm to pass!John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-35504856092593035702010-01-26T18:07:00.006+00:002010-01-31T16:25:10.163+00:00Day 983 - Oxford, North CarolinaI know what you are thinking. You are thinking “What is he doing back in Oxford already?” Well after I had made it across to the east coast and the Atlantic Ocean, I decided to forget about New York and all the horrible weather I would have to go through and instead took the quickest and<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_jBQ9tY5xcaEvrFOW4V57wlANKlo9iLX_PaJ-eh_0J4sOOuRIdZjrD9vY-ZhW6-nCNAl7nc978ElFmQ9Bam1KR7CPTcnHlkm-0s75j5qXwUg71b1Fo_ipSphCcgdPDrG0j_MXkHUJ4WIv/s1600-h/P1040135.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 128px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431112472506781026" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_jBQ9tY5xcaEvrFOW4V57wlANKlo9iLX_PaJ-eh_0J4sOOuRIdZjrD9vY-ZhW6-nCNAl7nc978ElFmQ9Bam1KR7CPTcnHlkm-0s75j5qXwUg71b1Fo_ipSphCcgdPDrG0j_MXkHUJ4WIv/s320/P1040135.JPG" /></a> shortest route to Oxford. It only took 5 days from Charleston. I know that is pretty quick, but this is Oxford in North Carolina and not to be confused with the Oxford in Mississippi. Don’t worry, I am not going back that way now. Yes, they have ‘spare’ Oxfords in the USA, but not as many as there are Jacksons or Jacksonville, they seem to be in every state that I pass through.<br /><br />I stayed another day in Charleston, I had heard the weather forecast again and it wasn’t looking good. I stayed in while Jessica worked in her office. She went to the end of the drive to collect the post and was hotly pursued back by a barking Alsatian and just made it back I time. She carried on working, but saw the dog chase another person, go through all the recycling bins outside then chase a van down the road. She called Animal Control who said they would be over “…But DON’T go anywhere near the dog”. It had been drizzling but started to rain hard. Jessica came into the lounge and said “That dog is still running around and it is absolutely drenched. I think we ought to try and get it into the house”, “Oh ok, bringing the dog into the house is sort of not going anywhere near it, isn’t it? We could shut it in one of the rooms” I said but Jessica was concerned “No, we can’t do that, it will probably rip the place to pieces!” I was sent out in the pouring rain to try and bring it in. Even with an umbrella I was soon soaked, but I couldn’t see the dog anywhere and hadn’t seen any of the antics that Jessica had told me about. Jessica took the umbrella and went out and very soon came running back shouting “Quick, quick, it’s coming”. I stood by the front door and the dog came up to us, it seemed friendly enough but was very timid and frightened and very wet. I checked its collar but there was no tag so tried to dry it but it would have nothing of it. We left the door open and moved back with the dog on the doorstep and enticed it in with the help of Charlie, Jessica’s dog. It eventually came in, stood beside us and shook itself soaking us in the process. The floors were soon covered in wet footprints. Animal Control eventually turned up and said “We have seen this dog before”. There is never a dull moment in Jessica’s house. It rained all day, I didn’t even venture outside again.<br /><br />I left the following day, followed highway 17, then diverted through the historical town and got onto the big bridge over the river which had a nice cycle path at the side. There were no signposts to the cycle path and if I had carried along the obvious route of 17 I wouldn’t have even been able to get on it. I followed highway 17 north for the whole day, it was never enjoyable, no shoulder and busy the entire day. It was boring too, through forest the whole time though at least it made it easy to find somewhere to camp.<br /><br />At Georgetown I moved onto the smaller 701 still a boring road with no shoulder but at least it wasn’t so busy. It was another 37 miles to Conway. Mile markers are a funny thing in the US. Every state has its own rules, most of them have a <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZKUex_eg8ewTYuJnz5xsfD_qee1hlvNkvaQ8_JIwyK4QVR_1sL43FDAuP5UeMZxdGSvP1hMY67XevLs7W2GBZzScorY2UBKhPwb75n71RZBb2p3bjsT683DHuKm8uydViVz0lKNdXFH8a/s1600-h/P1040137.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 197px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431113500058564098" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZKUex_eg8ewTYuJnz5xsfD_qee1hlvNkvaQ8_JIwyK4QVR_1sL43FDAuP5UeMZxdGSvP1hMY67XevLs7W2GBZzScorY2UBKhPwb75n71RZBb2p3bjsT683DHuKm8uydViVz0lKNdXFH8a/s320/P1040137.JPG" /></a>mile number every mile, but here in South Carolina and in Florida they don’t have any at all. Texas had them every 2 miles, tiny little signs that were on alternate sides of the road, so really you would see one every 4 miles, though how the number worked I have no idea as they rarely seemed to be below 600 miles, even if it was only a short and minor road. Georgia’s were the silliest though, they reset theirs every time you entered a new county and there were plenty of those, nearly every time you crossed a bridge you entered a new county. I lost count of the number 1 mile markers I passed and it useless for working out how far you had to go to the next town. I crossed into North Carolina, I immediately liked it, there was a shoulder. It was only about two feet wide, but it gave me a little more space. Occasionally when there is no shoulder vehicles come mighty close and it doesn’t give me much confidence in their driving ability here, so I don’t know if they just passed too close or even worse just haven’t seen me at all. 95% of cars here are automatics, that frees one hand and the brain to carry out the other tasks that have to be done whilst driving such as stroking the dog on the lap, reading, checking the map, shaving, but more often than not talking on the phone. It seems almost obligatory to talk on the phone whilst driving, “I am just going out for a drive as I need to make a phone call. I will be back when I have scared the crap out of a cyclist!” My confidence isn’t enhanced by being a passenger in cars here either. I think am normally a good passenger, but here I just sit there, keep my mouth shut and pray, but that might be because I go in cars so infrequently these days. On one occasion though I did yell at the driver and undoubtedly saved a pedestrian from being hit on a pedestrian crossing. I stopped at a gas station in Bladenboro and joined the locals for a coffee who were sat at the tables. Being a Sunday it was quiet, people were either at church or sat at the gas station ogling at the good looking women working there. “We come here every Sunday and put the world to rights. It would be a much better place if everybody agreed with us” I was told. By the time I reached Elizabethtown it was raining…time for another coffee. I was cycling through fields and houses, not good camping country. I eventually spotted a nice track going into some woods, but the woman in the house opposite was watching me so I went over to try and get permission to camp there. As I started towards the house she went inside. I knocked on the door that had a big ‘Welcome’ sign. The dog barked but there was no answer, I knocked again, the dog carried on barking but there was still no answer. I left thinking how ironic that sign was and went down the track anyway. I camped amongst the tall trees. As the evening went by the wind picked up, there was a roar of the wind through the trees, though I was well sheltered and the wind hardly noticeable at the bottom of the trees. My only concern was that the wind would be blowing from the south in the morning, but before long I had other concerns as I heard nearby branches come crashing to the ground. I got around that problem easily enough, I just turned up the volume of the music I was listening to. In the early hours of the morning the rain started, and when it rains in the Carolinas it really rains! It rained hard and loud on the tent, so loud I couldn’t tell if the wind had stopped and left this depression over me.<br /><br />It rained on an off but long and hard enough for me to delay my departure as long as possible. As I returned to the road the track was blocked by a fallen tree. But the day was on the up, the rain had stopped and I hadn’t even got went, the clouds were breaking, it was very mild and I had a tailwind, that is just about perfect. A few months ago people would stop and ask where I am going and when I told them New<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-rABJDqY75DPZZ60MYv_IpjcsaHUtDXKBldBvyqqXxJ3HLLQT2fArkWOcrcBWUJdAKJ3dV9dSTqirDr581wFwlSDa40T1x_W0VYLobhr_ejCwDrEx8PQAiWwuMGHDvkygyvITkHTJdbVJ/s1600-h/P1040150.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431112478035474162" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-rABJDqY75DPZZ60MYv_IpjcsaHUtDXKBldBvyqqXxJ3HLLQT2fArkWOcrcBWUJdAKJ3dV9dSTqirDr581wFwlSDa40T1x_W0VYLobhr_ejCwDrEx8PQAiWwuMGHDvkygyvITkHTJdbVJ/s320/P1040150.JPG" /></a> York, they would say “WOW! All the way to New York, that is amazing!” but now when I tell them they just say “Oh, right” and walk off. I guess that is a good indication that I am getting pretty close to New York. Having said that somebody asked me today and responded with “Wow! You are going to New York on that b-u-y-sickle, it will take you 57 days”. Each night now finding a campsite is tricky. I was heading through boggy woodland and houses with plenty of land owned by them, there seems to be little for me to camp in easily. I still don’t worry too much about it. I found an open field with a faint track going around it. I asked permission in the house across the road. “It is owned by the Duke and he wont mind, he is in Raleigh”, so I went around the field and into the woods on the other side. Once set up and in the dark it was quiet and nobody would see me there. I stood looking up at the stars hardly able to believe that camping possibilities had seemed so slim, yet this spot was just perfect.<br /><br />This morning was colder than of late, though I was soon enough in shorts but kept me jacket on. People still tell me about the bad weather I am heading for, though right now it feels like spring. The scenery of the Carolinas hasn’t been that exciting. After Western USA it is hard to live up to, but the last 20 miles or so have been rolling hills through pretty farmland, the miles slip by easily.John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-15975394416946938392010-01-21T15:06:00.004+00:002010-01-21T15:25:45.643+00:00Day 978 - Charleston, South CarolinaIn the Twelve Tribes community Shabbat is celebrated from sundown on Friday to sundown on Saturday. Friday evening is a special occasion for them. The gathering is similar to normal, but<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Ms5uLsMPzadk9U2VjEQ7-2hbmPale2-JMFwpghMPejCU99zOfG0Q2NIWaJNK38WjCfkp3LaruKuhM-M3emuA-YVmIDi_7tzJrNGzUDxVtGEq235ad5951vCspSPqkqs6-nE8SH2sL1Dv/s1600-h/P1040088.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 196px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429214336521905202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Ms5uLsMPzadk9U2VjEQ7-2hbmPale2-JMFwpghMPejCU99zOfG0Q2NIWaJNK38WjCfkp3LaruKuhM-M3emuA-YVmIDi_7tzJrNGzUDxVtGEq235ad5951vCspSPqkqs6-nE8SH2sL1Dv/s320/P1040088.JPG" /></a> guests are invited and there is more singing and dancing. All that is followed with a seated 3 course dinner and on this occasion there were about 65 of us including other foreigners from South Africa and Canada, though I was still the only guest staying here. It is their way of sharing their culture with the outside community and gives people a chance to ask questions and see how it all works, it made for an enjoyable and social evening.<br /><br />Saturday was forecast for a 60% chance of showers during the day and 100% chance of heavy rain overnight. By the time the morning Gathering and breakfast was over the rain had already set in, so with an invite to stay as long as I wanted there was a 0% chance of me leaving. It rained pretty much all day but with it being a Saturday there were always people around to talk to. I enjoyed long talks with Doresh, who I was sharing a room with, Anav and others whose names I have already forgotten. During a discussion with Anav he told me that he believed God wanted mankind to live as they were living, i.e. living and working for each other rather than for yourself, but I pointed out that I honestly think I am living right now as God wants me to live “We can’t both be right” I told him. We were interrupted and Anav had to leave, but later he answered my question, it was pretty obvious and straight forward, we probably were both right. I won’t tell you his answer, you can have a little think about it. It continued to rain all day and by evening the weather forecasters were 100% right, it was raining heavily and was very glad that I had stayed another day. Saturday evening brought another longer Gathering, then the children had story time, a long story, a sort of padded out bible story, they all listened intently. At the end of it each one had to stand up and say something, though to be honest I was sat a little too far away and couldn’t hear what any of them were saying. There was an evening celebration to which guests are not invited so Doresh and I went down to the ship.<br /><br />After breakfast on Sunday I said goodbye to those who were still around, nobody stays in one place for very long around here! The longer I stayed with the community the more I liked it, it seemed a nice healthy lifestyle to me, very open and very welcoming. I said when I arrived here that it was a sort of a cult, but that is being unfair to them, they are just living an alternative lifestyle that they believe is the right way to live and the way that God wants them to live. It had rained in the morning but had stopped by the time that I left, but it was so much warmer, about 18c. I headed out of Savannah and had to cross the river. Typically when I arrived at the bridge there was a sign saying “No pedestrians or cyclists”. I am getting a bit cheesed off with bans on bridges so I chose to ignore it, I carried on. As I headed up, coming the other way was a runner and as we passed each other a police car passed us without stopping, clearly they are a bit cheesed of with the ban as well. I could see no reason to stop us crossing, there was a wide shoulder that wasn’t on the road leading to it, so in actual fact it was safer on the bridge. The day got better as it went on with only one longish shower all day, I even had a good tailwind, progress was swift. The roads were through remote areas though surprisingly busy the whole time. Only when it came to finding a campsite did I fully realise just how heavy the rain had been last night. Each time I left the road the tracks were soggy and off the tracks were either waterlogged or so squishy that my feet were getting wet. I pulled off a number of times before at last hitting the jackpot and finding a gravely track to take me away from the road. I went under the gate and cycled about 150m before grinding to a halt. There wasn’t as much gravel as I had expected and the clay like soil had stuck to the tyres and clogged up everything. I got off and pushed but within a few metres the wheels stopped turning altogether. I lay the bike down and tried to move the wheels but using both hands on one wheel but I could not budge it in either direction. I cleared off the worst of the gloopy mess by hand and made another bad decision to continue down the track as time was running short, find a spot to camp and clean the bike properly in the morning. Within metres it was locked solid again, I changed my mind and decided to head out, the gate seemed so close but took me over half an hour to reach it. The bike got chocked in mud in seconds despite the fact that it was only going down into the mud for about a quarter of an inch. I started to carry it which just meant that my shoes picked up all the tacky stuff, it was a nightmare and I wasn’t best pleased. By the time I got back to the gate it was dark, so having cleared enough mud and released both brakes so that the wheel could just about turn I went back a kilometre to a spot I had seen earlier and decided wasn’t suitable. How I wish I had taken that spot in the first place.<br /><br />I spent an hour the following morning trying to clear the mud off the bike, but at least the wheels would turn smoothly with the brakes connected. It was a main road bash into Charleston, then my written notes to my couch surfing place failed me <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgoS-Lxw3el5wz32z4hoy4daRyUnMwpaXYa2apUoIgBpLn_R9k_U23OW9xpu9iHpEn5T2nbkdBk3ybiwZeAlipJ8bP9lYNQ_ZSWY6mu0o8lrdYvmOOIibMpw0P-RKaMe9YKiuIj9kITUme/s1600-h/P1040056.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429213573218830690" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgoS-Lxw3el5wz32z4hoy4daRyUnMwpaXYa2apUoIgBpLn_R9k_U23OW9xpu9iHpEn5T2nbkdBk3ybiwZeAlipJ8bP9lYNQ_ZSWY6mu0o8lrdYvmOOIibMpw0P-RKaMe9YKiuIj9kITUme/s320/P1040056.JPG" /></a>when I arrived at a freeway and couldn’t get across. A bottled of water was hurled at me and hit the back of the bike, I guess I looked thirsty! I spent the evening with my host Jessica and her two housemates Matt and Mike. When I arrived they made me a cup of tea with tea from a nearby Charleston plantation and the only commercially grown tea in the USA. The teabags were large, this is America, the cup had to be equally large. In fact it was so large that as we talked, each time I drank from the cup the all disappeared from view. They were all very sociable and had some great stories to tell about people that had stayed in the house. Charleston is known as the medical city due to its medical university and its hospital and funnily enough both Jessica and Matt had medical jobs. Mike and Matt were both soccer fans and took great pride in showing me an article titled “Why England will not win the World Cup”. I also found out that England and the USA are in the same group this summer.<br /><br />It was about 8 miles and 2 buses into Charleston, but what a lovely city, I prefer it to Savannah, there is more variety in the architecture and little lanes just cry out to be explored. As the sun went down on a lovely warm day the streets were full of joggers in shorts out running, I felt a little embarrassed and idle to only be walking. It must have been all those medical students out doing what it they know is good for them. Charleston also provided me with my first chance to ring bells in the USA. The Grace Church had a detached bell tower with 10 bells, only built about 10 years ago and the most clinically clean ringing chamber I have ever seen. After ringing Wood kindly gave me a lift home saying “If you come and ring at the Cathedral tomorrow I will give you a lift home then as well”. I walked to the front door, politely knocked, then expecting it to be open anyway, opened the door and walked in. Sat on the sofa opposite was a man I hadn’t met before, but surprisingly the room was smaller and all the furniture was different. I quickly realised my mistake and with an “Oops! Sorry, wrong house” I made a hasty retreat. I did take up Wood’s offer and went ringing the following evening at the Cathedral, the only ringing chamber I have even been in with a dog sat in the corner, and true to his word Wood kindly gave me a lift home again, so much nicer an more relaxed than a bus and an hours walk in the dark, the lifts were really appreciated. Charleston has a lovely downtown area, I am really taken with it. It is built on small peninsula so you are never far from water, but at every junction the streets are so inviting and begging to be explored. Some of you might know that I like photographing doors and windows, well I thought I was in heaven!<br /><br />In answer to your question Aoiffe, yes, that is the same buff as I left home with, in fact all my clothes are the same as I left home with. I have probably thrown some out but the only addiction has been the second hand socks. Now do you understand why I keep saying I look like a tramp? I haven’t been joking.John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-2016306257457211962010-01-15T18:02:00.005+00:002010-01-15T18:07:50.027+00:00Day 972 - Savannah, GeorgiaThe little road heading out of Lake City was hard to find, I had to ask but was soon on my way and heading down a deserted road to Gum Swamp Wilderness Area. I had been going a while when ahead of me on the road I could see an animal. It didn’t know I was coming, I couldn’t see what it was. It turned out to be a dog, miles from anywhere, and looking painfully thin with bones sticking out. It had a collar on but it wouldn’t <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFljlaROS418vKNTZ_DSIYWCnAv37i4nTixX1Rv_HFQnEbpSFOHVty2XyV1udpN1MTLuwc0d4pKLyiYZaWuozxjmQP7CAk2ZMFxON6TkdBDsVjI1m7Yoi65IcIDa5yruKhXwgUXQSYhAP2/s1600-h/P1040017.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427029255653165986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFljlaROS418vKNTZ_DSIYWCnAv37i4nTixX1Rv_HFQnEbpSFOHVty2XyV1udpN1MTLuwc0d4pKLyiYZaWuozxjmQP7CAk2ZMFxON6TkdBDsVjI1m7Yoi65IcIDa5yruKhXwgUXQSYhAP2/s320/P1040017.JPG" /></a>come near me, it just kept circling around the bike. I tempted it closer with biscuits and managed to photograph the telephone number on the collar. Typically, being as I wasn’t in a large city I had no signal on my phone. I waited and flagged down the next vehicle, a couple of local hunters. I explained the situation and asked if they had a phone which I could use to call the owner “Arh, there aint no praablem, that be a hurntin darg. His owner has bin art hurntin an will pick im up later”. Bullshit! That may normally be the case, but anybody with half a brain could see that this dog had not seen its owner or a bowl of food in a very long time. Clearly this pair of gun toting bearded red necks had less than half a brain between them. They had been out for a day in the woods killing things and clearly weren’t going to spoil their Sunday by actually having to SAVE something. But since I have been in the United States I have made it my policy not to argue with anybody that might point a gun at me, (pronounced gurn in these parts), “Stop pointing that gun at me, I have a Swiss Army knife at the bottom of that bag you know. I can deploy a weapon of minimal destruction in less than 45 seconds! I could give you a nasty flesh wound.” I didn’t have much choice, night was fast approaching, I had to leave the dog there. Finding a place to camp was easy enough, there were various muddy tracks heading into the trees and the swamp. As I camped amongst the tall pines and it was one of those rare nights were you could stand still and enjoy total silence, there was absolutely nothing to be heard. Bliss.<br /><br />After about 15km of riding I arrived at Taylor, a tiny village with a massive church. There was a little gas station and store, I called in, poured myself a coffee, sat in a chair and started talking to the owner. His name was Blue, a real character with his strong southern accent, a cowboy hat and padded lumber shirt and was busy chewing on a toothpick. The store was like so many around here, run down and very scruffy, but the shelves behind the counter were full of religious book and a well thumbed and bookmarked bible lay on the counter. I liked Blue, we talked about all sorts and he asked me how many kids I have. I returned the question, he stood there trying to work it out “9 altogether between us, though some of them are grandchildren. Their Mommy and Daddy went a bit crazy and now they have gone on a long vacation”. That sounds a bit like me, though I think they managed to get theirs all expenses paid! Anything I said that could in any way be thought of as religious was followed by an “Amen” from Blue. I asked if I could take a photo of him, he wouldn’t have it “Go on, just a little one….please”. I turned on the charm and gave him one last chance but he blew it! As I was getting ready to leave he said “Where did you get that rag you putting on your head?”. Cheek of it! That was my wonderful buff he was calling a rag! I followed his instructions for a short cut on roads that were not marked on my map, then crossed a bridge and entered Georgia, the peach state. Another 12 miles brought me to St George where I called in at K & C’s Oak Tree Café for lunch. They asked for the address of my blog and sat there reading it whilst I was there, then gave me a pork chop sandwich to take with me “You won’t just think that is the best pork chop sandwich you have ever tasted, you will KNOW it is”. As I departed they also gave me a bagful of blueberry bagels, they had just read in my blog that I like them, another lovely example of southern hospitality.<br /><br />I carried on up the 23 heading north, the cycling was nothing exciting, mile after mile of pine plantations with the occasional dull town thrown in. The roads were quiet, though once through Jesup the increase in traffic was alarming. There was only a very narrow shoulder that had rumble strips in it, pretty awful for cycling, so I cycled as close to the white line as possible. I have to say the whole time the drivers were really good, not a single vehicle came too close and no horn blowing, even the lorries moved well out, I was impressed. Armadillos are still top of the list for being squashed around here, which reminds me of a southern joke. Why did the chicken cross the road? To show the armadillo it could be done. Alongside every road there is always at least some rubbish at the roadside, but here in Georgia there seem to be hundreds of coat hangers. I should collect a few, I could hang my lovely clothes from a tree at night. I spotted a tiny track leading into the woods, no driver would ever spot it so it would be good for camping. I tried to get as far away from the road as possible, but thought I saw some buildings through the trees so didn’t go too far. Once I was in the tent I soon realised that just a bit further down was a railway line, very noisy trains thundered past on one side and the main road was on the other side and aircraft flew overhead. If all that man made noise wasn’t enough some large sounding unidentified creature stood near the tent and started snorting, a far cry from that peaceful night in Big Gum Swamp.<br /><br />I rode into Savannah of horrible roads. There were plenty of road works that made the road narrow and made it all seem much longer than it actually was. As I came into the outskirts I passed through mainly black neighbourhoods, and I felt an unease about them. As I cycle I often make eye contact with people of the streets, the give a wave or more often just a nod, from which I normally get a response, but in these parts there is rarely any eye contact, and when there is and I acknowledge the person there is nothing in response. I arrived early afternoon, the thought of a bed for the night seemed really strange, the thought of a shower even stranger. I took a shower, the first time I have even washed in 13 days, though I think I am going a bit soft as I didn’t really need one. My choice of places to stay in Savannah is a little different to normal. I am staying with a religious community, I am not sure if you could call it a cult really. They are called the Twelve Tribes and have communities all over the US and others dotted around the world including one in Devon, England. They have 3 lovely houses here all next to each other and about 50 live in the community with about 20 of them being children. If 50 names to learn weren’t enough, they all have Hebrew names, I have absolutely no chance what so ever! The idea is that they live their lives like the disciples. They effectively live and work for each other, they own nothing of their own other than a few clothes and a toothbrush, everything else is communal. They all have jobs working for the community in various industries, here it is mainly construction and farming, they are currently building a café across the road as well as working on outside projects. They do not receive any salary for their work, but all their needs are paid for by the community. The children are all educated within the community too. At 7 each morning and evening they have a gathering that consists of singing, dancing and prayers. They all eat<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4LoQv7eE3G-mf0-GDUjgidcVVNXcTqKhTaysOIM6rxQBAydZ9lmgB_xYEJ0_hub7RB0d3d71LutEFSQ8E-F-LejfGM66Ph1dYBJCfpjUhmbIbVS6LjPauHDUR_npJpZKQAEfhtdUySETW/s1600-h/P1040023.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 219px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427028681047581554" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4LoQv7eE3G-mf0-GDUjgidcVVNXcTqKhTaysOIM6rxQBAydZ9lmgB_xYEJ0_hub7RB0d3d71LutEFSQ8E-F-LejfGM66Ph1dYBJCfpjUhmbIbVS6LjPauHDUR_npJpZKQAEfhtdUySETW/s320/P1040023.JPG" /></a> together too, the women cooking vast quantities of food. The whole set up is based on love and sharing, working in the interests of the community and being selfless. Everybody seems to be very happy, it clearly works for them, but to enter the community they have to give up everything they own, it is a huge commitment. The men generally have longish beards, useful that, is saved me having to shave and tidy myself up, I felt at home. They have slightly more hair than me and keep it tied at the back in a sort of very small pony tail. The women have long hair down their backs and keep it covered in scarves during the gatherings. They also own a tall ships boat down on the riverfront where they give free tours around the boat to the many tourists in town. Being as I was staying with them I got priority treatment when I went to see them today. First I was given lunch, then taken on a full tour including everything that was closed to the public. They are wonderful people, very friendly and very open. I had rather expected to be given the hard sell on their community, especially as I am the only guest staying with them. But not at all, they are just pleased to host people and show outsiders the way they are leading their lives.<br /><br />I took a trip around the city. It is a lovely city, first settled by the Brits and laid out on a grid system but cram packed with wonderful architecture and beautiful square full of trees. A guy called Oglethorpe was sent over to establish the city and keep the Spanish from moving north up the coast. He did a pretty good job but needed reinforcements to hold the Spanish back, but they were never sent out. Jewish people moved in and were welcomed by Oglethorpe and with their support he was able to achieve what he was sent out to do. When he returned home to Britain he didn’t get a great welcoming, in fact he was stripped of his titles and he was given no credit for any of his achievements. I don’t know what he did, but he obviously upset somebody along the way. The centre is classed as the historical district, there are a few shops and cafes and that is about it, the main high street stores are well away from the downtown area. Despite it being such a nice place I seemed to lack a little enthusiasm. May be my thoughts are beginning to focus more on home than they are on the sights that I am looking at.<br /><br />I know I have mentioned this a few times before, but it is worth another mention. Thank you all for your comments on this blog and your emails, they are all really appreciated. I am not going to mention any specific names otherwise others are going to think “Why didn’t he mention me?”, but all those comments are very welcome. It’s always nice to get them from people I have stayed with or met along the way, but sometimes I read them and think “Is that me they are talking about”. People are so generous, and give me so much encouragement and all I have to do is ride my bike. But it is nice to know that people are still reading this stuff, it makes it all the more worthwhile spending the time writing it. Thank you.John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-39007722795920249842010-01-10T19:10:00.005+00:002010-01-10T19:36:28.196+00:00Day 967 - Lake City, FloridaIt was another bitterly cold morning, my cycle computer told me it was -5 c but my feet and hands were insisting it was colder and they made me stop for a coffee at the first opportunity. It turned out to be a good move, I warmed up nicely and stayed that way for the rest of the day. I turned onto smaller roads that meandered through pine forests, the sun was shining, it was still <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRcaRpXjTKA0AZksvaKbimzT2VtYIyEmZA8JZfHZMN_eBMXWQq06aomKDwGAj0LFogGczrrl5HJVDOmbFH9Jnnd3_EzfKXRzXtZmEiTVH7erhWbE-stfD0F3FGubSuPLgYmirAT_hbGLHK/s1600-h/P1030916.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 202px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425191702944385602" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRcaRpXjTKA0AZksvaKbimzT2VtYIyEmZA8JZfHZMN_eBMXWQq06aomKDwGAj0LFogGczrrl5HJVDOmbFH9Jnnd3_EzfKXRzXtZmEiTVH7erhWbE-stfD0F3FGubSuPLgYmirAT_hbGLHK/s320/P1030916.JPG" /></a>nice and crisp and all was well in my little world. With few food options available and now my stomach insisting that I stopped, I called into a little café/store in a tiny village and had lunch. It was a grimy little run down place with a sign that said “No tipping please, it is our pleasure to serve you”, but judging by the grumpy old women serving they hadn’t put the sign there and it would appear that they weren’t it full agreement with it either. Everybody who came in and spoke to me had the same opening line “It’s a cold day to be out cycling”. An old lady added “It is years since it has been this cold here. I am 83 and have a good memory and I can’t remember when it was last this cold”. This has been a bit of a theme all the way across the USA, I want somebody to come up to me and say “Lovely weather, a tad too warm for this time of year, but that’s global warming for you”. I carried on along more lonely roads, it was delightful cycling. I passed through Florala and realised I hadn’t filled up on water for the night so stopped at a mechanic’s workshop and asked for water “You can use that tap over there”. It was surrounded by ice which probably explained why nothing can out of the thing. His mate arrived and said “Use this one inside. Where are you heading for?”, “New York” I told him “What on that thing” he exclaimed “You are a crazy arse. I bet you stay in some nice motels”, “No, I normally camp”, “Well you will need to find a motel tonight, it is going to drop to 18 degrees (-8 c)” he told me whilst laughing, “It’s ok, I will camp, that’s what I need the water for”, there was a long pause and a look of astonishment, then he added “You really are one crazy arsed son of a bitch, you had better find a house to stay in tonight. Where are you heading”, “I am heading out on route 4” then the other guy replied “If you head out on route 4 you go right past my house”. I had expected an offer, I was glad it never came, I was quite happy to camp, there are so many places to camp in the pine forests it would be easy. I passed a sign saying “….Florida’s highest point”, I was only 300ft above sea level and hadn’t even reached Florida.<br /><br />It was another cold start but another beautiful sunny morning, a glorious winter’s day. I carried on through the forest and finally entered into Florida, the sunshine state. As I approached Darlington I saw a tree with amazing icicles hanging from it in somebody’s garden so I stopped to take a photo. The dog barked. A man came out. We talked. It turned out that he had put a hose up the tree and sent a spray of water out “It has been up there for years, but this is the first time I have had a chance to use it”…great! Then out of the blue he asked “You have been travelling through many countries and the US, what do you think of the religious people here and they way they all preach to you about Jesus and God and how their religion is the only way?”, it was the start of an interesting conversation. His friends, a couple, stopped in their car and we all talked. When I was leaving he said “Call in at the restaurant in the village, they do a good breakfast and it is run by Steve’s niece“. I had to search it out, there were no signs to it and it was tucked down a side street, who would ever know it was there. Nobody by the look of it. It was called “The Two Cousins Café” and the two cousins were in there as well as me. We chatted away, I told them I had met Steve. They told me it was all local custom in the cafe, but they were great to me and even let me use there wireless internet and insisted on constantly topping up my coffee. People started to arrive, each one was told what I was doing and where I was heading and some of them came over to chat. By them time I left the place was almost full and I felt I had been made welcome by the whole village and not one had called me a “Crazy arsed” anything! Wonderful moments that make travelling so good and memorable. I made good progress on lovely little roads, but late in the day arrived back at a main road. The shoulder had a bicycle symbol, the first I have seen I weeks. It looked like being another cold night.<br /><br />I was heading south, completely the wrong direction considering I am supposed to be heading for New York, but my map showed a nice road running along the Gulf of Mexico, it was too tempting, I was heading for it. I passed through Panama City, then though Tyndall Air Force Base, then what looked like nice coastal riding turned out to be mile after mile of pine forest. For the first time in weeks I saw cycle tourists, they were heading the other way and had absolutely no intention of even slowing down, let alone stopping. I eventually saw the coast at Mexico Beach. With a name like that I would have been really surprised if I had not seen the sea. I stopped for a break, it was balmy weather, 17 degrees c, I was down to shorts for a change. I saw another cyclist, this one decided to stop and we have a brief chat. I liked talking to him, I always like talking to cyclists who are carrying more crap than I am. I crossed into the Eastern time zone and the last time change of this trip. I gives me an extra hour in the evening so a longer day is much more relaxed. I stayed tight to the coast which meant there were houses all the way along, so I ended up camping in a plot of land that was for sale, a sort of test drive if you like. I wasn’t impressed, I didn’t buy it.<br /><br />More coast followed in the morning, after a warm and wet night. I stopped at a supermarket in Apalachicola, the girl at the checked asked “Where are you heading for?”, “New York”, “What do you want to go there for?”, “Oh, I have always wanted to go there. There is so much to see, I think it will be really interesting.”, “I don’t want to go there! Where are you from?”, “England”, “I don’t want to go there either” so told me. “Where do you want to go then?”, “I am 18 and have always lived here, I don’t want to go anywhere. I am not a city person, besides, there is a lot to see here”. I moved a few doors down to a gas station that had a Subway attached to it, there I met Erin who does analysis work for Subway and sat working at the next table to me, at least she was working until I interrupted her. We talked about various things and I was astounded to hear that as she was in her first year with the company she only got one week annual vacation which is nothing short of slave labour. I talked to her about travel too, she hadn’t really travelled outside of the USA, but I guess with one week holiday a year I wouldn’t either. We talked about Obama’s health reforms which even if passed wont some into effect for 4 years, though they will start paying for it straight away. That will go down well, they already pay far too much each month for private health insurance, them on top of that the Americans will have to pay for a National Health Service that they can’t even use for another 4 years! I tried to learn a little more about football, but I think that no matter how many questions I ask I am never going to understand a game called football that is played using the hands! There are lots of different leagues too and even if I look at the tables I can’t even work out from the stats why the team at the top is there. A day is always made better after a good conversation with somebody and Erin made today a good day. I left her to carry on with her work and I carried on along the coast, the road ran right along the water front, just a narrow strip of beach and then the water. There were various jetties heading into the very calm water (photo). It is very sheltered here with a group of islands running parallel to the coast a few miles out. I crossed another long bridge that was very exposed, the wind hit me head on. I stopped for more coffee at a gas station and checked the weather forecast. It looks as though it will be sunny though cold, but still a whole bunch of degrees warmer than you lot are getting back in the UK.<br /><br />I left the coast and the scenery inland has become a bit mundane, the last couple of days have hardly been exciting. I had set off in the cold so called in at Ouzt’s Bar in Newport to warm up, they were opening as I arrived. They were very friendly, coffee soon arrived and before long I was being given a history lesson by Dorothy, the owner. Newport has a population of about 5, <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjegLqELIYHa0qOYySVFh9BIAZaEfg439iQ8jUFqWqUMlT1MK3rXS-rFXN5ofb1qHaOs9ze3oQQnFr-2GVcpRjfh7jOhsWX9cBpqFm0bPr3-xtTRhaSfgXX5OQWlSC2jMR4QJ23vdApA2BP/s1600-h/P1030927.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 224px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425192598252318306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjegLqELIYHa0qOYySVFh9BIAZaEfg439iQ8jUFqWqUMlT1MK3rXS-rFXN5ofb1qHaOs9ze3oQQnFr-2GVcpRjfh7jOhsWX9cBpqFm0bPr3-xtTRhaSfgXX5OQWlSC2jMR4QJ23vdApA2BP/s320/P1030927.JPG" /></a>but it used to be the 5th largest town in Florida, due mainly to the river which was used for logging. A hurricane destroyed the place, this one in 1853, and it never really recovered. I also learned that Florida is being hit hardest by the recession, probably as it relies heavily on tourism. Jodie told me to call in to JR’s gas station down the road and meet Barbara. So having left and been given the coffee for free, that is exactly what I did. I asked the woman there if she was Barbara, but I couldn’t make her understand me, by the 5th attempt I was speaking very slowly and as clearly as possible but I just got a “Bar what?” in reply. I knew she wasn’t Barbara and the whole attempt to make her understand the question was a complete waste of time, but at last it got through “Oh no, I am Joanna, Barbara works weekdays“. Sometimes the camping situation doesn’t really work out and last night was such an occasion. I saw a wonderful place in a remote forest but decided to press on for another half an hour only to arrive amongst farmland. It was well dark before I turned up a track and set up the tent close beside it and expecting visitors during the evening. Thankfully I did get a peaceful nights sleep, but I was never very happy there, I like to be well out of the way.<br /><br /><br />I have gone about as far east as I can go now, it is almost time to turn and head north for the final leg of my journey and the final destination of New York. I can’t say I am looking forward to heading north, it rather takes me on to a collision course with even worse weather, you know, rain, snow and that sort of rubbishy stuff. In the four months that I have been in the USA I have so far spent $27 on accommodation, $7 on a campsite outside of San Francisco and $20 on a shared motel room with Matt. I guess as the weather gets yuckier I will turn into more of a wimp and that will send my costs spiralling upwards, though it will still be less than paying for health insurance here.John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-24258285014404128962010-01-06T16:55:00.004+00:002010-01-06T16:59:17.301+00:00Day 961 - Brewton, Alabama<div><div>I said my farewell to Bill and Erin, they had made me very welcome. They were heading off to see family, so my stay in New Orleans had been too short really, but I left well before I could get bored with the place, if fact I really like it. I took St Charles Street and made my way to the Downtown area. St Charles Street is the grandest street and home to those people who are dripping in dollars. Half way down the Mardi Gras ro<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1QhyRdjnLKQtlQbG3vtFV6ptrsYJfT_Agfa8QRncfFSrtsfyYXXEouDRj7xilLZOT_rlpfu7E3bmx0M3mWoV_Nn9fLyAIf0vkDfGsGPVhGSalDKdZmPbU917644EtsocnH1C-JNWuZhFU/s1600-h/P1030837.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 121px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423671727690622018" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1QhyRdjnLKQtlQbG3vtFV6ptrsYJfT_Agfa8QRncfFSrtsfyYXXEouDRj7xilLZOT_rlpfu7E3bmx0M3mWoV_Nn9fLyAIf0vkDfGsGPVhGSalDKdZmPbU917644EtsocnH1C-JNWuZhFU/s320/P1030837.JPG" /></a>ute joins it. During Mardi Gras strings of beads are thrown into the crowd, it’s a sign of friendliness, but plenty don’t make it into the crowd and get stuck on the power lines or in the trees leaving some of them decorated like Christmas trees, there were beads everywhere. I cycled around the French Quarter, it felt so different to the previous day. Now the crowds had gone, so had the good weather, it was cold and overcast, the place had a completely different feel to it, at times I hardly recognised it as the same place. I headed out on route 90, a much quieter road than when it enters the city from the other side. I was soon leaving the houses behind, the traffic too, I had the road almost to myself. I rode along the narrow peninsula between Lake St Catherine and Lake Pontchartrain, once prime land for expensive properties, but this too has taken a hit in the hurricanes. New houses were being built, all of them raised way above the ground on high stilts, but the wrecked jetties clearly showed the forces that had passed though the area. Some people have spent a lot of money in building these houses, but surely it is only a matter of time before the area takes another hit, the hurricane season lasts about 6 months of the year. It seems a big risk to me, the insurance companies would probably agree. Before long I was crossing another bridge and entering into the state of Mississippi, where the open marshland and inland waterways gave way to pine forests.<br /><br />At 6am I was woken by the sound of a vehicle right beside the tent. Somebody got out, I waited for them to speak, but after about a minute they drove off. The problem with heading east all the time is that the mornings get lighter earlier and earlier and the evenings darker. At 6am it is already light, but it is as good as dark at 5pm. I rode through more pine forests, then some more swamps and finally reached the beach. The sand is so white and fine, across the other side of the road more houses are being built. Some plots have the tell tale concrete bases that again reveal that this area was also hit badly by Hurricane Katrina. The Hurricane forced water towards the land and it was that excess water that caused the levees to be breached in New Orleans, but here there are no levees, the sea level just rose and caused floods up to a quarter of a mile inland, though here it receded quickly after the storm, but the exposed properties took a big hit from the winds too. Further along there was little evidence of damage, but plenty of evidence that those living here are not short of a dollar or two, every house was beautiful, it was all very picturesque. I passed through the larger towns of Gulfport and Biloxi. Casinos are going up like there is no tomorrow. It became state law that the casinos had to be built on water and had to float and were therefore mobile. The idea was that when there was a hurricane warning they could be moved onto the inland waterways, but when the need actually arose they couldn’t be moved as the bridges could not be opened as everybody was using them to evacuate the cities. Good planning eh? So the rule no longer applies and they aren’t hanging about, I guess they are building them quickly before the law changes again. I stopped at a pharmacy to try and get something for my sinus problem which I can’t seem to get rid of. They suggested some medication, then asked for ID. The only ID I have is my passport, I handed it over, then after 5 minutes of form filling which I had to sign, I was allowed to buy the stuff. It’s worse than the UK. I was going to get some paracetamol as well, but I didn’t think it was worth the hassle. I had had enough of the main road, I took a smaller road inland, I hoped it would be quieter for the night.<br /><br />The nights are cold again, though it has allowed my new sleeping bag to reveal its real qualities. Sometimes I am nice and snug during the night but have to get up for a pee, then I am surprised to find that the tent is either frozen or frosted. I set off in the morning on nice country roads passing through swamps and over rivers, heading through the villages of Wade and Hurley before leaving Mississippi and entering Alabama. The road changed to the 56 and I continued towards Mobile, then as I approached a turning to the right and 18 wheeler truck pulled out right in front of me. I swerved to the right to go down the turning he was coming out of, but his backend of the trailer was rapidly eating my valuable road space and the inevitable happened, I hit it side on and went crashing to the ground. Thankfully the truck stopped otherwise the rear end would have gone over the bike. The driver jumped out and yelled “Haven’t you got brakes on that thing?” to which I should have retorted with “Haven’t you got eyes in that thing” but instead opted for the more obvious “What the fuck are you doing, why did you pull out right in front of me, where was I supposed to go?”, “I didn’t see you” he replied “Well why don’t you try looking?” I said angrily “I did look, but I was looking for cars, I wasn’t looking for bikes”. Well that is very reassuring. The guy in the vehicle behind came over and said “He was totally in the wrong, you should call the state troopers. These truck drivers are always doing that and getting away with it”. I didn’t see the need but he added “Well by law he has to fill in an entry in his drivers log”. “I haven’t got it with me” the truck driver added, so to keep within in the law that I know nothing about the state troopers were called. About 10 minutes later an ambulance and two fire vehicles arrived, the ambulance woman came over and asked if I was ok, “I am fine, I just have bumps and bruises on my knee and elbow”, “Well let’s go over there and we will check you out”, so I went into the ambulance and sat in a nice comfy chair and she took my blood pressure “It’s a bit higher than normal, but so would mine be if I had just been hit by an 18 wheeler. Here, sign this”, “What is it?” I asked “Oh it’s just a form for you to tell us that you are ok”. I thought the idea was that they would tell me that, so in view of the fact that it didn’t seem a very thorough check I hinted they might check the bits that hurt by rolling up my sleeve and saying “Can you spare an antiseptic wipe for this?” to which she replied “Ooh, I wouldn’t do that, you will start it bleeding again. Here sign this”. I signed it. Based on the time factor alone it would appear to be a bigger health hazard to buy a packet of Sudafed than it is to collide with a thumping great truck! Wow, what can they put in that stuff? I am beginning to understand why people are so reluctant to have a National Health Service here, they don’t want to lose that quality care. I left the ambulance to be questioned by the fire guys “Are you from England?”, “Yes, I am”, “Where from?”, “Oxford”, “How far is that from Norwich?”, “About 150 miles, why?”, “Oh I used to live there for about 7 years, my parents were in the forces and hated it there, but I loved it”, “I used to live there too and I still support the football team.” I replied “Any idea how they got on against Wycombe Wanderers yesterday”, “Sorry, I don’t know”. I guess he can’t have loved it there that much then. They all departed together, safety in numbers. I think they were all a bit disappointed. Having answered a call saying a cyclist had been hit by an 18 wheeler they were at least expecting to have to scrape a few bits off the road. About 15 minutes later the police eventually arrived and wrote a report based on a very brief chat with both of us. Half an hour later he gave us the paper work and said we could go, but not before he had told me how to fill it in “Where is says vehicle, here, you put bicycle“ then after a little pause he said it pronounced and very slowly “B-i-c-y-c-l-e“. It seems that in a world where the car rules, where you have drive through restaurants, drive through banks and valet parking so that never have to use your legs, then if you have a bike you are assumed to have no job, no car, no life and to be as thick as two short planks. Oh heck, reading that back, that’s me! As the truck pulled away the officer returned to me and asked “Where on the truck did you hit? And where on the road were you when you came off the bike”. These were the first questions I had been asked but he did tell me that the driver had said he hadn’t been looking for bikes. I am sure in the UK if he had said that he would have been done for driving without due care and attention. I would love to have read the report, I guess it was something like “The big truck hit the cyclist. Thankfully the big truck and the driver are ok”. I think it is probably a good insight to what some people here think of cyclists. Two hours after the incident I carried onto into the large town of Mobile. Another ex<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEDpQKWn4AZPvvNHttGJPsIdHh4920ICxEYXARBj0dJpVjbTLu96qChU6oEiAksMWN8t9UI_uzPNPO5zhBGF7Nog1jLA2305C3kNsmJXusjZj3MJOwLcrkQl2kV_4J35GhQ2jp5s4u6Vgq/s1600-h/P1030854.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423672076539279458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEDpQKWn4AZPvvNHttGJPsIdHh4920ICxEYXARBj0dJpVjbTLu96qChU6oEiAksMWN8t9UI_uzPNPO5zhBGF7Nog1jLA2305C3kNsmJXusjZj3MJOwLcrkQl2kV_4J35GhQ2jp5s4u6Vgq/s320/P1030854.JPG" /></a>ample of how un cycle friendly it can be here would soon show itself. There were no provisions for either cycle or pedestrians to cross the river, I had to go to a bridge 3 miles north and the only way to reach it was along the freeway! But I got across without being stopped by the police again, then crossed another couple of bridges spanning about 7 miles to reach Spanish Fort. I called in at a gas station and was offered a free coffee without having to talk my way into it. It was getting dark, I had to turn it down, I really didn’t have time.<br /><br />My knee had been hurting all night, it hurt when I lay down, it hurt even more when I walked, I wondered if I would be able to cycle. The whole of my right side ached too, but my sinuses were clearing so it wasn‘t all bad. Strangely I felt perfectly ok when I was cycling, it is when I get off the bike that I have problems, but I would much rather it was that way around. I am sure in a couple of days all will be fine. I rode through back roads to Bay Minette, then rode through pine trees, the swamp has been left behind, at least for a while. It was a cold day, it never really warmed up, I didn’t remove any layers of clothing all day, even my gloves remained on the whole time. Whenever I stopped people said how cold it is for cycling, but like with my knee, it is much better when cycling rather than stopping. I tucked myself in for the night amongst some trees to try and stay a little warmer and reduced the condensation. The wind was picking up, still, it is January.<br /><br />As I cycled through New Orleans I heard some manic shouting, for some reason I thought it was aimed at me, though I never heard my name. I looked around but couldn’t see who or where it was coming from, beside I knew nobody here and for a change wasn’t doing anything stupid. I have just had a mail from Justin, the cyclist I stayed with in Prescott, Arizona, it was him. What a shame I never got to speak to him, I love little coincidences like that.<br /><br />With just over two months left on this trip I am beginning to think of home more and more, especially on the cold mornings when it is well below zero when I start cycling and my hands and feet become painfully cold, then I just wish I was home. On days like that I look at the map and New York seems such a long way off, odd that because when I looked at the same map when I was in San Francisco it seemed so close. I still remember the basics of the quote from the Alchemist though which was words to the effect of “the closer you get to fulfilling your dream, the harder it will become”. How true. </div></div>John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-7277826723885814092010-01-01T05:28:00.002+00:002010-01-01T05:35:14.627+00:00Day 957 - New Orleans<div><div><div>I decided to be clever and take route 90 around New Iberia, oh dear, a big mistake. It wasn’t a whole bunch of fun, a narrow fast dual carriageway without a shoulder and so narrow <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Y6UU22pMW3heyq2_Ds09QwP0aG7iHG3sijAbkqB4M4NQpdtRgSHaSOCcL6ylqXb8a9nLi7v9Kr7OH6mCgskkpI4r3uRXhs7s-RlX0SbS194n29WZMlpjT50XM_Jkm90KUNqssfjXDcQI/s1600-h/P1030774.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 319px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421639632283657746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Y6UU22pMW3heyq2_Ds09QwP0aG7iHG3sijAbkqB4M4NQpdtRgSHaSOCcL6ylqXb8a9nLi7v9Kr7OH6mCgskkpI4r3uRXhs7s-RlX0SbS194n29WZMlpjT50XM_Jkm90KUNqssfjXDcQI/s320/P1030774.JPG" /></a>across the bridges I had to breath in while I crossed them. Added to that the sides of the road were strewn with bits of sugar cane and needed to be avoided. I got off and onto the much smaller 182, but there was even more sugar cane with lorries full of the stuff passing me, some so full the wind force was blowing it out of the top, I was in danger of being hit by a 2 pound bag of sugar. Ok, so that is exaggerated a little, there was still a little work to be done on it before it found its way into a bag. The road ran alongside route 90 which was now a freeway, the land all around me was either flooded swamp or lived on, there was little else. I spotted a track heading alongside a wood, though it looked a used track so it seemed advisable to try and get some permission before I used it myself. I called at a house, they didn’t own the land but rather insisted that I camp on their ‘yard’ as they called it, but more like about 2 acres of fine grass and the best surface I have camped on since….ooooh….I can’t remember when. I had managed to knock on the right door again and received another truck load of southern hospitality. Wayne and Juanita live there and their daughter Mona and son-in-law Shahar where there for the holiday, all the way down from the San Francisco Bay area, though they had taken just 3 days compared with my 3 months. A pot of coffee was soon brewing, two loaves of pumpkin bread were cut, a shower was taken, chilli was cooked up and the conversation flowed, I was made very welcome indeed. Mona used the phrase “I am so glad that you called in at our house”. Now I normally try and camp without having to ask for permission, so when I do ask I really want to cause as little inconvenience as possible. Disturbing the family for the whole of the evening doesn’t really fit in with my genuine intentions, but when I here phrases such as that, I know for sure that I am indeed truly welcome, I have no more need to be concerned. I still find it odd though, people go out of their way to make sure I have everything I could possibly need, then they say “I am so glad that you called in at our house”, but it does enforce my view that most people in this world are good people.<br /><br />I had a long run into New Orleans, so I was up early, but didn’t leave before I had been given a coffee and instructed on the best way to get to and across the Mississippi river as bikes are not allowed on any of the crossings. They also kindly tried to give me more food but I was still fully loaded, though did manage to squeeze in a couple of pieces of pumpkin bread, you have to try the local fare, and this was home cooked after all. I passed through Thibodaux and missed my turning on route 1. As I headed back I was stopped at some traffic lights and decided to ask directions, I really didn’t want to lose any more time. A pickup truck pulled up alongside being driven by a strapping young lad. I tapped on the window, he looked at me as if to say “What!”, “Can you open the window please” I shouted miming the action at the same time. The window was opened half an inch. I put my mouth to the gap and shouted my question above the noise and he gave me clear and accurate directions, then drove off with his dog sat on his lap, the same position it had been in the whole time. Clearly an old fart on a bike was a major threat to his wellbeing, though driving around with a dog on his lap is a perfectly safe thing to do! I had to get back on to route 90, but Shahar and Wayne’s directions helped me cross the large Harvey Canal and get me to the ferry across the river, a vehicle ferry costing just $1 for a car and really only used by tourists and cyclists. Once on the other side I made my way through the Downtown area to Uptown, made very easy to find by following the Streetcar (old tram), where I easily found the home of Bill and Erin, my New Orleans hosts found through the Warm Showers website. They are both keen cyclists and I was surprised to find that Bill has his own mail order business selling bike parts to touring enthusiasts, so imagine my delight when I discovered that he was one of the few dealers in the USA to stock my tyres, Schwalbe Marathon XRs. So imagine my dismay when I discovered that he didn’t have any more of my size in stock as they don’t make them any more! His biggest selling product is the British made Brooks saddle. Bill was really impressed with mine, probably one of the oldest, tattiest and misshaped Brooks he had ever seen, though to me it is so comfortable and I dread the thought of having to replace it.<br /><br />In the morning my first stop was Bill’s office for a little tour around, then the rest of the day was spent dodging the rain, walking under the covered shop fronts, popping in a few, stopping for coffee etc, it wasn’t nice out there. I went into a camera shop to pass the time, being the only customer they latched on to me and tried to sell me a lens attachment I didn’t want for $899, “But a discount of $200 brings it down to a incredible bargain price of $699”. It was ultra wide angle, something I would love but this had the worst vignetting I have ever seen, it was a pile of junk, but they really didn’t want me to go empty handed, or more precisely with a full wallet, so two of them worked on me, t<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLWwgPUZlDJzMyWPi6lNTEHpNPdNVOil1773i9kq3yHFUs3GO_FOXVBgwbvQkrhYxUF93MLASW7e-6f1L5pdUxUsvU3XOxw06rnBeUSa_G-Yr2QlerLUSxyHUTfU1qa3JrlAMao8mlM06f/s1600-h/P1030744.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 205px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421640527752180290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLWwgPUZlDJzMyWPi6lNTEHpNPdNVOil1773i9kq3yHFUs3GO_FOXVBgwbvQkrhYxUF93MLASW7e-6f1L5pdUxUsvU3XOxw06rnBeUSa_G-Yr2QlerLUSxyHUTfU1qa3JrlAMao8mlM06f/s320/P1030744.JPG" /></a>he price dropped to $300, then one eventually said to the other “I don’t think he is going to buy it, he is not a buyer”, “Got it in one, that is what I keep telling you” I replied and with that they both walked off and grabbed some poor unsuspecting passer-by on the street. I met Shahar for coffee. His parents live in the city and he had kindly brought me maps to cover the rest of my journey to New York. I’ll tell you, I don’t deserve to be treated this well. It as really interesting to hear some of the recent but tragic history of New Orleans from Bill and Erin. In August 2005 Hurricane Katrina was on a direct path for New Orleans, there was a mandatory evacuation of the entire city, so armed with 3 days supply of clothes, they headed off to stay with family in Alabama. Whilst they were there they heard that the levees had been breached and the city had been flooded, nobody was allowed back into the city and the National Guard enforced road blocks. It was another 6 weeks before they were able to get back to their home. 80% of the city had been flooded, but as it is below sea level it was unlike a ’normal’ flood because it didn’t recede, the water remained there for weeks. They had no idea what had happened to their home, but Erin’s work moved to temporary accommodation in Lafayette and Bill had to do what he could from an office somebody had let him use. The hotels were full for miles around, shelters were set up but they managed to acquire a mobile home to stay in, which they also had to evacuate when Hurricane Rita came through. When they eventually returned home they were one of the lucky 20%, there was no flood damage at all though the roof had some wind damage and it is safe to say the food in the fridge was passed it’s ’best before’ date. The city was far from back to normal, most districts were still without electricity, the supermarkets and grocery stores remained closed for months, the restaurants were packed but could only serve food on paper plates, all of the traffic lights were out of action and it was to be months before any sense of normality returned and 2 years before the street car returned to service. Even now there is still plenty of damage and an enormous amount of work to be done and Katrina is still a subject I hear talked about pretty much everywhere I go around here.<br /><br />Bill and Erin very kindly took me on a tour of the city, all the bits that I would not have visited if I was sightseeing on my own. I could have only seen it with their local knowledge, they call it ’The Disaster Tour’. Just up the road from them was the first thing to look at, a gated entrance to a park, the water mark still clearly visible on the white paint. We carried on up to one of the levees. Nearby was a post with a height gauge, showing clearly that we were standing below sea level. Just a few metres away was a large canal complete with it’s new water pumps that get used even if they just have a bit of heavy rain as being below sea level it isn’t going to drain on it’s own. From the bridge we could see where the levee had been breached, many of the houses have gone, plots standing empty, other have been rebuilt, yet more are boarded up. This used to be a desirable and expensive place to live, the prices unsurprisingly have plummeted, others have moved in to the area now that it within their price range. We visited an area of another levee breach, this one being in a poorer community, it was totally devastated near to the breach, now all you can see is the concrete bases of houses, though work has just started on rebuilding in the area. A little further from the breach repaired home stand side-by-side with houses that are pretty much as they were immediately after Katrina. The sides are marked with large X’s, with information in each sector such as date checked and searched, number of dead people found, number of dead animals found etc. I was shocked by the state the place is still in. Back home disasters such as this drop from the news and we forget about it and with the passage of time was assume all is back to normal, but over 4 years on there is still an enormous amount of work to do. Many people have never returned, the city’s population is well down on pre Katrina. I found it morbid, yet thoroughly fascinating. I questioned why I was really wanting to see this, but it is really no different to seeing the likes of Hiroshima, it is just more recent history, that’s all. We stopped of at a café that Bill and Erin use with their cycling club, then we went our <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jVcjOkojh7svTcDoSQGdGa_0c0OtgJKFl1yeoifGmPVaRF7cP1hdmrYetTegmGTiwmn2XKjZIiUoZffUk-svV-dolzYQ_-1yLE2UAoiO4iI4AteEifNSFl0NobTWEJg2MhrvOwU1cxeG/s1600-h/P1030714.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421639629486083634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jVcjOkojh7svTcDoSQGdGa_0c0OtgJKFl1yeoifGmPVaRF7cP1hdmrYetTegmGTiwmn2XKjZIiUoZffUk-svV-dolzYQ_-1yLE2UAoiO4iI4AteEifNSFl0NobTWEJg2MhrvOwU1cxeG/s320/P1030714.JPG" /></a>separate ways. I walked the short distance to the thoroughly absorbing French Quarter, probably the most famous part of New Orleans. I hadn’t really picked a good day. The previous day’s rain had long gone to be replaced with lovely warm sunshine, I walked around in shirt sleeves. It was New Years Eve, the place was already filling with people out starting early on their binge, but to make matters worse the Cincinatti Bearcats are playing the Florida Gators in a college American Football match tomorrow, another 80,000 people have arrived and they don’t seem to be the quiet types that are heading to the nearest library to sit down with a good book! As the day wore on it got busier and nosier, hardly surprising.<br /><br />So tomorrow I am on the move again and as yet I haven’t planned a place for my next stop. I rather fancy a 10-14 day stretch without a stop, so I will ride for a week or so before I decide where my next break will be. I will be surprised if I can get through without another large slice of Southern Hospitality though.<br /><br />Have a joyful and prosperous New Year and a very big thank you to all those many people who have shown me such kindness through 2009, you have made it a wonderful year for me. </div></div></div>John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-37979095032433630512009-12-29T02:28:00.003+00:002009-12-29T02:34:30.255+00:00Day 954 - Morgan City, Louisiana<div><div><div>I left Silsbee with just the intention of taking it easy and trying not to make myself feel worse. I plodded into a slight headwind but made reasonable progress. By the time I had passed through Mauriceville it was time to start looking for a place to camp, the road ahead looked good, plenty<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6LFLO4_-t40aYzlUJCM7S-qDmf78onF-MRIscOTzKC-7R2mnKLzFyi7CPqoF2Jrte2x5LfquJRdU-BeskjjPBZv9Yy2PSgoSd-184mhhlzuFv0zm-0nDPndmlX8Qybtr6ga7btEdpx6QE/s1600-h/P1030627.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 209px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420480051130160738" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6LFLO4_-t40aYzlUJCM7S-qDmf78onF-MRIscOTzKC-7R2mnKLzFyi7CPqoF2Jrte2x5LfquJRdU-BeskjjPBZv9Yy2PSgoSd-184mhhlzuFv0zm-0nDPndmlX8Qybtr6ga7btEdpx6QE/s320/P1030627.JPG" /></a> of pine trees, but the whole way along there were properties with large areas of land, it wasn’t looking so good after all, but it was getting dark. Things started to look a bit desperate so when I spotted a wrecked old mobile home with a junkyard around it I went in for a little look around. With all the recent rain the track was muddy and by the time I had gone just a short distance the tyres were all clogged up with mud so I got off and walked which just meant my shoes got muddy too. Despite it being totally unsuitable for camping I decided this was where I had to stay, I really had no time to carry on. I crossed over a little stream and found a small compacted mud area between the debris of cleared woodland. Water was all around, but it would be fine if it didn’t rain, I felt pretty sure it wouldn’t, it hadn’t really rained all day. Thankfully I was right for a change……for the first hour, then there was a thunder storm that resulted in heavy rain for half an hour leaving the vestibule under water, I would just have to cook with the stove in water. If it didn’t rain again at least I had a chance that it would drain away by morning.<br />At 5am I was awoken by another thunder storm, this one even worse. Lightening flashed overhead followed by deafening thunder, all assisted by strong wind and heavy rain. It was Christmas Eve morning and my plans were already being washed away. I had intended to stop and ask to camp behind a church, then join them for the service and see what happened from there, but who would even want to sit next to me if I was covered in mud and soaking wet? By the time I packed up the worst was over, the bike and my shoes picked up half a ton of mud but other than that things weren’t looking too bad. I cycled along in the rain riding through all the puddles to try and clean as much off as possible. A few miles brought me to a bridge over a river and away from Texas and into Louisiana, where everything seemed to change quickly. People called out to me as I passed through a village, though I couldn’t understand a single word, I can only assume they were speaking English. The rain stopped and I reached a junction with gas stations and casinos, gambling is obviously very legal here. Having had a bite and a warm drink my spirits were lifted. I didn’t so much as people watch as people listen, their accents were completely different and very strong. I carried on to Lake Charles, I was running out of map and didn’t have one of Louisiana yet. I crossed another large river on the I10, it was steep and horribly narrow, you just take you life in your hand and try and get across as fast as possible, but this was a big bridge. I searched around in Lake Charles for a map, I couldn’t find one, being Christmas Eve most places were shut. I had no idea of my route out, though I guessed it was east so I could at least use my compass….oh, hang on a minute! I would have to ask people the way, “Excuse me, I don’t know where I want to get to and have no idea of the road name or number, but I think I need to go east, can you help me?”. I wasn’t feeling confident. But I am an experienced and resourceful cyclist, I have other navigational tools, I had the wind, it had been pushing me nicely along, I just had to make sure the wind was still pushing me along “Can you tell me which way the wind is going?”, “Hell Boy, it gonna be blowin’ THAT way”. Thankfully I found a map and continued eastwards on the US90, I cycled with ease, cruising along at an effortless 30kph, it was so easy that I didn’t want to turn south and head to Hayes and route 14, but that was the way I had chosen to go. The landscape was now was very flat, I don’t expect to see even a slope for days now. The land was pretty though, fields were interspersed with house that had plenty of land, mainly smallish wooden houses, some were mobile homes. I decided that I would not go any further than Hayes and as I rode along I thought to myself “Some poor family is quietly making their final preparations for Christmas and some smelly, muddy English cyclist is about to walk into their lives and bugger everything up for them“. Hayes wasn’t big, but despite churches being everywhere there didn’t seem to be one here. I asked a family outside their house and was told it was a little further on. I soon found a Baptist Church and checked around the back for camping. Despite being decent grass it was very squelchy under foot, but I would still hope to camp there. I checked the church and the small building next door, nothing was open, time to try a house to see if I could locate the Pastor. There was no answer at the first, there was at the second. There were two women there making there final preparations on some lovely looking Christmas food. They told me the Pastor was in a village that was miles away and the Christmas service had been on Wednesday, I had already missed it by 24 hours. “The nearest one will be Lake Arthur another 18 miles further on”, “Hmm, I will never make it today, thanks, but I think I will have to give up on a church service tonight”. “Do you need anything? Do you need any money?” I was asked “No thanks I have everything I need…oh, hang on a minute, can you spare a little water?”, so as I filled my water bottle I was asked “Where are you going to stay tonight”, “Oh I will just head out of the village a bit and find somewhere to camp”, “Well if you ask my husband you could sleep in our camper van”, she gave him a call and within a couple of minutes he returned to the house and kindly said I could stop in the van. I took my bike around the back expecting to see a small caravan but suddenly realised I was being offered a brand new monster thingy, one of those where the sides extend out to make it even bigger. This was no camper van, it was a small luxurious house. Mickey switched on the electrics, water and hot water, showed me around the mansion and said “Come and j<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiyeIWJt_CuhBQ_ryULkLyXDSu8VUPupTO4ZXLqG1nRBF72NmFMGVAuCaTLj7A2S1G5G8yu8FSWQfwnQsGttbqkWSzzJXuVYrzjUW4bPkK2YwfuIDtjEDMNoAVbNxryqOMXN6eOAsFjg-Q/s1600-h/P1030630.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 226px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420480577613124226" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiyeIWJt_CuhBQ_ryULkLyXDSu8VUPupTO4ZXLqG1nRBF72NmFMGVAuCaTLj7A2S1G5G8yu8FSWQfwnQsGttbqkWSzzJXuVYrzjUW4bPkK2YwfuIDtjEDMNoAVbNxryqOMXN6eOAsFjg-Q/s320/P1030630.JPG" /></a>oin us in the house for something to eat when you are ready”. Wow, I had landed on my feet again with the free run of a $50,000 brand new mobile home, and they called this camping! After a wonderfully hot shower I joined them in the house. There was Mickey and Martha and their daughter Jill, her partner Kyle and her son Kamron and I was offered more than I wanted and made to feel very at home. We asked each other questions and chatted away and despite it being Christmas Eve I was soon on my favourite subjects of guns, politics and religion, all guaranteed to create an interesting discussion. “Ah, we have heaps of guns, I always carry one with me the whole time. In these parts every car and every house will have guns, it’s just a way of life”. I was shown a few “Are any of these loaded?” I asked cautiously, must gun deaths here are caused by accidents and I didn’t want to add to the statistics, “No, only that pistol on the counter over there, that is the one I usually carry around with me”. At one point I asked Mickey “So what did you think when a scruffy Englishman turned up on your doorstep this evening?”, I was surprised at his reply of “I thought God had sent you here”. It’s an interesting answer as I always think that I am being looked after. I was also shown pictures of their nearby second home which Mickey had built with a little help from the families. It was wrecked by Hurricane Rita, the one that arrived just three months after Katrina had destroyed much of New Orleans. They had completely rebuilt it only to see it completely wrecked 18 months ago by Hurricane Ike, this time with 3 feet of water in the house. Mickey had rebuilt it in 5 weeks and raised it on to 7ft stilts so that it would not happen again. They were a wonderful family and even offered me the chance to stay on Christmas Day and have dinner with Martha’s family. I would think about it, but this seemed too good an opportunity to miss, to see how Americans really celebrate Christmas. Let me ask you a quick question, what would you do if a complete stranger arrived on your doorstep at 5pm on Christmas Eve?<br /><br />After a breakfast of delicious biscuits (a cross between bread rolls and scones) and figs we went to their daughter’s Jill’s house who I had met the previous evening. Now Hayes, like all the other villages in southern Louisiana, has a very tight knit little community. Now you remember the close community of Terlingua Ghost Town don’t you, well it was nothing like that. As we just drove a block down the road with presents in the boot (trunk) of the car Mickey said “That’s my sister’s house, that’s my brother’s house, that’s my niece’s house, that’s my daughter’s house, in fact everybody in this street is our family. Mickey’s family also live in Hayes, we known everybody in Hayes and Bell City, the next village along”. In fact I later noticed that the street name was the family name. Each village had a population of about a 1000. This really was a family affair like I have never seen before. It was great to see presents around a tree, then Michael their son arrived with his partner Danielle and the present opening started, I was amazed, there was even one for me! The men’s gift seemed to focus on hunting, though thankfully they hadn’t given me a gun! Around mid day we drove the short distance to Martha’s parent’s house, where I was assured there would be plenty more family to meet (photo, Mickey, Jill and Martha are 1st, 2nd and 4th from the left respectively). And by heck there were too, I was introduced to them all as they arrived but I am sure they must have got fed up with my constant question of “Ok, remind me who you are and where you fit in with the rest of the family”. Dinner was delicious and a traditional winter Louisiana meal of Gumbo, a sort of spicy seafood broth. They were a bit surprised when I helped with drying up the dishes “Men here never do that, it’s a woman’s job” to which Kyle called out “It’s the men’s job to watch the football”. As time went by it was noticeable that there was a split, the men sat outside around a fire listening to Cajun music and talking about hunting, football and drinking beer, all the manly stuff, and the women sat inside and talked about all sorts. It was much colder than of late and being as I can sit around in the cold almost any evening I want, I opted to stay inside where I was bombarded with questions and Brooke, the bossy one (actually not really bossy but the source of most of the questions) insisted that I take their family photo and that I put it on the blog (photo), so there you go Brooke, job done, sorry it is not a very good quality photograph! Martha has 5 siblings, all married with kids, so there must have been about 30 people there over the course of the day, but they were all wonderful, especially her parents who tried to ensure that I ate and drank as mush as possible and that I made myself at home. And I certainly felt very at home, I had met 5 people yesterday and the rest today, yet I felt very comfortable with them all, lovely people, a wonderful family. Most lived in the village, some a few miles away and the furthest just across the border into Texas. We left around 22:30, I couldn’t quite work out where the day had gone, but a wonderful Christmas Day that I shall never forget, I am sure I will remember it at every Christmas in the future.<br /><br />I took up their offer and stayed for Boxing Day, not that they have Boxing Day here. Mickey took me out to their second home, which they call the camp. They acquired it as a rough piece of land 8 years ago and it is now a beautifully landscaped, located by a large river, complete with hook ups so that other people can bring their camper vans down and join them. Mickey and Martha had done all the work themselves, Mickey being a very talented builder/electrician/etc. I was really impressed with it and Mickey said he loved it most when other people could use it and enjoy it. We then went back and switched from the truck into the little 4x4 buggy and he took me through rough tracks and water which I thought we would never get through, to show me the hunting hides he had built around the fields, there is no stopping this guy he is a workaholic! Then it was into the BMW and back into Lake Charles where the 6 of us that had been together when I arrived went to a seafood restaurant and they bought me a meal of Crawfish, a local seafood and rather like a small freshwater lobster, though judging by the amount we got through on our table they must almost be extinct! This is now Cajun country where some people still speak French as the area was originally settled by French speakers from Canada. As we drove around I listened to the lively Cajun music that heavily features the accordion and the fiddle. A tour of the town brought us to their church which holds 2000 people, then back home before visiting Ronnie, Mickey’s brothe<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9s72q1EGP22FqFWzCBol9maS7yq-DXU0QQKwfHNDYYzvBi0QyBOGC8T9v5GEoicBU_2HylXtVUB1TrZs9xcQlr_HudAZMY8SUEzXh3wsW9tm78RjNk9isOoQVnv0nrHj2kYe5jsLhagaF/s1600-h/P1030643.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 190px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420480062970233650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9s72q1EGP22FqFWzCBol9maS7yq-DXU0QQKwfHNDYYzvBi0QyBOGC8T9v5GEoicBU_2HylXtVUB1TrZs9xcQlr_HudAZMY8SUEzXh3wsW9tm78RjNk9isOoQVnv0nrHj2kYe5jsLhagaF/s320/P1030643.JPG" /></a>r whose garage was more like a museum with antiques on the wall and beautifully restored old cars on the floor. In the fields we pass birds that I thought were flamingos, but they turned out to be spoonbills. Spoonbills are normally white, but these had bright pink wings caused by the crawfish that they eat, I just hope I don’t turn pink, it really isn’t a colour that suites me! We then headed out for another meal with Martha’s parents. What fabulous people I had been lucky enough to stumble upon and who had opened their hearts to me at Christmas time. They are relatively wealthy but have chosen not to move to a larger house, but they do give large sums of money to those around them that are less fortunate than themselves, they are wonderful, kind and generous people who I shall never forget.<br /><br />Even as I was about to leave the following morning Mickey and Martha’s generosity was shining through as Martha asked “Are you sure you don’t need dome money”. I gave my standard reply of “Thanks, but it is me that has chosen to put myself in this position” to which she replied “Yes, but it also nice to be blessed at times”, a good point, but I had been blessed over the last two days with their generosity, company and conversation, and money just can’t buy that. I set off on a nice sunny morning, the fields looked wonderful. People’s gardens had what looked like mole hills, but they were mounds created by the crawfish and flooded fields I passed had the nets in them to trap them all. I also passed swamp land and rivers. This is prime alligator territory, but I didn’t see any, it is a bit cold for them and they tend to bury themselves, the only one I saw was road kill. The going was very flat so a steady speed, though after Lake Arthur I had a nice tailwind and the riding was very easy going, through rice fields and later fields of sugar cane. I made good progress and it seems I have misjudged the distance to New Orleans and I would now guess it will be just 3 days riding and not the 4 or 5 that I had anticipated. Louisiana is known as “Sportsman’s Paradise”, but the sport is the wildlife. Being a Sunday I saw no end of people men in camouflage heading off for a bit of hunting. I’ll tell you what, if I was a duck this is the last place I would come for a holiday! </div></div></div>John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-31528549375290315442009-12-23T18:36:00.005+00:002009-12-23T18:49:38.778+00:00Day 949 - Silsbee<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:180%;">Merry Christmas y’all</span>.</span><br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 332px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418502978340368610" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjACTmnVnDG3zQAIAxBGVUiJ126ACGA3J6MhWI1LgJuoWkWXJWsaWzWb8Yy4_3Q6_ABQr4N2PqJ8h9amms1EQbuiyQjzInQx7jvKsbyRo7fqV3hsbJUTe9_uWYaSEuEHHt7rUl5_4qz1G6f/s400/P1030615.JPG" /><br />For those that don’t know or realise, Santa is sat on the shape of Texas, in the style of the Texan Flag. It is known as the lone star state, people have flags and lone star things everywhere.<br /><br />Being pretty much bike less in Austin was tricky, though Mary was ever willing to run me around, show me the sights and the places to eat. In the car she carried around a few packages for Christmas gifts for the homeless, of which there are plenty here. As we stopped at some traffic lights she gave a package to a man, it was a lovely gesture of her part, but I was really taken with the man’s reaction, he was truly thankful and gave a wonderful smile, I found it uplifting.<br /><br />The wheel rim arrived on Friday as I had hoped, I took the wheel in and within a couple of hours they called me back to say it was ready for collection, a good service indeed and they even gave me some discount on a chain I bought at the same time. Whilst we were there a Brompton salesman arrived with a couple of folding bikes. Folding bikes are a rare thing in the US so everybody was fascinated by them, especially the speed and the size the folded down to. Back at the house I adjusted the brakes to cater for a slightly wider rim and replaced the chain, then took the bike out for a test ride in the dark, then made a mistake I haven’t made in a long time and rode on the wrong side of the road. Even when a car was coming straight at me my first thought was “What is this idiot doing?”…whoopsie!<br /><br />So Saturday morning I was ready to go. I set off with a new map case and had thrown the old one away, everything looked so clear for a change. I was also wearing a new pair of sock, well, technically not new, second hand, but they were going free, so I now have to decide what to do with all that money I have saved through stealing loo rolls, I think I have saved as much as 50 cents now. I dropped down the steep hill and braked hard to stop at a junction. Whilst I had been in Austin I felt I could still have used the bike, but having made this stop I was glad I didn’t, I think the pressure on the rim would have completely shattered it. First stop was the library, so I finally set off about midday. I didn’t get very far, I was too tempted by a café I passed. Whilst I was there a guy was checking out my bike, then he came in and had a <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxjes84cm6HBEl6-YlVM_8aU9juIABaPRZDUz0ZiE8ld0_Yqhyd5xO-BIdI4Yb8VdxL-OtZxH1r1fayaA13OhyphenhyphenvKTZGO2PfALvZ0UKXawtgsMZ8pSSAikxMHmA_N1o0GOhpyL7qRYu708x/s1600-h/P1030608.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 236px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418504120059849314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxjes84cm6HBEl6-YlVM_8aU9juIABaPRZDUz0ZiE8ld0_Yqhyd5xO-BIdI4Yb8VdxL-OtZxH1r1fayaA13OhyphenhyphenvKTZGO2PfALvZ0UKXawtgsMZ8pSSAikxMHmA_N1o0GOhpyL7qRYu708x/s320/P1030608.JPG" /></a>chat. He was Jacob, about 21 and a cycle tourist himself. Outside I saw his new looking Surly with its Brookes saddle, a nice set up. He was bubbling with enthusiasm, and when I told him I was heading for New Orleans he told me he had just cycled back from there “I would really love to join you, I could do, I don’t have a job at the moment….it’s so tempting…nah, I had better not, I only have $70 and I would slow you down anyway”. I was tempted to persuade him, I think he would have been fun and good company. He had to go, I was sorry when he left, though he gave me a contact for New Orleans, more cyclists. It was about 14:30 before I eventually made my way out of Austin, I wasn’t going to get very far. I quickly covered about 60km, it was easy going. I stocked up with food in Bastrop, then passed a large wood with a path leading into it, I jumped at the opportunity, even if it was a little close to the road, but I was nice and secluded.<br /><br />The following morning as I rejoined the road I suddenly realised I didn’t have a compass. Sod it, I had thrown it away with the old map case, still, I hardly ever use it, who needs a compass anyway? The road was easy going again, just what I needed, I was going well. I carried on along the 71, then saw a sign saying “Smithsville, next 3 exits”….Smithsville, I shouldn’t be anywhere near Smithsville…shit! I checked the map and where there were two sections of road with no numbers marked, I had taken the wrong one assuming I needed to remain on the 71. A basic mistake, but I am sure if I had had my compass I would have seen I was heading in the wrong direction. I think my loo roll money will have to go towards a new compass, I would have preferred it to have gone on socks, they are cheaper. I stopped at a gas station and checked their road atlas whilst I had a break. I was glad I did, I don’t have a map of Louisiana and where I was going to enter from Texas would have meant a much longer and less interesting route, so I have replanned the route almost entirely. Whilst I looked at the map I had a piece of carrot cake, but this is Texas, it was a big piece. I struggled back to the table with it, carrying it in a wheelbarrow and by the time I had finished it I felt sick, but that may have been caused by the two pints of white chocolate caramel cappuccino I washed it down with……hey, I do have healthy diet ok! That cake had carrots in it! By 14:30 I was at last back on the route I had meant to be on this morning. In Brenham I asked which way the 150 left town, nobody knew and I couldn’t remember the name of the next town I was heading for, the map was outside. I am so missing my compass, I think I must have checked the direction far more than I realised. The camping situation wasn’t good. Having asked somebody where I could camp I was directed to the picnic area a little further along the road “Isn’t it right next to the road?” I asked, “No, it’s set back from the road”. Well it’s all a matter of opinion, to me it was right next to the road, “set back” in this case was about 40m! Beggars can’t be choosers, I set up the tent.<br /><br />The road continued to roll to Navasota, it was more hilly than Texas Hill Country. At Richards I stopped in a very quaint and cheap little café that soon started to fill up. A guy sat on the next table and asked “Are you on the Southern Tier?” It’s a mapped cycled route across the southern states and clearly my route was crossing it. He was a cyclist from Navasota and said “You will probably reach New Orleans in a couple of days. I thought it was still another 500 miles so I guess he must be a faster rider than me. Two days later I was still in Texas! The back road out was pretty, I was heading for Sam Houston National Forest, it was lovely and had little traffic. I passed wonderful lakes that would have been perfect for camping but I am never in the right place at the right time. I reached New Waverly, I assumed I was still on the Southern Tier as I was asked “Are you coming or going?”. I left town heading for some more of the forest, but it never seemed to arrive. I was passing ramshackle dwellings, mostly mobile homes, but all with piles of junk outside complete with the obligatory wrecked and rusting large old Americans cars scattering the land. It is a very different America to what I have seen so far, I guess I am entering the Deep South. There are far more black people here, some would call out “Merry Christmas Sir” and wave, all very friendly. Most of the properties have dogs, they run along the inside of the boundary fences to see me off, though some get out and chase me, though they don’t seem to be aggressive. I tend to wind them up so that they keep running flat out, how immature!<br /><br />I left Austin with a very sore throat, now it was turning into a full blown heavy cold, I really didn’t feel like going far, but I had to push on. I started with a head wind, progress was painfully slow, just what I needed! On reflection a head wind wasn’t a bad thing, my nose was streaming, I was constantly clearing out snot as I went along, the headwind made sure it was carried well clear of the rear panniers, the last thing I wanted was to have the panniers caked in a couple of pounds of dried snot. On a day like today McDonalds was a God send, I went in and didn’t want to leave, at least I could use a load of their napkins as handkerchiefs. But leave I had to. The wind dropped and the rain arrived, for the next 20 miles it rained hard, I got a thorough soaking for the first time since Korea, but this time I was wearing shoes and socks and me feet squelched. I stopped at a gas station and rung out my new socks, it’s seems they are not going to be lucky socks! “Hey, I love you accent, where are you from?” I was asked. The rain had stopped when I arrived, it started again when I left, it was going to be one of those days. The <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFPmD4AqZYK4TdlJ4mgijeX8nHvsB3MQwS2_9THwopbq1yLupHjk-00oYWSZC397JT_a61PyZ39Rz69c7faVWBo9ZvbGJWMEM_pxqHAyIPl00KfVv6QqcSODsLRBZrKtGQ0F20DwhCAD-l/s1600-h/P1030616.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418505017576694706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFPmD4AqZYK4TdlJ4mgijeX8nHvsB3MQwS2_9THwopbq1yLupHjk-00oYWSZC397JT_a61PyZ39Rz69c7faVWBo9ZvbGJWMEM_pxqHAyIPl00KfVv6QqcSODsLRBZrKtGQ0F20DwhCAD-l/s320/P1030616.JPG" /></a>ground is generally pretty swampy now, clearly it rains a lot in these parts. I rode past Big Thicket National Reserve where the bush was both thick and swampy. I struggled to find a place to camp and eventually turned through a gate that said “No Trespassing”. I carried on a little way until I arrived at some hunting hides. I camped in full view of them. In the unlikely event that somebody should turn up and use them I didn’t want to be concealed and mistaken for a bit of wildlife, though as yet I haven’t seen any deer coming out of tents wearing faded red T-shirts! On the subject of wildlife the most common road kill on the hit list (excuse the pun) seems to be Armadillo, I bet that makes a funny scrunch, followed by raccoons, though as yet I haven’t seen either of them alive, shame.<br /><br />It was a warm wet night, I hardly needed a sleeping bag. By morning the ground was waterlogged. Warm and wet signalled the return of my old buddies, the mosquitos…happy days. I set off feeling worse than the previous day with the intention of not pushing too hard, but concentrating on staying as warm and as dry as possible.John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-37311319796448343962009-12-17T21:12:00.004+00:002009-12-17T21:20:16.960+00:00Day 943 - Austin<div><div><div>I didn’t have to be in Austin until Monday, it was only 82 miles along the direct route, so I asked Andreas if I could stay another day with them in San Antonio. He said that was no problem and even took me out to lunch. It was another sociable and late night. I am an old fart! It was catching up with me so I returned with Andreas leaving the party animals to return in the wee small hours.<br /><br />Even as I was departing the following morning Jana and Andreas were still trying to sort me out a place to stay for the evening, bless them. They have been a wonderful family to stay with, <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOwhxIYMaH4RI_yXdx6OQaxFqGF8qrNOYh_Lc2rf9o5jPSrMKOUuNtoM_7sLNxVhOQjP1lhIhO1PAr9JNKUvP4fYkgSW-M87dyxmdqwxieyEFFec3-wFr5kYQirOP3m54R9aoMdoEpxSj1/s1600-h/P1030545.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 265px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416316630978989826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOwhxIYMaH4RI_yXdx6OQaxFqGF8qrNOYh_Lc2rf9o5jPSrMKOUuNtoM_7sLNxVhOQjP1lhIhO1PAr9JNKUvP4fYkgSW-M87dyxmdqwxieyEFFec3-wFr5kYQirOP3m54R9aoMdoEpxSj1/s320/P1030545.JPG" /></a>talented musicians and very sociable hosts, I have enjoyed myself here immensely. Niko and Rachael will soon be off to Nashville as they have been asked to go there for a few days to do some recording so that there work can be promoted, I wish them all the very best with that. Whilst I stayed with them I saw a sign saying “The family that plays together, stays together” and it certainly seemed to be very true in their case. The route out of town was dead easy, up to the end of the road, left onto Blanco, then just keep going straight. For a Sunday it was really busy, I decided to change my route as I went along, though I never really escaped the traffic, I just probably found more of it. I got there slowly, heading out of town towards Texas Hill County. Yeah, I guess it was hilly, but it was rather like typical British hills, up and down but nothing very high. Despite getting onto the smaller roads that lacked even the smallest of signposts there was still an alarming amount of traffic. The days of deserted roads seem to be over with now. There were houses dotted around the landscape, there was nothing that wasn’t owned and lived on, it didn’t look good for camping, but that is the way it will be from now on, only worse the further north I go. As dusk approached I decided I would have to ask to camp on somebody’s land, there was little option. Most of the gates were large and firmly locked, rather unwelcoming, unexpected guests are not the norm around here it would seem. I looked for a gate that was open, went down the long gravel drive and found nobody at home, probably the reason why the gate was open. A little further on I found some open land with trees set back from the road, so headed across, somewhat wet under foot, but beggars can’t be choosers. I set up my new tent for the first time, a Hilleberg tent, the Rolls Royce of tents. I was surprised to find it a reasonable bit bigger than my old tent, it felt like luxury. Down stairs there is a kitchen, lounge and dining room, upstairs there are three bedrooms. Outside there is a garage and car port, plenty of space for the bike and a large garden, though that tends to vary in size depending on where I camp. The only problem is that it has a outside restroom (loo to you folk at home). Once set up I took out the new sleeping bag, a wonderful down filled thing that should keep me warm at -8c, and down to about -15c if I added the nice snug liner I have to go with it. But what did I need all that for? It was a lovely warm night that didn’t drop below 15c. I was so pissed off, it was so hot that I couldn’t even sleep in the sleeping bag….what a waste of money!<br /><br />It did rain a little over night, so that was a relief! I went of 3 months packing the tent away bone dry every morning, but a few nights ago I packed it away wet for the first time and have packed it away wet every morning since, the days of a dry tent are over too. I soon passed through the lovely little town of Wimberley, the roads were like roads at home, no shoulder, so traffic was passing close. I reached the 290 that would take me east to Austin, the state capital of Texas. It had a shoulder of sorts, but there were also plen<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi32ueGGrvriHn1UNNgdhNFcqJfFfM0_8-M1dlVQfiO2TOprdGNOsnV8qQMCDRQt9KAgpnUyBYSVcgMz-unGI2BGmGv4SgJQIPacrc-Rt6vDnyBDo8-B_mlp89rPZ0Z4NC3_J6H-z8_Qnq6/s1600-h/P1030570.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 205px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416317473394301586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi32ueGGrvriHn1UNNgdhNFcqJfFfM0_8-M1dlVQfiO2TOprdGNOsnV8qQMCDRQt9KAgpnUyBYSVcgMz-unGI2BGmGv4SgJQIPacrc-Rt6vDnyBDo8-B_mlp89rPZ0Z4NC3_J6H-z8_Qnq6/s320/P1030570.JPG" /></a>ty of road works to make additional hazards. Yesterday had been wall to wall sunshine, but today was back to the normal gloom. As I used the brakes to slow down at some traffic lights I heard a rather menacing clicking noise from the back wheel, one that I had experience about 5 years ago on another bike. I was pretty sure what it was so chose to ignore it in the hope that it would lose interest and was just attention seeking. As I used the brakes at the next set of lights it sounded worse. I got of to have a look at the problem, it had succeeded in grabbing my attention. There was a nice split about 2 inches long in the rim, I cursed the roads of San Antonio that had caused it. They were terrible roads, I was bounced all over the place as I rode along, it had clearly caused the split in the rim, it had nothing to so with the fact that I had ridden over 35,000 miles on that rim with 50 pounds of crap on the back, braking hard through the mountains, no, no, no, it had nothing to do with all that, it was certainly those roads in San Antonio, despite the fact that I was now over 60 miles from it. I only had about 20kms to go to get to Austin, but I was really concerned that the rim would fail completely. I did what I could to relieve the stress on it, I released most of the air out of the tube to reduce the pressure and I did my best to reduce the weight on the back. I thought I was rather clever on the latter, I managed to off load four $1 notes and swap them for a large coffee and a milkshake, that should reduce the weight and help no end. I made my way into Austin very gingerly, avoiding any bump that I could. I little stone pinged around the mudguard and hit me on the leg, it made me jump, for a second I thought the rim had shattered completely. But I made it and arrived safely at my next Couch Surfing host. It was early afternoon and Mary needed to get out of the house as her daughter had to give a piano lesson, so we zipped around town visiting all the bike shops. This is a cycling enthusiasts place, Lance Armstrong lives here and has an investment in Mellow Johnny’s, one of the bike shops we visited, but I couldn’t find a 36 hole rim anywhere in town, they are all a bunch of roadies, with nothing more that a 32 hole rim, most a lot less. I wanted to replace the rim with the same as I have, a Sun Rhino, but it seems they do not exist anymore, so a Sun Rhino Lite rim will be with me in 4 days time depending on the weather, that is a Friday so it’s pushing it a bit. It looks as though my stay in Austin is going to be much longer than expected. We also made a visit to the post office where I picked up my new bank card and even a Christmas Pressie. I called in to the first ATM we could find, it worked, I had made it with just $6 to spare, what a relief. </div><div><br />So it is at least another two days before I have a rebuilt back wheel with a shiny new rim, but I have been enjoying my stay in Austin. I took a walk around the city centre making my first stop the Capitol building. It was built in 1888 and stands 15 feet taller than the US Capitol building in Washing D.C., well this is Texas after all. I was surprised to find that I was able to wander in without even having my bags checked, probably due to the holidays. As I took a few snaps (photo) the guards only really seemed interested in where I was from and having a chat. I guess that shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it did. The American people are wonderful, always friendly and willing for a chat, so different from what I was expecting before I arrived here. I used to think they would all be loud and brash, they are not, I guess it is just the loud brash type that stand out and are noticed. I made my way south of the river to some wonderful quirky shops, best of all being a massive party costume shop and the nearby ‘Uncommon Things’, basically little antiques in a shop which felt more like a museum. I ate a burger at Fran’s, which reminds me, the further east I head the greater number of larger people I seem to see. There are all sorts of burger places here including a chain called Sonic, a drive in place where you park up with a menu beside the window, order your food which is then brought out to you and you sit in you car and eat. But Austin is mainly about the nightlife and the main reason I came here, though these late nights are tough! Music is the main entertainment, there are literally hundreds of places to see live music and Mary has so far taken me to see Toni Price and to Antone’s, the centre of Blues music in Austin where we saw Malford Milligan. What a guy he is, his band played a while before he came on, but his presence was more impressive than his singing, he loved the music and was a real joy to watch. He is an unusual guy too, he is black but an albino, a big guy and odd looking until you realise he is albino. Toni Price sang a wonderful song called ‘Richest One’, a song I heard for the first time a few days back sang by Jana Laven in San Antonio, then heard it again on a CD chosen sort of randomishly by Mary yesterday, spooky <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6h464XzLJDmzd2hKFPT4RUqMuunAWRn17iHLtCR5o6XOHDyCx6VFYz_GU6izlsl2ulY1_XeTY6EPSBPF5SGgUS6FDfOGsJowxfBYsFc_XMVQYatwHsECbehrVyvepGuTzAdFqKj49z_YE/s1600-h/P1030592.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416316640233509010" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6h464XzLJDmzd2hKFPT4RUqMuunAWRn17iHLtCR5o6XOHDyCx6VFYz_GU6izlsl2ulY1_XeTY6EPSBPF5SGgUS6FDfOGsJowxfBYsFc_XMVQYatwHsECbehrVyvepGuTzAdFqKj49z_YE/s320/P1030592.JPG" /></a>that, 3 times I have heard it in a single week, but I love it, it’s a great song. I am getting into the Christmas spirit too, I helped Mary put up her Christmas tree yesterday, but tonight we are heading out for some more music. I have also been shown some of the restaurants whilst I have been here and had a meal with Mary’s daughter Kelly and her partner Michael at a fabulous Mexican place, the Avocado Margarita going down particularly well. I had already met her other daughter Rebecca and her partner, Couch Surfing offers a great social life.<br /><br />I had rather expected to be in New Orleans for Christmas which would have been a bit of a problem trying to find somewhere to stay, but with the delay here caused by my rear wheel it looks as though I shall be cycling and camping on Christmas Day, so that sort of solves the problem rather unexpectedly. This will be my third Christmas away, but the first time I will be cycling through Christmas, so it will be different that’s for sure.<br /><br />Right now I am in the brand new ‘Laura Bush Library’, a name that hasn’t gone down too well with some of the locals, but I have to say the library facilities here is the USA are very good. Sometimes I am reminded rather harshly how long I have been travelling. I have just read a very sad email telling me that somebody I stayed with just over a year ago in Australia has died of Cancer. I feel very saddened, I was made so welcome there, I felt I may well meet them again some day, but it seems that is not to be the case. Life on the road is pretty good most of the time, but sometimes it can be shit! </div></div></div>John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-88436428749574135592009-12-12T20:13:00.012+00:002009-12-12T21:15:37.739+00:00Day 938 - San Antonio<img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 275px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxlcdnn5dljKr4qs9iv2ZEkYUNGfNiOD1euGvu0a5SSWfSQlGYJ7irltnj5Qmyd7eb6UN-o8HwmZ80CJIQBy_3TU-aKKABEz0ApW9SJVNN5Grnr6_hbooAQ8hjZ7_UbechxXjPG13WCsWG/s320/P1030467.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414457082688575090" /><div>I made my out of Del Rio, it was warming up nicely, nicely enough to eventually peel off down to shorts and t-shirt, that's more like it. I was heading away from the Mexican border but surprised to find that the Border Patrol were still out in considerable force. They were driving along the wide tacks at the side of the road towing tyres behind them to smooth the surface so that they could detect when the tracks had been crossed, so it was limiting the chances of an undisturbed night. A little further on I approached another border patrol station where the vehicles queued up waiting to be given the once over by sniffer dogs. My turn arrived, the dogs came nowhere near me, they could smell my sock from that far off, impressive. The guys checked my passport and visa, said "You're nuts" and let me carry on. I made another stop in Brackettville and talked to a couple from North Dakota. Now it gets mighty cold up there so they here for the winter, known locally as Winter Texans rather than the more commonly used term of Snow Birds.</div><div><br /></div><div>The following day was forecast for another cold front, but whilst I packed up miserable, drizzly, yucky stuff was coming towards me from the direction I had to go in. By the time I was on the road it was drizzling and set in for the day. I called in to the impressively big library in the small town of Uvalde, so impressively big they were having financial trouble keeping it going. I went for a coffee in McDonalds, anything to try and stay dry as long as possible in the hope that it would pass. A young lad showed remarkable interest in where I was cycling, his father had trouble dragging him away. I left just after them, just in time to see them reverse into a car coming into the car park...ooops! If they hadn't talked to me for so long it wouldn't have happened. I carried on through Knippa and right before my eyes things were changing dramatically, brown was giving way to green, cactus to ploughed fields, shrubs to trees, dry to even wetter, quiet roads to busy roads. I was suddenly leaving the desert southwest and I didnít like what was happening. After so long it will probably take two or three days to adjust to what is around me, my first thought was that it was the end of easy to find camping spots. I refilled on coffee in Sabinal, there was still no let up in the weather, I was in for a damp night. It was time to start looking for a spot to camp, when suddenly in front of me was large open fields, I couldnít see any more trees at all through the murky gloom, things were not looking good. At the end of the trees on my left was a track, it really offered my only chance of somewhere to camp so I made my way along it. The trees came to an end and I was surprised to see a farm house there so I turned around. A vehicle was coming towards me so I flagged them down "Any chance of putting up my tent beside your track?" I asked the girl, Emily was her name, "I will have to ask my parents" she replied, so I followed her back to the house. Stephanie arrived ìWell you can camp if you like. We are building a house at the back which isnít finished but does have a bed and blankets, you could stay there if you likeî. Well on a gloomy evening it was music to my ears, I wasn't going to say no, that's for sure and with my answer of "Well if you are sure you don't mind" I was welcomed with open arms. Stephanie was delighted to hear I was English "Wow great" she said "Would you like a Gin and Tonic, nobody around here will drink G&T with me", but I wasn't sure if she was serious or not so being typically English I replied with "I would rather not, but I would love a cup of tea". We sat on the veranda chatting enthusiastically, the dogs were pretty enthusiastic too, "Are they friendly?" I asked "They are ok, but just let that one sniff you and she will be fine". It was the sort of dog that looked as though it was about to rip your arm off, but the pink t-shirt she was wearing did nothing for her macho image. "How many cats have you got?" there were a few coming and going "Oh, we have a bunch of cats" which I later discovered meant about 20 on this occasion. We went inside as it got dark, they were all so nice and friendly, I felt comfortable and at home straight away. Kenneth arrived home, the main farmer of the 3,000 acres they farm, looked at me a bit suspiciously and said "I don't do accents very well, I probably wont be able to understand you", but we quickly got on well. I eventually got around to one of my favourite subjects and asked "So do you have a gun in the house?" I asked "Oh yes, lots" but I had rather guessed that already judging by the large Elk head hanging on the wall acting as a hat stand, "They are all over the house, we need them here, different guns for different purposes, guns for shooting snakes that come too near the house, we shoot the wild boars that destroy the land, we also hunt the deer, though most of the time we don't shoot them, only when the numbers get too high". When I mentioned the Elk Stephanie said "Oh I had forgotten about that" to which Kenneth added "Great, does that mean we can have another one? I killed that one with a bow and arrow from 60 yards. We also keep guns handy as you never know who will turn up during the night being as we are so close to the Mexican border. The Mexican used to come passing by looking for work so we used to give them food and drink and then they used to move on, but things have all changed now since they have tightened up the border, people canít find the work so that it has all changed to drug smuggling, people are dying all the time because of the drug dealers. We thought you might be one, but you don't see many Mexicans here on bicycles." It was all an education for me. Whilst we talked Stephanie cooked a wonderful dinner, I could hardly believe my luck, I was warm, clean having had a shower, had a plate of food in front of me and good company all around me. I keep saying that I am being looked after and as yet I have seen nothing to make me think otherwise, I really consider that I am a very fortunate person. Every now and then I would stop talking, Kenneth would look at me and say "No, I didn't understand a word of that!" We covered all sort of subjects including difficult subjects to talk about. They had lost their son Kyle a couple of years ago in a motorcycle accident, the pain was clearly still there to see, but have since adopted a teenage boy and girl from a cousin that had also died. They have faced incredible challenges in their lives as well as running a 3,000 acre farm and bringing up a family and left me thinking what an easy life I have had. They were a delightful family, I could have hugged them all. I went to bed in the house at the back, it was cold but not as cold as the tent and once in bed I was soon snug and warm. There was a knock on the window. Kaleb had been to collect Julie from work at the Dairy Queen and had brought me back an ice-cream so we stood around and chatted longer as I got colder.</div><div><br /></div><div>With no tent to pack away in the morning I was ready to leave earlier than usual, but I don't normally have anybody to talk to for two hours before I set off, the dreary day outside hardly making it any easier to set off. We could have talked a lot longer, but I had about 100km to go to San Antonio so I was eventually on the road at about 9:45. I neednít have worried about time, the road was flat, there was no real wind to slow me down so I made quick progress, it was effortless with an average speed way higher than normal. I guessed it would suddenly hit me and I would be back to normal</div><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiohFttbiCe4oGdReffidIQ7gf1l-QrzqqXm4x1PqcFb4qtHlxPZkHnWbRuKd_F25Yof0WOMM16te9YMnfSpRdQFk_U8X8XrAsYbeOKTVB1uBU1LDl78qUpYwwjLhBy1BCbKKIVYyl9PSns/s320/P1030478.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414451866979571298" />speed, but it never happened, I felt great and the kilometres ticked past at an alarming rate. I felt great, I had a whole bunch of energy, I was on top of the world. I kept trying to work out why I was going so well, there was no tailwind, it wasnít downhill, so the only reason I could come up with was that last night had really lifted my spirits, I just felt at one with the world, life felt good. I was going so well that I would arrive very early at my next Couch Surfing hosts, so I called in at a cafe and drank coffee, now thatís unusual isn't it. I sat there until I felt old. It wasnít that I was there for a long time, it is just that it was next to a school which had just finished for the day and the place was full of young teenagers doing a bunch of things that teenagers do. When I arrived at the house I was greeted by Andreas and we were soon discussing everything, politics was reached even sooner than normal. The rest of the family arrived, Niko then Rachael and finally Jana. You could say they enjoy music. They have more guitars than the average household, probably even the average street, may be more than an average neighbourhood, they have 45! There are about 17 in my room along with drums, keyboards and a bunch of other kit. They all play in a band, The Laven Family, but at Rachael and Niko grew up they decided it was a bit cheesy and they are now just The Lavens and have already recorded three CDs. They write and play their own music, Rachel has been writing songs since she was ten. How did somebody like me end up staying with a family of talented musicians? I guess that is the beauty of Couch Surfing, you get to choose interesting people. I have already decided to stay an extra night so that I can go and see them playing on Friday night. I was taken for a tour of the very exclusive neighbourhoods and to see the Christmas lights in the city centre, then on to see their friend Butch Morgan playing, another singer songwriter. It was fabulous stuff, all very Texan with great songs including one called "God drives pick-up truck".<div><br /></div><div>The Lavens are another cat family, though there are only four in their bunch of cats. One, Monkey, slept on my bed most of the night, then returned in the morning, sat on my chest and pushed his face into my nose. It was all very friendly, a lovely cat, though I drew the line when he started dribbling snot over me. I am not that much of a cat lover. I went off to buy a tent. I had located a place in San Antonio that had four I wanted to check out. It was a great place, I set them all up, spent about 3-4 hours there, then came away empty handed. Clearly this trip has done nothing to enhance my decision making skills, I told them I need to scratch my head for a while and would come back in a couple of days. I looked at new sleeping bags too and was offered a good discount if I bought a tent and a sleeping bag. It made me realise just how thin my sleeping bag has become, more of a sleeping sheet. I have a feeling I will be too hot in a new one, even if it does go below freezing.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I have received an email from Emily whose family I stayed with on the farm, here is a little exert.. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I am so glad that you decided to turn down my parents' driveway yesterday.........It is so nice to be reminded that, as a whole, humanity is good and that strangers don't have to be as long as we are willing to open ourselves up to them. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Thank you for showing up and reminding me of that"</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">. I can assure it the feeling was mutual and it is these unexpected meetings with people that make travel and life so good. They took me in, gave me a shower, fed me, offered to do my washing, I guess they could smell my socks too, entertained and educated me and what did I do in return? Nothing really, I just sat there and just had to be myself. I guess it is hardly surprising that I rode into San Antonio on a high.</span></span></span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>I took the bus for the short trip to downtown San Antonio, I quiet little city centre with a little central tourist zone focusing unexpectedly on the scene of the Alamo. Davy Crockett, William Travis and James Bowie are the three main Texan heroes who lost their lives as the place came under siege from Mexican general Santa Anna and his 1500 strong army for 13 days in 1836. The church at the front of the complex (photo) is now a shrine to the fallen, through there remains are said to be in the cathedral nearby (photo). I visited the old and the new, the old in the form of the King William Historic district with his wonderful early 20th Century mansions (photo), and the new in the Rivercentre Mall complete with outside entertainment area by the river basin. There was also a fabulous riverside walk, a little below the main street level, a tranquil place with riverside cafes, all empty in the cold of winter. The evening for me was the real highlight of my stay here though. At the bottom of the garden the Lavens have their own little recording studio where they are currently working on their fourth CD and I was able to sit in and watch them work on one of the tracks. It was fascinating stuff, I heard the same track over and over again, written and lead vocals by Andreas, it quickly grew on me, I loved it. I now understand why they all wear headphones while they are recording as each instrument is recorded separately, without the headphones you only hear the one instrument, it sounds really strange. Later in the evening we went out to hear some Irish music, familiar sounds and familiar tastes as I listened and watched with a Guinness in my hand.</div><div><br /></div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtQNOgfHhlLfBnLOJw1mvVnET_kH3psQzFFgxQOAE3_kYGpx0iWXRNQmc7YMytufpGJdjPXD8peqKZ79lktCI6s9038xwdsM3w8Lb5UbTC2ewpacOnhoUtj6Qv7M1G9eBh_iK6xY8zLziK/s320/P1030524.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414450143191035970" /><div>I spent the following days sorting out a few things, then once done watched a film that until the previous day I never even knew existed, The Five People You Meet in Heaven. Jana arrived back from work and watched the last half an hour or so, I could hear her sobbing away, handy that, it helped me disguise my sniffles. Then it was straight out to The Cove where the Lavens were playing. Itís a large bar/restaurant that instantly reminded me of a scene from the Blues Brothers. Do you remember the scene where they stole somebody else's act at a Country and Western venue, then started playing their Blues music until the crowd were in uproar and threw bottles at them, well it was just like that but without the bottles being thrown. It wasn't the ideal way for me to listen to them as people kept coming up and talking to me, but it made for a wonderful social evening. There were lots of Couch Surfers there too as Jana had told the local surfers we would be there. I got talking to Kenny, a Native American though you would never really know he was. Whilst we were talking he told me his lucky number was 7. Occasionally whilst I have been in America people have offered me money, I always refuse, as I have said before it is my choice to be here in this manner, but on this occasion Kenny gave me $7, how could I refuse. I donít know what I will do with it, I will try a do something special with it. When I do I will let you know.</div><div><br /></div><div>Today is another cold and wet day, the transition from permanently dry to permanently wet has been alarmingly quick. People keep telling me "This is unseasonably cold and wet for this time of year", but I don't see it changing for the better. Don't worry, I expect no sympathy from y'all at home, it is typical British winter's weather. So what do you do on a typically crappy winter's day in Britain? You stay at home of course, so that is what I am doing today, hanging out and giving it one more day and just hoping it will be better tomorrow. </div><div><br /></div>John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-5977969476032722072009-12-07T18:03:00.005+00:002009-12-07T18:15:00.786+00:00Day 932 - Del Rio<div><div><div>Well, I have finally torn myself away fro Terlingua, but it was tough. People sometimes ask me what have been the highlights of this trip and my answer doesn’t really include places, but it <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-u-fq0SCD-_PoMzwjUABXaNAnPU8mmMS5ggRb_AkokHoNvOT7270xxUCX1mqW8mVOGQ7EMID87yaDMrehr3eGmxnlypu2lSz3qBdlaEdOQkan5FYx2hR0FCyUkHB-QiFi0PVOGXqF1wKO/s1600-h/P1030388.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412558214613002658" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-u-fq0SCD-_PoMzwjUABXaNAnPU8mmMS5ggRb_AkokHoNvOT7270xxUCX1mqW8mVOGQ7EMID87yaDMrehr3eGmxnlypu2lSz3qBdlaEdOQkan5FYx2hR0FCyUkHB-QiFi0PVOGXqF1wKO/s320/P1030388.JPG" border="0" /></a>does now. Terlingua Ghost Town and its close knit little community is a place I shall never forget, in fact it is a place I would recommend to other people to visit. It’s a remote place, very remote. I have passed remote places before where on the surface not much seems to have been happening and I could have cycled past here thinking just the same, just another remote place where I wonder how people could spend their lives there. I guess this is different because I have been fortunate enough to have spent a few days there and seen first hand for myself how a small remote community functions, and I will tell you what, the life style is so much better than in a big city. For a start there is space here, you only have to step outside the door to see beauty all around, it’s a place where people still love to just sit and watch the sunrise or the sunset and really appreciate what they have, appreciate each day. Life isn’t easy though, for most it is tough, but the people of Terlingua pull together for the benefit of all. It’s a quirky place full of characters, some very skilled, but if somebody has a problem they know who to call, they know who they can reply on. During my stay somebody accidentally burnt down their house, a slight miscalculation with a propane bottle and years of hard work and loving labour to build the place up was burned down in front of their eyes. News travels fast and that was big news, but everybody pooled in and made donations and helped the person pick up the pieces and restart their life. But living in a remote place where life is tough makes for tough individuals. There is no time to feel sorry for yourself and wait for the insurance man, you pick yourself up, move on and if needs be, start all over again, a lesson learned. The people here are all so wonderful. Yesterday I met Blair Pittman, a professional photographer who used to work for National Geographic, he has also written books too, an inspiration for the path that I dream of heading along. He gave me a signed copy of one of his books, ’Tales from the Terlingua Porch`, illustrated beautifully by Mark Kneesskern, another talented person who I had met a few days ago. Blair also had some great stories to tell and I loved the one about the dynamite throwing contest. The idea was to light the fuse and see how long you can hold on to it. Blair lit his, held it until the fuse was no more than an inch long then threw it as far as he could, it exploded in the rocks, one of the guys saying “That’s pathetic!”. The next guy let it burn to half an inch, then threw it, the thing exploding in mid air above their heads with such force that it knocked them all off their feet. As they picked themselves up the same guy commented “Now that WAS a good`un”. The Porch is where the locals, the characters hang out with a beer and discuss life. They don’t take life too seriously either, an insight to life here can be seen by <a href="http://www.drdougs.com/">clicking here</a>, Dr Doug shows how ‘a little medicine and group therapy‘ can improve your life and make you happy. My wonderful host Cynta has been a shining example of how good people can be. She is handicapped through arthritis that restricts movement in her limbs and has caused her to give up the life she loved working as a guide on the rivers here and in Latin America, but does she feel sorry for herself? No, she doesn’t, she is full of life, oozes happiness and is always laughing and has worked her way back to being able to swim a mile a day. She is always on the go, normally out helping other people, running errands, nothing is too much trouble for her. Her doors are always open, literally. People walk in to check up on her, ask a favour or just for a chat. Cynta too used to have her party tricks and her speciality was ’inverted fireworks’. They would all gather around one of the disused mine shafts, then light the fireworks and drop them in and watch them go off as they dropped underground. She eventually had to stop as some of the locals considered it too dangerous. She finds time for everybody but insists it’s the only way, you only get out what you put in to a community she tells me. Helping each other becomes a daily routine. With grocery stores so far away you don’t head of until you also have orders from the people living around you. Wonderful people and a wonderful place, I am privileged to have stayed here for a few days. I was sorry to leave, but leave I had to. I left on my own, Robin my recent cycling partner had to be in Austin on a specific day, where as I dragged my stay out for another 24hrs, I don’t think I overstayed my welcome, at least I hope I didn‘t. One thing I know for sure is that it will make me look at these remote communities with a very different view, I will no longer think “How do you guys survive in such a small remote place? It must be so tough and boring?”, I guess my thought will now be more akin to “You lucky bastards!”. But are they really lucky? No, I don’t think they are, they have all just chosen to live a more simple life in a place they love, something most of us in the western world could probably do, though most of us choose not to. I left town with some quiet advice from the locals “Sssshh, don’t tell anybody”. They have nothing to worry about, I can keep a secret, it’s just those I tell that can’t! Before I left I had a confession to make to Cytna, I had stolen something! Yes, I am a thief. I didn’t steal it from her, more from the community. I used the public loos just outside the Starlight Theatre, named after the roof fell in and wasn’t replaced for a number of years. This was one of the few flush loos in the area and inside were a load of loo roll and I nicked a quarter of a roll. I think they would have been more upset if I had flushed the loo judging by the sign which read “Water is scarce, so if it yellow let it mellow, if it is brown flush it down”. I didn’t like stealing it, but sometimes you are left with little opportunity. Here is the USA every time I try to buy some I can’t find a pack with less than twelve in. I can’t cycle around with a dozen loos rolls strapped to the back of the bike, can you imagine what people passing me would be saying “Ha ha, look at him, he has got a bit of a problem. I will give him a wide berth just in case he farts!” </div><div><br />Wednesday morning dawned bright and clear, a perfect cycling day. Cynta kindly cooked me a wonderful Mexican breakfast to see me on my way. I gave her a big hug, what a wonderful person and what a wonderful place, it was hard to leave but a two night stop had already turned into five. To start with the road dropped down then climbed into Big Bend National Park and carried on climbing. It climbed gently for 400m, odd that, it seemed almost flat when we passed through in the car a few days back. I called in at the visitor centre then headed out north on the road to Marathon. I stopped to see the fossil bones that were signposted only to be a little dismayed to find they were all replicas behind a dirty glass screen. If all they are going to display is replicas they might as well have them in the visitor centre. The road climbed through a gap in the mountains and left the park, the roadside fences reappearing immediately. It made camping difficult but I eventually found a barbed wire gate that could be unclipped. </div><div><br />The cold front that was forecast to arrive on Thursday evening seemed to arrive 24 hours early. The previous days temperature had been between 14 and 20 degrees C, but today would see a top temperature of just 2 and being overcast there seemed a continuous threat of snow. After just a few kilometres I had a puncture on the front, about an hour after I had packed the puncture kit away deep in the tool kit, typical. A little further down the road I had to pass through a border checkpoint, nowhere near the border mind. When they realised I wasn’t a US citizen they set to and questioned me. They thumbed through my passport “What’s this” they asked “An Iranian visa”, “What was the purpose of the visit?”, “Tourism” I replied pronouncing <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH8FLmCvMlataJjYJHg_6YFEAJ5OwIc7HYo9I1YR8O3ybQzuBMN2ZCD5L3oroC2Kzj-ToJ32umOqpG5rZKGa7oULo0Wjmm7pZ5WFMJqmrz0z2vL-1UgYjNAFRw4-fX9ZJLmIp82e6QpTBB/s1600-h/P1030419.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412559018731038002" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH8FLmCvMlataJjYJHg_6YFEAJ5OwIc7HYo9I1YR8O3ybQzuBMN2ZCD5L3oroC2Kzj-ToJ32umOqpG5rZKGa7oULo0Wjmm7pZ5WFMJqmrz0z2vL-1UgYjNAFRw4-fX9ZJLmIp82e6QpTBB/s320/P1030419.JPG" border="0" /></a>it as carefully as possible to ensure it didn’t sound like terrorism. “And what’s this”, “A United Arab Emirates entry stamp”, “Purpose of visit?”, “Tourism”, “And this”, “Turkey”, “Purpose?”, “Tourism, they are all for tourism, I am cycling around the world”, “What do you do for a living”, “Er cycle!” would have been the honest answer, but I am always worried that it wont go down well, so I lied “I.T.” I said, I guess he must think I am cycling around the world during the weekends, “What’s this?”, “Er, dunno, Oman stamp I think, not sure”, “Purpose?” , “Tourism”. “Are you going to Mexico?”, “Nope” I replied, I was actually heading away from it, that was the whole point of the checkpoint being there. I don’t know what he would have done if I had said yes, I don’t think it an offence to go to Mexico. “Ok, I would love to look through your passport a little longer and give you some more hassle, there is stuff in there I have never seen before, even countries I have never heard of and have no clue where they are, but I am starting to get a bit cold, so I think I will go back into my little hut and sit in front of the fire. Here’s your passport, now clear off and don’t come back!”. Ok, so that last quote might not be exactly right, but in the words of Blair Pittman “If it ain’t true it ought’ a be”. I soon arrived at Marathon, had a snack outside whilst getting cold, then a coffee inside whilst warming up again, then headed east into the breeze on US90. It gently climbed again, it was slow going. At last the road headed gently downhill, but I wanted to loose as much height as possible and get as far as possible too in case the snow arrived during the night. Fences were again a problem when it came to finding a campsite. I eventually headed down a track that brought me to a railway line. It was probably the same line as the one we camped next to last week, at least this time I knew what to expect and didn’t have to camp quite so close to it. </div><div><br />Well if a cold front had arrived on Thursday, an even colder front arrived on Friday morning and by the time I stuck my head out of the tent the 50% chance of snow was already confirmed as 100%. For a while it snowed hard, a couple of inches worth was quickly dumped and I had to get out and clear the gathering snow off the roof of the tent, a lovely job to warm the hands up if ever there was one. Once it had eased I packed up, I could here the occasional vehicle on the road making reasonable progress, so it couldn’t be that bad. I cycled through the tyre tracks and made good progress, but the water splashing up was gather and freezing on all parts of the bike. The mudguards were choked with ice so that the tyres were rubbing against it, the chain rings and cassette were completely covered so that when I changed gear it just jumped until the ice was dislodged. The gear cable had icicles hanging from it stopping me from changing to a higher gear. I got fed up with stopping every couple of miles to free things, so I just left it in one gear and just let my legs spin faster as the road made its way gently downhill. It brought back memories of the days riding my fixed wheel bike. It wasn’t long before I reached Sanderson and called into the large gas station. It was warm in there, lovely. It was awfully tempting to just spend the rest of the day there as heading out from the warm just accentuated the cold. I had huge coffee, 24 oz, then refilled it until I could drink no more. There were a group of hunters there in their camouflage gear, they didn’t seem to want to head out in the cold either, so I wasn’t the only wimp in town. At about 13:30 I dragged myself out into the cold, I had to try and salvage something from the day. It must have been a tad warmer, the snow seemed to be melting, though not enough to make my gears work yet. I set off, still heading slightly downhill, the snow was soon left behind and it wasn’t long before everything was dry, no sign of snow here at all. I had the slightest of tail winds, I felt good and I was racing along. The landscape was pretty flat, I could generally see the road far ahead of me, but I liked the barren feel to the place. I passed through Dryden, not wanting to stop for anything, I was on a roll. I covered more than 50 miles in the afternoon without even stopping, I didn’t even want to stop for the night, but the sun was going down, it was time to call it a day. As dusk fell the clouds disappeared, the wind dropped completely, as did the temperature. By the time I was in the tent it was -3 C. But I had a home for the night and the stars were just incredible and to add to it all a huge moon came up, fantastic stuff. I cooked in the vestibule of the tent, there is something very special about a stove cooking the dinner on such a crisp winters night, I loved it despite knowing that I would be cold during the night. </div><div><br />As I cross the country I notice little changes in language. Here in the south “Y’all” is very noticeable: “Y’all have a good trip”. “Bunch” has been with me for a while, I love the way it is used to describe any quantity. For example, it is not expensive around here “it costs a whole bunch of money”, or perhaps you might do “a bunch of travelling”. Plain old English can be hard work, sometimes I have to repeat myself a couple of times so may be I should just learn their language. </div><div><br />It was a cold night too, -6C when I got up, but the sun soon rose and melted the ice and frost from the outside of the tent, but it meant it was packed away wet for the second night running. With the cold nights I slightly change some of my camping habits. If I am in the tent I usually have the sleeping bag at least covering part of my body, I keep the water bag in the tent and try to leave the water bottles empty as they just end up as blocks of ice and are totally useless. My socks rarely leave my feet. I don’t think they smell but you might get different answer from my couch surfing hosts. Actually, I am thinking of buy another pair of socks, whoa… two pairs, that’s posh isn’t it? I am saving up for them with the money I save by stealing loo rolls, so I should have them by the time I reach New York. My buff is normally a permanent fixture on my head too. I generally have a coffee and porridge in the morning, it slows things down a bit, but it does get the day off on the right note and a bit of extra water is boiled and put in a water bottle to act as a hand warmer. When I wake up I also stuff my cycling clothes into my sleeping bag so that they warm up too. The day started by heading into a gentle headwind, but it didn’t take long to reach Langtry where I took a slight diversion to see the Roy Bean Saloon and Courthouse (photo). I had no idea who he was but I wanted to find out. He arrived here around the late 1800s as the railroad was being built between San Francisco and New Orleans and he became <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEPiG2Nn22iI0zPzrl_DTf1JKFefi6afHfAfQm1lik_5mvRBnqHJ5lVfmqHqPUI3EErwnNwHNn7-UP61fbCtVBFE2C-QilwPEY_VB8eJt8f2qUnD4i4JASSVLLq12lgzzfuKomH_IrsxA5/s1600-h/P1030421.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412558221578985586" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEPiG2Nn22iI0zPzrl_DTf1JKFefi6afHfAfQm1lik_5mvRBnqHJ5lVfmqHqPUI3EErwnNwHNn7-UP61fbCtVBFE2C-QilwPEY_VB8eJt8f2qUnD4i4JASSVLLq12lgzzfuKomH_IrsxA5/s320/P1030421.JPG" border="0" /></a>the judge of the area. But he was no judge in my opinion, he was a thug, running the place by his own laws and holding court either in the saloon or on the porch. Fines were typically $30 and a round of drinks for everybody including his pet bear. He held court holding a pistol, he was that kind of judge. He also had a love for the English actress Lilley Langtry. I seem to remember a pub at home called the Lilley Langtry, I think it was in Oxford or am I confusing it with the Lemon Tree, perhaps it was in Norwich. Roy built an opera house and town hall in the hope of enticing her over here to perform, but it was no opera house, it was juts his house, probably paid for by the fines he imposed, but it did work, she did come over. The Texas state has invested plenty of money in the old rogue by building a large visitor centre that is larger than the exhibits. I looked around the rest of the village, a nice place even if it is somewhat falling down (photo). I called in at the post office and gift store across the road and talked an age to the woman working there, I was the only customer and not a very good one at that. She and her husband lived on a 150 acres ranch that supported just 50 goats as there was not enough food or water for anything else. She had 5 jobs including book keeping, working at the post office and also in the gift shop. We talked about all sorts and I was able to find out about all the local issues. She loved living here and in her time had lived in two towns but couldn’t cope with all the people, the largest town having a population of 4,000. My reward for talking so long? A whole bunch of free coffee. Before I left she said “Take care on the roads ahead, they start to get a bit twisty“. It was again early afternoon before I really settled into the days cycling, only today was straight into a headwind that made it feel much colder than it actually was. The road rolled along and at the top of each hill was a cutting creating a huge scar through an otherwise attractive landscape. Twisty? Well there were some bends but it still had a wide shoulder for cycling on, hardly a problem. I crossed a deep canyon with a river in the bottom though couldn’t stop for a proper look as the road was down to one lane. </div><div><br />I reached Del Rio early Sunday morning, the place was big, population 33,000 and it came as a bit of a shock having been through tiny town for the last 10 days or so. From Del Rio it is only about 150 miles to San Antonio, so I should be there in a couple of days, though rain is forecast for tomorrow. My days in the desert are almost over, soon I will be in a land with lots of roads, towns, villages and people, the barren landscape will be behind me and I guess the dry weather will be too. At least I will be heading away from the Mexican border which I seem to have been bouncing along for weeks now. </div><div><br />That’s about it for this update, so y’all take care now, I am off to do a whole bunch of cycling. </div></div></div>John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-46358441444351677972009-11-30T03:31:00.003+00:002009-11-30T04:21:46.238+00:00Day 920 - Terlingua Ghost Town<div>We left Van Horn on the US90, a road that would see us for most of the journey to San Antonio. Before too long we were ready to stop for lunch so we leant back against the gate of a boarded up house, nobody had been there for years, until we sat down, then the owner arrived and wanted to go though the gate. As the day progressed the mountains faded into the distance, we were cycling through ranch land, dry grasslands as far as the eye could see, fences both sides of the road and all the gates firmly locked. There were no tracks at all leading away from the road, but along our left hand side ran a railway crossing over little bridges, it looked as though <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVec4kcK6XXmKbn1WjSwRE9lBhi8hIr8YN45GNkUB7aY3O9eWWS-k0b56DVQg1rH3uE6a2J8kgHvJHByMHQRhMLOhCmGJ8Wwa1i6WYTwdjSBvmxiWRgdls-c-aPM64ZWBsavoGuLp69ZOU/s1600/IMG_1845%5B1%5D.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409745581069131938" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVec4kcK6XXmKbn1WjSwRE9lBhi8hIr8YN45GNkUB7aY3O9eWWS-k0b56DVQg1rH3uE6a2J8kgHvJHByMHQRhMLOhCmGJ8Wwa1i6WYTwdjSBvmxiWRgdls-c-aPM64ZWBsavoGuLp69ZOU/s320/IMG_1845%5B1%5D.JPG" /></a>this was going to be our only option, still, we hadn’t seen a train all day. With the light fading by the time we were checking the fourth bridge we decided we had better stay and camp there. As we cooked our dinners in the dark a train came thundering past. We settled down for the night and just a few minutes later another train came past (photo). For some reason I felt so much more vulnerable lying in the tent, the whole ground vibrating for what seemed age as an apparently never ending train came past. With a steady flow of trains I was soon getting used to it, then a car pulled up. I heard two men talking then torch light lit the tent as they came across calling out in Spanish. “Hi there” I called back as I was confronted by two border patrol guys “Are you American citizens?” they asked “I am but….er hang on, no I’m not, I am English.” I didn’t get off to a good start being half asleep. “Can I see your ID” they said so I asked for their identification then handed over my passport “You’re Australian” they told me “No I’m not, I’m English” clearly we weren’t being questioned by the smartest of guards. By this time one of them thought it might be a good idea to check Robin’s ID and stood looking at it for ages not really knowing what to do. They decided we were here sort of legally so headed of we a “be careful”, odd that, I thought we were being careful. They left just in time for the arrival of the next train. During the gaps that there were no trains or border patrol I was kept awake be the more subtle sounds of a mouse nibbling at my rubbish. It wasn’t the best night’s sleep I have ever had.<br /><br />In the morning we continued following the railway but never saw another train. We arrived at Marfa, it was 26th November, Thanksgiving Day, a National Holiday when families get together and stuff themselves with food, a sort of Christmas without the pressies. Most places in town were shut. I have asked various people the history of Thanksgiving and I am rather taken with the least likely of the lot. When the early settlers arrived in what is now New England they were a bit short of their crops and were getting a trifle peckish, well, more like rather hungry…actually they were starving. The local Indians took pity on them and saved their lives by giving them food, so the following year they invited the Indians for a Thanksgiving meal and a tradition was started, though by the next year they didn’t bother to invite the Indians, they couldn’t, they had shot them all and pillaged their land. Today I was told a story that was far more likely that even seemed to have documentary evidence, so I won’t bother to tell you that one. We took the 54 south, on the map it looked as though it would be <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp2BM1PD6nvVwutBzlFZDJugbPh0s10oSXEV4hgz1QsMSu_FZ1s8zy9uHephRHB0zIJrx1bHQdBzzzjiKN9RCbIOc4kpOsGxPsMGBMCq3BtX5lQy4LP5nlruTLhXRMN9_25-LwsKD_UO9d/s1600/P1030310.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 176px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409734899724691986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp2BM1PD6nvVwutBzlFZDJugbPh0s10oSXEV4hgz1QsMSu_FZ1s8zy9uHephRHB0zIJrx1bHQdBzzzjiKN9RCbIOc4kpOsGxPsMGBMCq3BtX5lQy4LP5nlruTLhXRMN9_25-LwsKD_UO9d/s320/P1030310.JPG" /></a>quiet, it headed down to the Mexican border, but being a holiday it was full of traffic heading home for a long weekend. We were heading towards mountains again, the road rolled along nicely towards Presidio. We thought we were in for another night close to the road as everything was fenced in again on both sides, but with about 10 miles to go before the town the fences disappeared. Robin spotted a part built house so we headed across to see if we could camp there for the night. The floor and walls had been built and then it seems to have just been left, so we camped right inside it, it felt luxury to have flat, clean ground and plenty of space around us, no dirt, rocks or spiky things to make life so difficult at times. It was a warm night too, most nights dip below freezing but here is was around a jolly warm 8 degrees c so I slept with the tent open, I didn’t even bother to close it when it started raining.<br /><br />The rain was drying as soon as it landed, when I got up the ground wasn’t even wet, but by the time we set off I was cycling in the rain for the first since my arrival in the US. By the time we had reached Presidio I was already feeling cold, but after we had stocked up on food for a few days and called into a gas station it had already stopped raining. Presidio wasn’t your typical American small town, being right on the Mexican border it felt just that, Mexican. Spanish seemed to be the main language and with horses and rubbish parked out the back of the gas station and chickens ruling the roost it felt very different. With the bikes feeling much heavier loaded with food we set off along the 170 that hugs the Rio Grande and the border. The first few kilometres were easy going, then we entered a valley and into the Big Bend Ranch State Park, the roads became steep, no great elevation gain but the steep ups and down were in complete contrast to the normal gentle climbs. The scenery was fantastic, most cars were tourists being the holiday weekend, but tourists here are Texans. We talked to some, lovely friendly people that than gave us lovely tasty food. We reached the steepest and longest hill of the day, appropriately named Big Hill (photo). But big hills normally have a downward section too, I whizzed down the hill leaning into the corners, then as I went around the second bend I noticed a wooden cross beside the road, it made me remember that the bends have to taken with at least a little caution, it as only later that I discovered it was the final bend of another cyclist. We stopped for lunch by the river. Here it was narrow and fast running, just a few metres away was Mexico, but in this there was not a single border patrol vehicle, the area far too rugged even for the most<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYH5BwoNkaZ7R9DiZjhulnURGlHuFrLOsZcq4upj5oBAl3ZgBFngvZ27cQTzwsf9KmLtfu9g3SocYVl7yf5W2KGHlVW55l4thzFLleI4URlKuU68O8s7jrq9LOkBaCvJXr_zDlSIN0yxi4/s1600/P1030336.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 160px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409735564952696130" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYH5BwoNkaZ7R9DiZjhulnURGlHuFrLOsZcq4upj5oBAl3ZgBFngvZ27cQTzwsf9KmLtfu9g3SocYVl7yf5W2KGHlVW55l4thzFLleI4URlKuU68O8s7jrq9LOkBaCvJXr_zDlSIN0yxi4/s320/P1030336.JPG" /></a> determined. At Lajitas we turned away from the river and thankfully left the steep little hills behind as we were tiring, from there on we were faced with the longer gradual hills again, but a faster decent brought us to Terlingua Ghost Town and another Couch Surfing stop only this time I was gate crashing a couch that Robin had arranged before we bumped into each other. The town survived off mercury mining and Mexicans had lived and worked here, but the company went bust so there was nothing for the people here so they moved out, the houses falling in to ruins. People have slowly moved into those ruins and built houses and it now has a flourishing population of 29, though that drops down to just four hardy souls during the summer when it tends to get a tad warm. We made our way down the rough tracks to find Cynta outside on the patio waiting for us, another warm couch surfing welcome was on offer. Before we settled in we were given the basic instructions of the place, which were very basic considering there are no sewers here “Ok, women can use the chemical loo in the bathroom but men have to go to the outhouse over there up the hill, but you only do your poop in there, that’s all it is for”. “Where are you supposed to pee then?” I asked, Cynta held her arms out saying “Anywhere you like. Most men pee in the street, if you do that Doug will probably wave at you when you are going. The only time peeing outside is a problem is if you pee in the same spot for 6 months and it doesn’t rain, then it begins to smell, otherwise it is not a problem”, so that’s what I do, even in the middle of the night I get up and go and pee in the street.<br /><br />Cynta is an amazing woman. She worked for years as guide on the rivers here and in Latin America and has a wealth of knowledge. She isn’t blessed with the best of health, but you would never really know it, she has a real zest for life and does an incredible amount of work in the community. She bought the land here 10 years ago, just a few crumbling walls and has created a beautiful home (photo, where I am now typing these very words) with fantastic views towards <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3hujFJ7XnQSwS8vrwRnSt8xHX8Yg1ulrZ7mVb4td3g0V0w-LdgSAZlvk19J7UbTJmExOub7oDzNp4GTrJvk-FUi-hIwn4BwaXlhMkx8Mzz5ZO5kFCQns3rGU4ygw9fandfcY6vzN3yeQd/s1600/P1030348.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409734908532869106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3hujFJ7XnQSwS8vrwRnSt8xHX8Yg1ulrZ7mVb4td3g0V0w-LdgSAZlvk19J7UbTJmExOub7oDzNp4GTrJvk-FUi-hIwn4BwaXlhMkx8Mzz5ZO5kFCQns3rGU4ygw9fandfcY6vzN3yeQd/s320/P1030348.JPG" /></a>Big Bend National Park. She drove us to the park, high into the mountains and into the basin of the volcanic region, then on to the hot springs by the river near Rio Grande Village. There we relaxed in spring water of 105 degrees f, then dipped in the cool river water, wow! To start with we were on our own, but by the time we left there were about 24 in the small pool, more were on their way. Back home she cooked some dinner then said “Here, put some of this spicy Shit on it” and handed me a bottle labelled “Special Shit”, not her label, this was shop bought. I took a walk around the ghost town, wandering through the cactus, looking at the ruins and artefacts that had been left behind, rusty tins, half buried bottles, old cars known as cartefacts, what a place, I have fallen in love with it, one of the best and most unusual places I have been in a long time. I called in a the “Ghost Town Café”, I only had a coffee, I was glad that was all I was having I could hear them cooking. Everybody working there was either smoking, coughing or spitting and I couldn’t help but wonder where the phlegm was ending up. We talked about life the universe and everything, we took the four dogs for a walk picking up others along the way. When we go out in the car the doors are left open, the dogs stay there and run around barking excitedly when we return. Life is simple here, but it is a great place to spend a few days but an even better place to live a few years. </div><div> </div><div></div><div><a href="http://rwsb.blogspot.com/2009/11/western-texas.html">This is Robin's blog</a>, she gives a far better and more detailed account of this wonderful place and Cynta our amazing host.<br /><br />A cold front is forecast, everybody is talking about it, snow is on the way. Cynta has invited us to stay until the front passes over. It’s a tough life!</div>John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-10756020079135724892009-11-25T16:17:00.005+00:002009-11-25T16:33:11.482+00:00Day 915 - Van Horn, TexasPat and Nori who I stayed with in Alamogordo are badminton players. It would have been nice to have had a game with them but unfortunately the only courts in town were having their floor relayed and so were out of action. I discovered on the last night that they are New Mexico State veteran doubles champions and Pat has been state singles champion for the last 6 years, so on reflection it appears that the new floor saved my embarrassment.<br /><br />Having stocked up on food I made my way out of town turning onto route 82. From the turning it was 16 miles to Cloudcroft, uphill all the way with an elevation gain of 4,300ft. After a couple of days rest I felt really good, I was even<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Z9_Tvi1-GV6WnktywbREFsai4__FJzdv75HmsrVlxT9qcYKlfapySl-TP5yZdNko94wR8Q-kPJd3SlSS_wbo5mU91QmRyhEZBFgMrMTKcV8xb_ImSza36ZbII4f-ktZF_gM4STWmhAAM/s1600/P1030152.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408078204554806242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Z9_Tvi1-GV6WnktywbREFsai4__FJzdv75HmsrVlxT9qcYKlfapySl-TP5yZdNko94wR8Q-kPJd3SlSS_wbo5mU91QmRyhEZBFgMrMTKcV8xb_ImSza36ZbII4f-ktZF_gM4STWmhAAM/s320/P1030152.JPG" /></a> enjoying the climb and making good progress heading up. It made for some fine views looking back across the valley to White Sands in the distance. I was too hot, but it cooled as I climbed and headed into the tree line. Near the top I passed a parked car, the driver stood outside watching me “Well done, that’s impressive” he said as I passed which made me feel good and confirmed I was going well despite not having any breaks on the climb, then he called out “I have never seen anybody cycle that slow without falling off!” That rather wiped the smile off my face and put me firmly in my place. Another mile saw me at the pleasant little town of Cloudcroft at an elevation of 8,700ft. I had a look around the old wooden shops, very colourful and some of them were tempting looking cafes. Time was getting on, shadows were already long and I wanted to descend a little before I camped for the night, it was sure to be cold. The descent was very gradual, no chance of freewheeling but fast cycling never the less, though even slow cycling would have seemed fast after the long climb. There were plenty of camping opportunities near the top but as I dropped down there were houses and ranches all the way along. After another 16 miles I reached a free and empty campsite. Despite wanting to carry on further I was unlikely to find a better spot to camp, so I called it a day. It was already cold, I was glad to get in the tent and get a brew on the go.<br /><br />I had been comfortable overnight so was surprised to find that it was -5 c outside. Camping in the cold is great so long as you don’t get out of your sleeping bag and as yet I haven’t perfected packing up and cycling whilst remaining nice and warm inside it, but I will no doubt have plenty of opportunities to perfect the operation in the coming months. At least it is a dry cold here, it doesn’t have the same impact as when it is damp. With a slow day yesterday I knew I wouldn’t make it to Artesia in one day. It was still -2 when I set off and after just 2km I even cycled passed a gas station with a sign saying ’Free Coffee’. The road was still heading downwards through attractive scenery, the sun was warming things up and all was right in the world. The decent continued where it had left off the previous day, gentle but making for fast riding. I was going well again and covered 80km without a stop. I was approaching Hope, I was hoping for a coffee, but it didn’t look good. I called in at the little wooden store and sure enough they served coffee, they even put a fresh brew on for me so I made myself comfy in the large soft chair right beside the fire. I got talking to the owner Fran (photo). He told me that there used to be 7000 people if Hope, but the water ran out, the orchard crops failed, ranches could no longer support their livestock and people left. That was a long time ago, but now the population is down to just 75. Water is still there, the loo flushed, I don’t see what the problem is! I am getting good at talking, it’s all to do with travelling alone, you have to talk to somebody. I have also noticed that the amount of free coffee I am given is directly proportional to the amount of talking I do, Fran refused payment. I tore myself away from the fire and carried on. I was still going well, I made it to Artesia in good time, I even made it to 20km beyond, so having covered 145km I had made much better progress than I had expected. It is still at around 3,000ft, but it is flat, for the first time in weeks I can look all around me and not even see a hill, let alone a mountain. There must surely be some more lurking around somewhere.<br /><br />I made good time in reaching Carlsbad. My intention here was to use the internet for about an hour and then head of for the Carlsbad Caverns National Park, a further 20 miles down the road. My plans rarely work out and today was no exception. Everybody seemed to be talking to me, I was getting nowhere fast, there were even another two cyclists at the library and what’s more we were all heading for Austin, Texas. Doug had been here a couple of weeks waiting for a part for his bike, Ari and his friend who I never saw were looking for work, so it looked as though I would still be leaving on my own. They approach was different to mine, they had spent the previous night sleeping outside a large Walmart store, so I told them all about Couch Surfing, Ari looked really pleased, I felt I had done my good deed for the day. As I was about to start riding a voice called out “I just heard you talking in there, are you from Scotland” a guy asked, “No, they talk funny up there, even I can’t understand them, I am from England”. He started talking about his friend “His name is Guy Lutman, have you met him, he is a lovely guy”. That always makes me laugh, people expect you to know everybody, of course I haven’t met him, this is a big place….but hang on a minute, I went rummaging around in my bar bag and came out with a business card “Yeah, I have met him, about two hours ago”, this must be a smaller place than I expected. I clearly wasn’t going to make it to the caverns by closing time, so sat and chatted to all and sundry, then wished Ari all the best and eventually left town with enough time to head out and find a place to camp. I found a good spot nobody would ever pass, but a couple of hours later to my surprise I heard nearby voices, though I don’t think they saw me.<br /><br />The following morning I reached Whites City, hardly a city, more just a row of tourist’s shops. I asked somebody the way to the caves “Are you going up there on that?”, “Yes, I think so” I replied “Well you will able to coast the whole way back”, “Oh, I thought I was there, how far is it?”, “About another 7 miles”….oh poo! Today wasn’t going to go to plan either. The climb was gentle, I would rather not have had this bonus climb, but other than that I quite enjoyed it, the views <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh44cXCiOHgK9QjsK8Z5w3YVqCdVFMA39STUoe9-saLhOIgx2iKLBKAvmrpEi1j-RtuUSUhH5hXirjInRmugty36Rp-S02z2RwAORts7rCKU4xbFeMveESv21JsXXbFGL8SHuRfG8VLwyIb/s1600/P1030234.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408079096411398242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh44cXCiOHgK9QjsK8Z5w3YVqCdVFMA39STUoe9-saLhOIgx2iKLBKAvmrpEi1j-RtuUSUhH5hXirjInRmugty36Rp-S02z2RwAORts7rCKU4xbFeMveESv21JsXXbFGL8SHuRfG8VLwyIb/s320/P1030234.JPG" /></a>across the plains from the top were well worth it. There were options for heading into the caverns, either an hour’s walk or an elevator, this is America after all. I chose to walk, not many people did. As I was about to enter I was given a briefing which included being told only to whisper as sound carry very well down there. I didn’t have to worry about that, I had a much bigger problem, my shoes. The metal cleats on the bottom ground into the rough surface, the noise echoing around the caverns, people stopped to see what on earth was going on. It acted as a good ice-breaker and got me chatting to the Rangers that were down there. I think my accent helps with talking to people, I become somebody of interest, but I also think I have become a real gas-bag, so watch out for when I return Cathy! The path twisted its way down through various caverns dropping to 750ft below the surface. On entering the Big Room, the biggest cavern in the US, I met up with all those that had come down via the elevator including bus loads of soldiers who seemed to be on a route march, I think they were afraid of the dark. The cavern was incredible, a massive space dripping with stalactites and other wonderful formations the names of which I can’t remember. At times there were views down into lower caves, the place was vast. One area was called the Fairyland, a very good description, full of all sort of goodies that sadly don’t come out of photographs, due to the lack of light. I made my way up in the elevator, the shaft being through solid rock that took 2000 tons on explosive and 9 months to complete. I had lunch with a view at the top, joined by a small army of wasps. Where did they come from, this country hasn’t had any bugs that have been a nuisance. Heading back was a coast, downhill all the way. I had to retrace right past where I had camped the previous night. A little before the turn-off I saw a cyclist coming the other way, surely it can’t be Ari already. I pulled over, it wasn’t Ari, it was Robin from Seattle, 10 weeks into a tour around the country. That is going some, everybody I meet seems to be travelling so much faster than me, they all make me feel so idle. She too was heading for Austin via Big Bend National Park. We talked at the roadside for a while, she wouldn’t reach the caverns by last entry time, so I suggested we go for a coffee and camp the night together. At the grocery the woman said she wasn’t allowed to make coffee after noon, but she still kindly put a pot on for us. She must have been able to tell that I am now an addict and would have caused trouble if he didn’t put any on.<br /><br />Being as we were both heading for Austin I asked if Robin would like some company. She wanted to visit the cavern first. Now I am never fond of tracing my steps, but going up that climb again was beyond a joke. Robin is faster than me, I struggled to talk and keep up with the climbing at the same time. As we parked the bikes a passing woman said “Wow, I saw you at the bottom of the hill and you re here already, you are fast!”, odd that, I am told how slow I am when I am on my own. Robin walked down through the natural entrance to the caves and I met her an hour later by taking the elevator. Being a Monday it was much quieter down there and I was surprised at how much I saw that I hadn’t seen the previous day, so well worth a second look, especially as the ticket lasts for three days. We dropped back to Whites City and tried to stock up on food. The grocery we had been in yesterday was poorly stocked, most of the shelves were empty, so I just bought beans and a tin of pears. “How much are the pears?” I asked, they didn’t have a price on, “Oh, let’s call it $1.50” she replied, “That’s very reasonable” I said rather stupidly “Ok, $2 then” she answered. We set off south down route 180 into a headwind, it was hard going all the way, but we worked together sharing the load at the front which made it a little easier. We stopped at a rest area and filled up on water, it tasted terrible! The wind didn’t get any better, but a climb just made things worse. We were both tiring so called it a day and found a rocky area to camp in. Robin is clearly less fussy about where she camps. I walked around looking for a good spot, she was stood by the bikes and when I returned said “I really need a place to camp, I am getting cold, this will do”. It’s not a place I would have chosen, but it was perfectly comfortable, perhaps I worry too much about a perfect spot, not that it ever is.<br /><br />The climb continued the following morning, all the way to Guadalupe National Park. Robin has an annual pass and could get me in for free. We did a walk of 4.5 miles up to a natural set of steps and beyond to a slot canyon. The National Parks here are all worth a visit. When we returned to the bikes there was a note from some other tourists who were on the campsite. We called in for a chat. Three ladies, Murchie and Nicole were just 2 days in to a year long tour, Murchie inspired into the ride because she was sick of baby sitting the grandchildren, she couldn’t get away quick enough. Nicole was also training for a marathon in January, and I thought just the cycling was tough enough. We set off after lunch and reached the pass immediately, a nice swift drop down, then turned on to the very quiet route 54 to Van Horn. It started off straight then turned into the mountains. After Robin had repaired a couple of punctures and had spent too much time chatting back at the National Park it was clear we would not reach Van Horn, we were a little low on water and food, but had enough to survive. Despite being totally remote all the roadside gates were locked, so as it was getting dark we lifted the bikes over a bit of broken fence and stop<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQWOdZKdjpNUbdEdl9ZH-MKVXpjEkWJ_bNsPF17Azw5dc7PkisKXuxgk6Z_rwQS-UA6VuAYin2jQYT5QeBoOAoMO0-2o_De2o11IHkuoZvfe7hHdYldmqfLYHk5-MFBz0XRwIvt2pBbXZs/s1600/P1030284.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 149px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408078208503582482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQWOdZKdjpNUbdEdl9ZH-MKVXpjEkWJ_bNsPF17Azw5dc7PkisKXuxgk6Z_rwQS-UA6VuAYin2jQYT5QeBoOAoMO0-2o_De2o11IHkuoZvfe7hHdYldmqfLYHk5-MFBz0XRwIvt2pBbXZs/s320/P1030284.JPG" /></a>ped for the night. Food was basic, I pinched some of Robin’s carrots and dipped them in peanut butter, I am even getting to like the stuff now. Peanut butter is very popular here, the supermarkets have shelves full of the sticky ’orrible stuff, the Americans have it with everything “Peanut Butter ice-cream would be nice” I joked “Hmm, that’s my favourite” Robin told me. I then found out she wasn’t joking either.<br /><br />It was another 20km into Van Horn, just down the road is El Paso. Over a week ago I was looking at El Paso from the other side, so I seem to have come around in a big circle, perhaps that is why I seem to be taking so long to cross the United States.<br /><br />I took the last photo on the way into town. Van Horn? It's a car horn!John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-49449206765427022882009-11-19T04:49:00.003+00:002009-11-19T04:56:05.689+00:00Day 909 - Alamogordo, New Mexico<div><div><div>I sat outside the library in Safford waiting for it to open, it should have opened 15 minutes earlier according to it’s opening times. But it was never going to open, it was 11th November, <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-46jx66UrGG6ANFdach6_bLH4dF4li2vSvYr-NCUXWA_kjXISKNZMASdss6ll0b-hE09oYHdbfZ1nj1wd03UJajT21ikYxhnSgCfGGSAHd7YWcS8PcJoG9Q7_B-Wshyje78bWtRJiueu1/s1600/P1030037.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405672797933227906" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-46jx66UrGG6ANFdach6_bLH4dF4li2vSvYr-NCUXWA_kjXISKNZMASdss6ll0b-hE09oYHdbfZ1nj1wd03UJajT21ikYxhnSgCfGGSAHd7YWcS8PcJoG9Q7_B-Wshyje78bWtRJiueu1/s320/P1030037.JPG" /></a>Veterans Day and a National Holiday. I left on the same road as I entered, route 70. It climbed very gently for most of the 30 miles to Duncan, then when it came into view the road dropped back down. I stopped at the visitor centre, they had free internet access so I ordered a large coffee and settled down. They were a friendly bunch and even refused payment for the coffee as I left. Another few miles bought me to New Mexico, ‘The Land of Enchantment’ and also the land of fenced in roads. I spotted a barbed wire gate, undid it and found a secluded spot to camp for the night.<br /><br />Morning brought another bash into the headwind. I was still on route 70, though New Mexico had no sponsorship for litter clearing, in fact they had no litter clearing of any description, there were bottles for the whole of the 46km to Lordsburg. How come discarded bottles can be so evenly spread? There was hardly a 10m stretch that didn’t have bottles littering the road. The wind wasn’t too bad, but it did keep my maximum speed down to a frustratingly low 18kph. Lordsburg was the only town of any size that I would pass through in the next few days so I would have to stock up there with food there, but arriving at 11:30am I had just missed closing time on all the shops…..by about 10 years. Everything was boarded up, there was nothing, it looked like a ghost town. It did have motels though, the cheapest motels I have seen anywhere at $26, but if they had offered me a room for free I still would have stayed in the tent. I have seen some pretty run down towns in the USA, but this was the ‘run-est’ down of them all. The only place that was doing business was Flying J, a truck stop. They stocked a little food so I wasn’t going to starve, but they had nothing I wanted. Things were so bad that I had to buy bread and peanut butter, I hate peanut butter! I ate some before I set off, it was yuk. I had some with strawberry jam to help disguise the taste. I really wasn’t looking forward to the afternoon’s ride, into that headwind but this time on Interstate 10, a freeway, and being a busy road compared with route 70 would probably mean it would be knee deep in bottles. I set off and to my surprise I was soon motoring, flying along never going slower than the mornings maximum speed, I had a big smile of my face, that peanut butter was good stuff, I love peanut butter. May be I have had a peanut butter deficiency for the last couple of years. It is so good it even made the wind change directions. I covered the 40km in no time and reached my exit. I stopped to contemplate carrying on along the freeway I had enjoyed it that much, there were hardly any bottles either. But sense prevailed and I went south on the 146 for the 19 miles in a side wind to Hachita, crossing the continental divide along the way. I arrived there with an hour of daylight to spare. I couldn’t find the post office so asked a couple working on a fence, I also asked them if they knew where Sam Hughes lives “He lives there, next door”. Ok, so not much of a coincidence, it’s not exactly a huge place, but it is another shabby place, every building looks as though it as about to fall down, including Sam‘s house and the churches (photo). I stopped outside the post office to see if Wizard Dave or the Jaguar King would show up….nothing, nada, not a sausage! I am sure that if Dave was a real wizard the he would have known I was there. I went back to call on Sam. The door was wide open but he was out though his little dog was in, a cute little thing no bigger than a loaf of bread. The woman across the road called me over, “Just camp in Sam’s yard, he wont mind, people camp in his yard all the time.” The Continental Divide Trail that runs from Mexico to Canada starts/finishes nearby and Sam is a ‘trail angel’ who helps people out with lifts and drops water off etc. He arrived back as I was swinging in his garden chair “I have just been shopping” he said, “Where do you get your food?” I asked, “Deming, 52 Miles away”. I told him I came through Lordsburg “There are no shops there. That place is too dumb to die” he told me. “Here, give me a hand with my groceries. I only went to Deming to buy these and I came back with a new pickup as well”, a recurring problem by the look of the 4 other vehicles in the yard “I need a 4 wheel drive to ferry the walkers and the cyclists around” he told me. “I take it you have met the dog, his name is Bear, come on Bear dog”. We went inside and chatted over a cold beer. I looked through his visitors book and saw that Christine had been there on 9th November 2007, 2 years ago almost to the day. Sam told me about his gold prospecting, “Every time I go I find gold, the only problem is that I never find enough to cover the cost of the petrol to get me there”. He showed me where to camp “I don’t want you to camp there, I have been watering it for you campers and I don’t want you waking up with a wet arse!”<br />Sam was up before me, had been out and returned with a wolf skin, you can never have enough wolf skins! I had sought out Sam for some advice of getting a new 6 month visitor permit from the Antelope Wells border crossing 45 miles south. He suggested I head 45 miles east to Columbus. I was glad he said that, I wasn’t looking forward to the 90 mile round trip south, so I said farewell and set off into another side wind. His instructions to get there were spot on “Go to the end of the road, turn right and when you reach the stop sign in 45 miles, that is Columbus, there is nothing in between, not even a junction“. The road was very quiet, most of the vehicles were Border Control vehicles complete with little ’mobile prisons’ on the back. The road runs along, and about 3 miles north of the Mexican border. As I rode along the wind swung around again and I cruised the last few miles at 35kph, then turned south and made very slow progress over the last 3 miles to the border. It turned out to be a waste of time, they wouldn’t renew my permit, even if I left and came back I would still only have until March 15th to be out of the USA. The guy I spoke to was pretty thick mind, despite telling I wasn’t going to Mexico and hadn’t come from there he kept asking how long I would be in Mexico and when I said I wasn‘t going there he then kept asking how long I had spent there. Still, it was worth a try. I stopped for a coffee in Columbus, it felt more Mexican than American that’s for sure. I set off east again through 60 miles of nothingness towards El Paso, still running just north of the border. As dusk was on its way a Border Control guy stopped me. “You know this road is very dangerous, there are lots of problems with drug smugglers and people trafficking. Where are you staying tonight?”, “In a tent, beside the road” I told him. “We have a post 40 miles ahead if that is any good for you” he told me, but there was no way I wanted to ride another 40 miles, so I told him roughly where I would camp. A few miles further on he was parked up beside the road “If you head up this track you can camp near the hill on the left and I will let the nightshift know you are there”. That was pretty good of him, but I felt pretty sure that if I tucked myself away as usual I would be pretty unlucky to be stumbled upon be anybody, other than the fact that my tyre tracks through the sand would lead directly to my tent. I found a suitable spot and set up the tent distracted by a wonderful sunset. The wind picked up and gave the tent a bit of a shaking, then suddenly it dropped completely. There was total silence, I could here every little movement outside which just made me listen even harder. I have seen so many hares in the desert, I suspected there was some nearby. I think I preferred it with the wind, it didn’t play tricks on the mind. I could hear howling coyotes nearby too, I presumed that meant there weren’t too many people in the area. There was no moon light, it was very dark, so long as I didn’t use any light I would surely be fine.<br /><br />When I am cycling I need a sugar fix and getting that has been pretty easy in the USA. In Phoenix I bought some jelly beans, they are normally pretty good, but I think I ate too many and they did some weird things to me. Me vision went a bit funny and the following day my legs felt as though they were about to cramp up, nothing to do with cycling, no, no, no! I gave the second packet I had to Julie to take to work with her and gave her a health warning. Since then I bought some Spice Drops going cheap. They look like fruit pastels, but unlike the jelly beans you can’t eat too many as they taste disgusting. They are flavoured with spearmint, cloves etc, but the worst ones are the Deep Heat flavour. They taste so bad that I cover them in peanut butter to improve the flavour.<br /><br />So what can I tell you about New Mexico? Here are a few useless facts: It’s the only state to include ’USA’ on vehicle license plates: Lakes and rivers make up only .002% of the states total<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMCrx08ih9I4VHe2bdNaakJtMP0l6gxEMpGEouLHkg6c-oM-kTFTGOJP0qk4B8ccMYOn8ce5fZiNBWqc5AvemGZZcnYzJDfrchY2B8K_1ENGrz9EHXJoxY4aHdMqAI2rYvpw6sty_1Zwik/s1600/P1030107.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405673275449455042" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMCrx08ih9I4VHe2bdNaakJtMP0l6gxEMpGEouLHkg6c-oM-kTFTGOJP0qk4B8ccMYOn8ce5fZiNBWqc5AvemGZZcnYzJDfrchY2B8K_1ENGrz9EHXJoxY4aHdMqAI2rYvpw6sty_1Zwik/s320/P1030107.JPG" /></a> surface, the lowest ratio of all 50 states. With that in mind the weather forecast for the next two days stating there was 10% chance of precipitation didn’t scare me: The City of Truth or Consequences was once called Hot Springs and changed it’s name to the title of a popular radio quiz program. (Oxford could change it’s name to “I’m Sorry, I haven’t a clue” ideal for a University City! People could then say “I graduated at….I‘m sorry, I haven‘t a clue“: The state constitution officially states that New Mexico is bilingual and one in three families speak Spanish at home, and Spanish must be used in all truck stops (Actually I added that last bit based on a survey I did on the one truck stop I have been in).<br /><br />I survived the night close to the Mexican border, but you guessed that by the fact that I am writing this. Before I left I stood and looked across the wonderful landscape in front of me. It made me look at it through different eyes. Somewhere out there, unseen to the naked eye, there were probably people walking north, heading in this direction, heading for the ‘promised land’. In front of me was a man made border and the people living on either side live very different lives. Sure, some of those people heading in this direction would have bad intentions, but the majority would probably just be seeking a better life for themselves and their families. I could relate to them a little bit, my request to stay longer had been rejected, but unlike them I am sure I can eventually have my request accepted. I made my way back to the dirt track that would take me to the road. Somehow part of a cactus with thick spikes had become embedded in my leg. I pulled it out and blood started to flow down my leg and soon my foot was covered in blood too. Still a puncture of the leg is easier to repair than a puncture of a tyre. About 5 miles further along the road I heard a couple of gun shots, thankfully not aimed at me, probably just another wildlife lover out for the day. I reached the end of the road and back to civilisation. I turned north and made my way along a valley, now I was riding amongst farms and trees, such a stark contrast to just a few minutes ago. I had already covered 80km and was in need of food, but there is never anything when you really need it. I found a restaurant in the middle of nowhere and had a late Mexican breakfast. Just a few miles further on a woman stopped her car and took some photographs of me and called out as I passed. I stopped and we chatted, she was a professional photographer and gave me one of her card. I instantly recognised the photo as the one hanging next to me on the wall in the restaurant. She, like me, had worked in IT before turning to photography and had no qualifications or training but was making a living from her work and was even looking at opening a museum. I liked her saying that “you have to live your passion”. I found her inspirational. It seemed to take an age to get to Las Cruses, though it was pleasant passing through orchards of Pecan nut trees with their last throws of autumn colours. Once I starting heading into the city it meant that I was committed to getting out the other side and time was against me. Signposting was typically useless. I was looking for route 70 again, it left the city as a freeway, yet nobody seemed to know how to get to it. I asked another couple the way “Can you tell me how to get to route 70 to Alamagordo?”, “Yes Sir, head down that road, past Madrid then right on Main Sir”. It’s all very polite around here “Yes Sir”, “No Sir” though it sounds very strange to me. I thankfully didn’t have to go too far, it was getting dark, I spotted some scrub and camped amongst it, about 200m from a large gas station with a Subway.<br /><br />That Subway proved to be too tempting by the following morning so I wasn’t really on the move until I had consumed a bucket of coffee. Straight away a climb was looming ahead of me, strange, it hadn’t been there the previous night. Perhaps coffee was having the same effect on my eyes as the Jelly Beans, but my altimeter soon confirmed that it wasn’t just the coffee. The good thing is that I was climbing without any effort, the wind was giving me a good push. I passed the last town/suburb of Organ and before long was heading over the pass of San Agustin at 5719ft. The descent the other side was nice, but the wind a little unnerving. Once on the level again the wind was coming the other way, progress now seemed mighty slow again. To both sides of the roads were military areas with White Sands Missile Test Centre to my left. This is a sensitive area, I even had to have my passport checked, but by late afternoon I had arrived at White Sands National Monument. Let me give you a brief description of the place: It’s a National Park full of White Sand, there, that didn’t take long did it. With a strong wind still blowing and only a couple of hours daylight still remaining I decided to go into the park the following day so passed my time in the visitor centre and the gift shop where I managed to talk my way into a couple of cups of free coffee. I carried on a couple of miles, left the missile testing area and found a wildlife area where camping was permitted. There were signs showing binoculars pointing to the viewing areas, but they were also for hunting, so this wildlife/hunting thing was raising its head again. I guess you can spot stuff with your binoculars and say “Oh look, isn’t that wonderful, I have never seen one of those before….aaah and look, there are its babies, that is s-o-o cute”, then you can blow its brains out! This place was catering fully for the wildlife enthusiast, so if you didn’t want to take the wildlife home and hang it on the wall, you could camp and cook it over a fire, instant gratification. I had some time to spare before it got dark, I had a little snoop around for any wildlife….I saw nothing, diddly squat. I guess some bastard had been there before me and shot the lot! I don’t know if it shows, but I am still struggling a bit with this American wildlife issue. Since Phoenix where it was hot every day, the weather has been really nice for cycling, sunny but not too hot, I have been able to cycle in shorts, t-shirt and sandals from morning until evening. It’s been pretty flat too, though still at about 4,000ft elevation. I was camped right beside a lake and for the first time the temperature was dropping rapidly, it was obviously going to be a cold night, so it was timely that the third and final zip on my tent should jam and lock solid. It looks as though it is time for a new tent.<br /><br />By morning the water bottles were frozen, I hadn’t expected it to be that cold. I made my way back to White Sands National Monument, and well worth a visit it was too. The road through it was only about 8 miles long to a dead end, but an incredib<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQgcDXvvxZgOlvAaJsLX8xV-zJ2jy6wpQ7lyByINh-DuNGa44e_nIlID2Aa2QMk0eroKorNrm-tc1l3Nz9Xa7uSlG9yw4_S0SFW5yj4nwHgTveunaZMqYCujXaf9duePkUnh63x2SsF78s/s1600/P1030126.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 270px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405672801739634978" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQgcDXvvxZgOlvAaJsLX8xV-zJ2jy6wpQ7lyByINh-DuNGa44e_nIlID2Aa2QMk0eroKorNrm-tc1l3Nz9Xa7uSlG9yw4_S0SFW5yj4nwHgTveunaZMqYCujXaf9duePkUnh63x2SsF78s/s320/P1030126.JPG" /></a>le sight (photo). The roads were packed gypsum and the sand was stacked at the side. With it being a cold morning it felt as though I was cycling through ploughed snow, the picnic area at the end being a surreal sight indeed, they looked like barbecue fires in the snow. The further into the park the less vegetation there was until at the end it was just pure sand. I climbed up some of the dunes to look at the views across to the mountains and promptly broke the park rules by taking some of the sand out in my shoes, tut, tut. I rode the 15 miles or so into Alamogordo, I could see it as soon as I left the park, it looked downhill all the way, which it definitely wasn’t, and seemed to take an age to get there. I was Couch Surfing with Pat and Nori. When I arrived they were just about to have dinner with a couple of family members, Florie from California and Joe from Miami, so I was made very welcome by them all and had a really enjoyable evening.<br /><br />The following day Pat decided to take half a day off work and came back to pick me up and take me on a little tour. Pat is ex-military and now works as a civilian and the Holloman Air Force Base, so that is where the tour started. It’s a large base with about 10,000 personnel. The base had everything from churches to a shopping mall and bowling alley, a complete self contained community. The whole site is purely for testing and I saw various aircraft both in flight and on the ground including a little remote controlled aircraft that was circling above. From there we went via a cycle shop to the Space Museum, aptly here as much of the space technology is also tested here at White Sands. Incidentally, the world’s first atom bomb was tested on the sight on 16th July 1945 and less than 3 weeks later the real thing was used on Hiroshima in Japan. At the Space museum was Sonic Wind No.1. Dr John Stapp used this to test the effects g-forces had on the human body, tested at White Sands. The guy was a nutter, he strapped himself to the thing and a bunch of little rockets on the back took him pretty quickly along a track to a speed of 632mph. That was the easy bit, the deceleration was back to standstill in 1.4 seconds and I still can’t understand why it didn’t kill him. I guess if you are doing the test yourself you carry out your research beforehand pretty thoroughly. The museum was fascinating, but I am no rocket scientist, so most of it was way above me, but I found the simplest thing the most incredible. It was outside and called the whispering dish. There were two small satellite dish type things 20m apart and with one of us at each dish you could face the dishes and whisper into the centre of them I could hear as clearly as if Pat was right beside me whispering in my ear..wow, amazing.<br /><br />Since my failure at the border to get a visitor permit renewal I have slowly been accepting that things are not looking so good for an extended stay here. Christine, with her extensive knowledge of the US and love of searching out information has today just about put the final nail in the coffin with the information she has provided me. My only chance left has been to get a permit extension, but it will cost $300 and you need a very good reason to stay any longer than 6 months and if they refuse your request you get no refund and your existing visa which lasts 10 years will be made void. I suspect that if I apply and say “I don’t want to cycle north in February as it makes my poor little tootsies a bit cold” that I might well get rejected, and as I may want to return in the next 10 years it is a big gamble. So I am slowly but surely beginning to realise that this trip is finally coming to an end and that I have to be in New York by the middle of March. It then looks as though I will have to return home and face the music. I have enjoyed this trip immensely, I still am and I don’t want it to end. </div></div></div>John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-66891366843961767242009-11-11T22:09:00.002+00:002009-11-11T22:14:39.186+00:00Day 902 - Safford<div><div><div>I stayed a little longer than expected in Phoenix, I was glad I did, On Friday evening Julie took me out for a meal at a Mexican restaurant will meals that would have been a challenge for any hungry cyclist. It seems that no matter where you go in Phoenix it involves a long journey. On Saturday we met up with Julie’s father at the Desert Botanical Gardens a fabulous place full of large spiky things. I loved some of the names of the cactus plants, names such as Organ Pipe Cactus, Old Man of the Andes and Toothpick Cactus to name just a few. There were some lovely birds to spot too as well as a great butterfly house full<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNksUQhwGIFfx2yNDrn-Qb3KslmpD0qo7lU0nuKMGffmM9pd-IQursLgyCPWE_4Df6pQszSZqOumCoR2SYGaBge4UOPEICT4avJKmd3xFxZ_LiszAq1vr8EKtvj5A5eu4pwQh3qU5hO6Q4/s1600-h/P1020959.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 264px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402972253703005042" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNksUQhwGIFfx2yNDrn-Qb3KslmpD0qo7lU0nuKMGffmM9pd-IQursLgyCPWE_4Df6pQszSZqOumCoR2SYGaBge4UOPEICT4avJKmd3xFxZ_LiszAq1vr8EKtvj5A5eu4pwQh3qU5hO6Q4/s320/P1020959.JPG" /></a> of Monarch butterflies (photo). Afterward we ate at a bar/café where my education in American sports continued and I returned the compliment by educating them in soccer in general, but Norwich City in particular. Later on I was able to report that we have beaten the mighty Paulton Rovers 7-0 in the FA Cup. I was then shown around Scottsdale centre, the old town full of wooden shops filled with everything a tourist might want even though they never realised it. There were horses and cowboys there too, one sat on a horse playing the guitar and singing. He was given money, though I couldn’t work out if was to sing or to stop singing! Times are changing for the cowboys, there were signs in the bar windows stating that firearms were forbidden.<br /><br />It was time to leave on Sunday morning. A simple thank you hardly seemed enough considering Julie had made her home my home for a week. I was her first Couch Surfer, I just hope I haven’t put her off the idea. The good thing about stopping for a few days is that by the time I leave, me and all my clothes are clean. The bad thing about getting a puncture after just 5km is that I end up filthy again before I have even worked up a sweat. The rim tape had slipped and the rough edges on the inside of the rim had caused the puncture, it looked as though the rim tape would need replacing soon. After another 10km having repaired another puncture with a rapidly diminishing sense of humour, I was changing the rim tape much sooner than I had expected, I ended up filthy, my legs were black and for some reason whenever I repair a puncture my face ends up filthy too. Having already made a late start it looked as though I wasn’t going to get very far. I had used the cycle path by the canal, it was so much better than using the main roads and well used by cyclists. I chatted to a guy on a bright green and yellow bike, “Nice colours” I said assuming he was a Norwich supporter “Yeah, I did it this colour so that the stupid motorists can see me, it cost me $300 to get it resprayed, it used to be black”. He was dressed entirely in black, I decided not to tell him of the cheaper and much easier option. My rear mudguard started rubbing against the back wheel, I had to stop for another repair, replacing the black tape that was no longer holding the thing together. At some traffic lights I caught up with a lady on a long wheel base bike taking her dog for a walk. Bogchai was her name, a nickname that had been with her since she was two. We chatted away for about 30 minutes, time was slipping by again but so what. I passed through Tempe and cycled out on Apache Trail that turned into Main St. I was dead straight and went on forever, a constant row of strip malls on either side. In fact in went on for so long without changing that my cycle computer decided we had stopped and refused to start again. I had done enough repairs for one day, this one would have to wait until tomorrow. I wasted more time talking at a supermarket. I used the restrooms to clean up applying soap to my legs, but as I tried to remove the soap it just lathered up, the harder I tried the worse it got, so I just left with soapy white legs and hoped nobody would notice. As it was getting dark I knew I wouldn’t make it out of suburbia despite having ridden 50 miles. I spotted a campground and went in. It was $25 a night for a tent and just what I needed after a frustrating day. But hang on, what was happening to my sense of adventure, I still had a few minutes of daylight, something would work out surely, so I carried on. Just a couple of kilometres further on it was getting too dark, there were odd blocks that weren’t built on and one had a dry river bed with a few bushes so I tucked myself in there. If I stood on the nearby bank I could see houses and streetlights all around along with 2 churches, but this would be home for the night even if it was a little noisy, I suspected nobody would see me there.<br /><br />I was soon out of suburbia the following morning on the busy route 60 heading east. At Florence Junction the road started to climb, I climbed most of the way to Superior, a place with an ironic n<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYFH28m-xSaVbqHf3Y8ohenh-HqNtI15iTOgx3_tDL3DneVA_2TUrLykMg_WP60-YPAFR3khTqMuj11UHosyT60ifu-EEDcJvjlb2wEjdIuUEVcUP3-f9PVOAE8SpMZZeNqpeWtP5kAh4L/s1600-h/P1020985.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402972730832967314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYFH28m-xSaVbqHf3Y8ohenh-HqNtI15iTOgx3_tDL3DneVA_2TUrLykMg_WP60-YPAFR3khTqMuj11UHosyT60ifu-EEDcJvjlb2wEjdIuUEVcUP3-f9PVOAE8SpMZZeNqpeWtP5kAh4L/s320/P1020985.JPG" /></a>ame but with some nice murals (photo). As I headed into the dingy little centre a woman called out “I saw you go up Gonzales Pass s-o-o slowly, I thought you would never make it”, “Yep, that’s sounds like me”. “Where are you going?” she asked “Globe”, “Oh, have you been there before?”, “No, why?”, “Oooh, do you have to go there, it’s up hill the whole way….” great, 25 miles of it, this woman knows how to cheer people up “….well, there is the occasional bit of downhill…..” ah, that sounds a bit better, “….but it’s all uphill”…..eh, she was confusing me now!!! I sat and had lunch and watched postie doing her rounds in her Postman Pat look-a-like van, then she parked right beside me and locked the van. She hadn’t done that before so she must be doing a long visit, but she returned 20 seconds later and drove off. That means she locked it because of me, do I really look that dodgy? The road did indeed climb, you would expect it to to reach a place called “Top of the World”, but it wasn’t up hill all the way to Globe. As I was almost out the other side I met a couple of young cycle tourists, Jerry and Eric from near New York and on their way to San Francisco. We chatted a while and it turned out they we staying with a Warm Showers host, and that is exactly where I ended up too. We stayed with Larry and Susan, parents to 8 children and 21 grandchildren, I guess another cyclist was nothing to them. We were all made very welcome and Susan cooked up a wonderful lasagne and I had only thought the other day how much I would love one. I really admired the spirit of Jerry and Eric, both about 20 and both taking a short break from their degrees, having only met each other twice before they set off on their journey. They had saved up their money and even made their own panniers, but they loved what they were doing and talked about their trip with such enthusiasm. Jerry said “I have learned far more in two months on this trip than in two years of studying my degree”. That’s great, if the same ratio works for me, by the time I get home I will be a bloody genius!<br /><br />After breakfast we went our separate ways. I raced along to Peridot making such good time that I decided to chill out a while and drink coffee and eat doughnuts, they just looked irresistible and tasted great. Back on the bike the pace suddenly slowed right down as the road rolled and I went straight into an annoying headwind. It was a slog for the next 40km to Bylas where this time I had a well earned rest. I had been cycling through a Native American reserve and through these places you seem to see only Indians. As I sat outside a store eating again a car full of them emptied out and walked past me “Where are you going?” they asked “New York” I replied, “What, on that bike?”, “Yes”, “Will it get you there?” Oh dear, it would seem that both me and my bike are looking a bit dodgy these days.<br /><br />Adopting a highway to clear litter seems a popular thing in the western world these days, and route 60 is no exception. Each mile is sponsored with a sign on the mile post, but there seem to be far more miles than there are businesses so people adopt them and have them in memory of their deceased loved ones, signs such as “In memory of Dan Andersen III Jr, you are missed and loved”. There was a different one on every mile posts, I was getting a bit depressed, was <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHh6UIO0c8lB81ZZ-yt84otASHILStjlFMHZWSRwbGS89zJSMrpnItqZSVrNu9WawtLRF_iLDfrucRCxNKv6gi93pkH9alLWgF9UaijGZRKQ88zc_PDRX1OmQPy0FBU1l4O7a8QbzerY8Q/s1600-h/P1020999.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402972262307680370" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHh6UIO0c8lB81ZZ-yt84otASHILStjlFMHZWSRwbGS89zJSMrpnItqZSVrNu9WawtLRF_iLDfrucRCxNKv6gi93pkH9alLWgF9UaijGZRKQ88zc_PDRX1OmQPy0FBU1l4O7a8QbzerY8Q/s320/P1020999.JPG" /></a>there anybody left alive around here? It felt like I was cycling through a very long cemetery. As well as getting depressed I was getting annoyed, these people pay good money for sponsorship and people are supposed to clear the roadside litter, but this road was a junkyard, there was so much litter is detracted from otherwise very attractive surroundings. The road wasn’t even very busy, there must have been years worth of rubbish out there and clearly no litter had been removed since those signs had been put up, it looked as though the authorities had been doing the opposite and actually dumping litter there. Sponsorship is not working as it is supposed to, it seems to me that it is just an optional extra tax. As I neared Safford the land turned agricultural and man made litter was replaced by the more natural litter of cotton grown in all the surrounding fields. </div></div></div>John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-87593569714744139962009-11-05T17:14:00.003+00:002009-11-05T17:19:03.640+00:00Day 896 - PhoenixIt was hard to leave the warmth, comfort and luxury of a nice cosy motel, but it helped seeing the local weather forecast; it was due to warm up nicely in the next few days. Actually, we were so late in leaving that it had warmed up considerably by the time that we eventually got going. It wasn’t the most exciting of days <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5tV5daIkuGxb_W4gVxG4Pq0BrLsXEcVQNELs0PpFDzJQVaRsF9U4gBN2tW7nOq68tv28Z14ge8lsydUn-Gh51_u-kn0ygvdCtbXDOIgHgoPjZOdpHrjSrXgCVYr4ZcahlLXrznRUcygl2/s1600-h/P1020905.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 214px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400669667230989346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5tV5daIkuGxb_W4gVxG4Pq0BrLsXEcVQNELs0PpFDzJQVaRsF9U4gBN2tW7nOq68tv28Z14ge8lsydUn-Gh51_u-kn0ygvdCtbXDOIgHgoPjZOdpHrjSrXgCVYr4ZcahlLXrznRUcygl2/s320/P1020905.JPG" /></a>though with a slight tailwind and a slight downhill trend in the morning we fairly raced along. After a lunch stop the trend went slightly uphill, just to remind up that it can’t always be that easy. As we approached Prescott the landscape turned rocky, hiding any view of the town from us. Prescott was a stopover for Matt, he had arranged to Couch Surf with another cyclist, Justin, who worked in a bike shop in the town. We were early so went along to the shop to meet him, a very nice easy going guy who even offered a couch to me as well, I took up the offer. It was Friday evening, the night before Halloween, and Halloween here is taken seriously. Back home it sneaks up on you and you only realise it is the 31st October when the ‘trick or treaters’ come knocking at the door. Here it is like Christmas, it is in your face for the month leading up to it, the shops are full of merchandise, pumpkins are everywhere and people decorate their houses, it even gets an extended coverage on the local news. For the occasion Justin had organised a little bike ride…a pub crawl race! Having met at the bike shop at 20:30 we were off, though Matt and I were soon lost and trying to find street names in the dark. We arrived at the first place just in time to see the last person leaving. It was cold out still, we abandoned the idea of a race and had a leisurely drink. But this was ‘Halloween Eve’ people had come out in fancy dress, we shared the bar with a priest, a cat and a frog amongst other things, I just went along dresses in my best clothes, making a good impression as a fancy dress tramp. We did our best to enter into the spirit of the event by heading to the last but one pub, arriving as the others were leaving again. We also joined them at the last bar and were then the first to leave soon after midnight. Neither if us could manage the beer or the late night, I was soon crashed out on a warm comfy sofa.<br /><br />So I departed Prescott on my own, another late start giving the advantage that it was already warming up, I warmed up even more on the unexpected climb, but then the vista opened up, the road wound down the mountain side, then a nice swoop down to Wilhoit. In Yarnell I passed an antiques shop that I guess sold stuffed animals judging by the sign out side that read “Santa Fe House - Home of brand new dead things”. On reflection, it could have been a butcher selling road kill! The road then swooped down into Congress, pretty much marking the end of the mountains for the time being and taking me below 1000m for the first time since California, though I suspect that I will have to climb again within the next few days. The road was fairly flat and straight, suddenly I was seeing the huge cactus plants that seem to feature on most Arizona road signs, though up until now I hadn’t seen a single one for real. I went through a gate and camped amongst the bushes near a dry river bed. I sat outside in shorts and t-shirt watching the stars, I could hardly believe I was actually doing that, a couple of days ago I was wrapped up and in the tent with a sleeping bag around me as soon as it was dark.<br /><br />The ride into Phoenix was a doddle, slightly downhill and with a slight tailwind, it made for a fast ride, I felt good, incredibly good, totally content with life and my surroundings, I felt on an incredible high, I felt like singing but didn’t want to risk ruining the day of some unsuspecting person who might hear it. The occupants of a passing pickup threw a can of beer at me, it missed, it flashed across the front of me to become just another can among the hundreds already littering the side of the carriageway. It didn’t dampen my spirits, but did make me wonder if I had been singing without realising it. Once at the edge of the city the navigation was easy, it’s a massive city, but set out in a grid system. I crossed 111th Avenue, I just had to keep crossing all the avenues until I reached 35th Avenue, though it seemed to take a long time to reach it. There I was staying with Julie, Associate Editor of the magazine Arizona Wildlife Views and also a freelance writer. I sat and read a couple of the magazines, I was enthralled. About half of it dealt with the wildlife issues of conservation, surveying, protection, creating habitats etc, the other half of the magazine was all about shooting it! There were beautiful pictures of wildlife and the Arizona landscape that they live in, but turn the page and you are confronted by men holding shotguns and proudly displaying rather dead game and pictures of young boys holding up very dead squirrels by the tails. I was somewhat amazed by the contradictions, but I guess that shows the differences in culture between the Americans and Europeans, the Americans have been brought up on hunting, it’s what they do. Gun licenses and the shooting fees fund the protection of wildlife, so the hunters actually consider that without them the wildlife would not survive, a bit of a tough concept for me to get my head around. You may recall a couple of posts ago I said something to the effect of “…the Americans love their wildlife and are never happier than when half of it is hanging on the wall”, well at the time I said that in jest, but I am slowly coming to realise that it is actually very near the truth. In the evening we went another 25 miles across the city to see Julie’s father and watch the ball game, baseball, the New York Yankees were playing the Philadelphia Wotsits in the baseball World Series. I asked lots of questions and even began to understand a bit about what was going on, I even enjoyed it, though I did find out that the “World Series” was really just the USA. If we held a World Cup football tournament in England and forgot to invite anybody else, we still wouldn’t win it!<br /><br /><br />My guide book reliably informed me that Phoenix covers almost 2000 square miles. My legs reliably informed me that my guide would seem to be about right in its estimation. I set off towards the city centre, Downtown, on the bike. Being a grid system just seems to make the journey even longer. There were traffic lights every half mile with hardly anything changing in between. Phoenix is what Julie calls a ‘young’ city. Most buildings appear to be single storey, there are just a few that I notice that have a second level. Everything seems to be painted in a pale colour, a sort of magnolia city. Occasionally there are what they call strip malls, but I soon found out that these are malls made up of a strip of shops and are not malls full of strippers as I had expected! The malls are set back from the road and sometimes are even hard to spot. Having cycled south on 35th Avenue for a while and getting fed up with the traffic I turned east a few block and made for another road heading south which had a cycle path. There was nothing unpleasant about the cycling, in fact it gave me the feeling I was on holiday, there were wide roads with palm trees and little traffic, lush green grass lay between the street and the houses being sprinkled with water that comes from who knows where. I had the feeling the sea would come into view, but sadly it never did. I kept looking for the high rise buildings that would tell me I was getting close to my destination, they took a mighty long time to reveal themselves. The first stop was a little north of the downtown area at the Heard Museum dedicated to Native American Culture and history. It left me feeling they had received the same raw deal that the Australian Aboriginals had received as the white settlers moved in and said “Nice land, we’ll have that. Oooh, nice water, we will have that too” and promptly forced the natives out. As more settlers moved in the natives became a ‘problem’ and were forced to comply with the new society that was being formed by the settlers. Children were sent to boarding schools were they were forced to wear western clothes and had their hair cut, they felt they had lost their identity. Eventually reserves were set up that the natives were allowed to live in, though they felt as though they were in concentration camps as they no longer had the space and freedom that had been accustomed to. These still exist today and are governed by themselves separately to the rest of the State. An eye opener indeed. I made my way to downtown to have a little nosey around. There are a few tall buildings here, bu<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoPz95Yc9g-ouOdjAF7NbqmqxZ4yRp6cm-fPSJ_fw6IFH9npiqsZ66Y_gsoVx5lTJjQjonF9sQlCaied6AzxZ23fa71F-pMmOAD8QSeK6eRdVZT_asVx7s_Ui-9vDUwZilNwL6pmpUeJ8X/s1600-h/P1020901.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 141px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400669451595222162" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoPz95Yc9g-ouOdjAF7NbqmqxZ4yRp6cm-fPSJ_fw6IFH9npiqsZ66Y_gsoVx5lTJjQjonF9sQlCaied6AzxZ23fa71F-pMmOAD8QSeK6eRdVZT_asVx7s_Ui-9vDUwZilNwL6pmpUeJ8X/s320/P1020901.JPG" /></a>t this is no New York. The streets were quiet, little traffic, few people, no shops. I cycled around looking for the shops, I wanted to find a book shop so asked pedestrians “Sorry, I don’t know” was always the answer. I decided to broaden my approach “Can you tell me where the shops are?” I asked, I received the same answer. I spotted a guy with a cycle rickshaw talking to his mate sat on a bench, he would surely know his way around the city centre “Can you tell me where the shops are?” I asked again, “Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha…..where are you from?” was the reply, “England”, “Yeah, I thought so”. “So where are the shops?” I asked again, “What are you looking for?”, “A book shop”, “The library is the best bet”, “No, I need to buy one”, “You could buy one over there, but I wouldn’t”, “So where do you buy food, clothes and things”, there was a shrug of the shoulders, then his mate chipped in “If you follow the light railway north to the end of the line you might find a few shops there”. So downtown seems to be a business area, you head to your office in the morning, work your socks off, then head home again in the evening stopping off at a strip mall on the way home, but don‘t tell the wife. I didn’t dislike Phoenix, but I wasn’t falling in love with it either. I rode back, it seemed to take even longer. I called in for a culinary experience at Wendy’s, I had never been in one before, it was like McDonalds but worse. By the time I arrived back I had cycled 72km, I looked a the map of the city, I had gone nowhere, just a few blocks. I think some of the streets may have been missed off my map!<br /><br />Here is a little bonus bit for you. Over a year ago now, I was cycling through Malaysia south of Kuala Lumpur when I stopped off for lunch at a little restaurant. I got chatting to the owner and his family and when it came to leave he refused to accept my payment, he gave me my meal for free despite the fact that he works 12 hours a day, 6 days a week to support his family. Whilst I was in South Korea I sent him a postcard, though I would never actually know if it ever get there. As I uploaded some photos the other day I spotted <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/johngharwood/2646048260/">this (click here). </a>Isn’t that wonderful? It is little gems like this that make travel and life so much fun. I had no idea that he even remembered me or had my blog address.<br /><br />It is nearing time to move on, so let me tell you a bit about how I go about route planning these days. Firstly I have to thank Christine for her suggestions on most route I have taken so far, she has extensive knowledge of the USA and her suggestions have proved to be first class. But the way it works at the moment is that I have a rough plan to cycle across the southern States, then up the east coast to New York, the warmer route through the winter, but that still leaves a huge choice in where I actually head to. I ride along with only the next stopover in mind, in this case Phoenix, I might have a rough idea of where to go next, but that is about it. Heading to Phoenix I met and rode a few days with Matt, that opened up a whole new area…Mexico. It still remained just an idea to play around with, but since I have been in Phoenix I have been giving it some serious thought, doing a little research into the options, then when I have all the information I can set about choosing the final route to the next stopover. I have always wanted to go to Mexico and talking to Matt has opened up an opportunity and really whetted my appetite, but strangely enough it still somehow doesn’t feel right, it never has done. What does feel right it heading south east from Phoenix into New Mexico, then along the south to El Paso and onto White Sand National Park and Carlsbad Caverns National Park. I can’t really explain why a route or direction feels right or not right, it just does, I suppose it is all about going on instincts, listening to my inner self, reflecting and trying to make the right choices for the route and in life in general. It may not even mean that I reach any of those destinations that I decide to head towards, something may happen along the way that may divert me along a completely different route, but that it the thing I have grown to love about travel without time limits, without having any firm plans or destinations that I feel I ‘must’ see, I feel an incredible freedom, I feel the joy of just being alive, living and enjoying each day as it comes.<br /><br />At some stage along the route to El Paso I will pass through the small town of Hachita, a little town where nothing happens. I have been informed that I if I hang out for a few minutes around the post office I may get to meet some of the local characters. Apparently I am almost certain to meet Wizard Dave. Wizard Dave claims to be 60,000 years old and is some sort of expert in just about anything, well you would be if you were a wizard and had been around for that long. He normally hangs out with a close friend, Jaguar King, a youngster in comparison, a mere 10,000 years old. He is not very old at all, especially as he was born 10,000 year in the future. If they don’t show up I could always turn left from the post office and 3 or 4 houses down lives Sam Hughes…..that name can’t be real! He is easy to recognise, half of his nose if missing, he may well look very much like me as half of my nose is missing too! Sam thinks the other two are not quite all there, but he is most definitely perfectly normal. He deals in just about anything and amongst other things is a gold prospector, runs some sort of shuttle bus for cyclists and walkers being very close to the end of the Continental Divide Trail and also the local expert of UFOs being the proud owner of a number of bits that have fallen off passing spaceships. I will let you know how I get on, it sounds the sort of place that I might just feel at home in.John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4436352824429780736.post-85573205185072407722009-10-30T03:52:00.004+00:002009-10-30T04:07:13.605+00:00Day 889 - Ash Fork, Arizona<div><div><div>From the spot where I camped I was surprised to find that it was only a couple of kilometres to the Arizona border. Arizona is I think, the only state not to have daylight time saving during the summer months, so it was time to put the clocks back one hour. That would mean I would have to be up at 05:30 and it would be dark by 18:00. I didn’t like the idea of that much, <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBkzeYTC9nC_H8Gf24uiqAtMOxYopCh3zHWpA2s7jyT82rCsdmjP-nzWW77qj09TTxLdmDe84VdMCfTgiQkE1ijsn9GnQu2StDav1Hng6WWWQGyeDp6b9Hbwkxoy3i1MsJI-M4JLYgDSiN/s1600-h/P1020804.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 180px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398237237967870866" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBkzeYTC9nC_H8Gf24uiqAtMOxYopCh3zHWpA2s7jyT82rCsdmjP-nzWW77qj09TTxLdmDe84VdMCfTgiQkE1ijsn9GnQu2StDav1Hng6WWWQGyeDp6b9Hbwkxoy3i1MsJI-M4JLYgDSiN/s320/P1020804.JPG" /></a>so I decided to run on my own time. This had the advantages of a lie in every morning, I could cycle until 19:00 if I wished and the added bonus that all the shops would be open an hour longer than they realised. But what the heck, time is a funny old thing, what difference does it really make, I will still be up at first light and still looking for a place to camp just before it gets dark, its all a state of mind really and my mind doesn’t like early mornings. I soon passed through Fredonia, the place was shut, they obviously don’t like early mornings either, so I just carried on through. The road turned east and headed through the desert, today would be a day of climbing as I was heading towards the Grand Canyon North Rim. Twice people stopped me to ask direction, I am hardly an expert on the place but I was able to point them both in the right direction, there aren’t exactly a lot of roads around here. From a distance the road looked flat, but it was definitely heading upwards, then it turn south along a ridge, there were now pine trees everywhere and a long gentle slog eventually brought me to the junction at Jacob Lake. I called into the lodge for a fix of coffee served by Mrs Grump, and sat down at the bar near a couple eating their dinner. We soon got talking, they were Mike and Rene from St George heading for Williams for the weekend where they would take a train to the south rim of the Grand Canyon, somewhere they had never visited despite living relatively close by, they had always been to the North Rim. They were fascinated by my journey and kept asking me buy me dinner, I must be losing weight and looking thin! Having not long eaten my daily dose of bagels I kept refusing, but I eventually cracked when Mike said “They have the best milkshake I have ever had”. I took up the offer and went for a thick strawberry shake. It was served in a big carton with about 25% of it sticking out of the top and whilst it may not have been the biggest milkshake I have ever had it was most definitely the heaviest, I wondered if I would be able to move after eating it. I was fabulous, but the really good thing is that after visiting the North Rim I have to retrace the 44 miles on the spur road and pass the lodge again, it would be rude not to try another one. I left soon after Mike and Rene and as I started to cycle somebody called out from an RV “How long have you been cycling for”. I am easily distracted so stopped for another chat, the guy told me he cycled, mainly along the Californian coast, so I told him about the thousands of cyclists I had seen along the coast riding the Lighthouse Century and he exclaimed “I was on that, WOW! It’s you, I remember seeing you heading the other way”, it’s a small place the USA you know. I have met so many nice people in the USA and received so much good will, I really appreciate it all, it gives me such a good lift at times. Sometimes I just want to hug people, but I am not sure the Americans are ready for that, may be I should go and hug a tree, after all if it is good enough for the Japanese Shinto Buddhists then it is good enough for me. May be it is that I cherish these little meeting while I am travelling alone, perhaps I wouldn’t feel the same way if I were with others, but that is also one of the good things about being alone, you are free to react, talk and act on instincts that aren’t always possible if you have to discuss things first with somebody else. I carried on down the spur road through lovely pine trees thinking that it was ideal camping, then they were replaced with burnt trees, mile after mile of burnt trees, until at last the living variety returned. I found and nice little spot to camp that so reminded me of the New Forest. I was camping high up at over 8,500ft so expected a cold night so tucked myself under the trees to at least gain a little insulation.<br /><br />Despite it being -2 over night I hadn’t been cold, at least not until I started packing away the tent. By the time I was on the road both feet and hand were frozen as was all the water. I was glad when the first climb came along. I was soon riding through lovely meadows with woodland to the sides, though I still had a 45k ride to the North Rim, though I made good time and was there within a couple of hours. The North Rim is much more low key than the south rim and only gets about 10% of the annual 4 million visitors, though that is still about 1,000 a day on average. All of the amenities were shut, there were just a hand full of people there. The Canyon sneaks up on you and suddenly you have an amazing vista in front of you, completely the opposite to a mountain. At one of the view points I was asked to take a photo for a family, they were from Corby, Northants and it wasn’t long before I was handed a can of beer, and I can assure you it is going down very well as I write this. You could clearly see across to the South Rim and the fault line in the rock. I sat and had lunch in the sun with the company of a beautiful Blue Jay, though judging by the noise it was making it was a little bit pissed off that I didn’t give him any. There are also some lovely Kaibab Squirrels around here, they are almost black with big bushy white tails that seem to light up when the sun is behind them. I tried to go for a walk, but on the nearby paths you instantly lost the view. I headed off to the trailhead that descended into the canyon and walked down as far at Coconino Lookout, where it really felt as though you were at the top of a mountain. A voice from behind said “I can push the button for you if you like” referring to taking a photo for me, “I thought you were going to offer to push me over” I replied, there being another long unprotected drop. It was pretty cool on the rim, but drop down a few feet and the temperature really rises, I dread to think what it must be like in the middle of summer. I talked to more people in the car park. People are always amazed when I answer their questions about where I have come from and where I am going to, everybody seems really pleased to have met me, I seem to be taking on celebrity status for the first time since I was in Bangladesh where you were a celebrity for just being a foreigner. I started to cycle back out. It may have only been 14 miles as the crow flies to the South Rim, a little longer on the path through the canyon, but it is 220 miles around by road. I called in at a petrol station for a little food and water “Can I fill up my water please?” I asked, “No, we have water but we don’t fill water bottles, you will have to buy the bottled water” I was told, “I have the money, but I wont be spending it in here” I replied and went across the road and filled up at the lodge, no questions asked. This is the first time I have been refused water in the USA, most are only to keen to help and be friendly. I rode back and camped in the very same spot as I had the previous night, I could hear the wind through the trees but at ground level it is well protected.<br /><br />It was another cold night, but I remained warm and snug tucked up in the sleeping bag with my head covered, the cold only <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQl21z0LdCWmJCMDE_Nc4CzYMr-hYDVqOOb-xzJnq1pPzVD0-2Te3Cy6sJRt7QzjG5vQULG2_ZayBNKGVr1ngsyJ2ZuYXCWVyqA0A9KSTfBay0DraUUWysSa9kBP58UtFKUInfbxygHUYC/s1600-h/P1020831.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 182px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398239098524686674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQl21z0LdCWmJCMDE_Nc4CzYMr-hYDVqOOb-xzJnq1pPzVD0-2Te3Cy6sJRt7QzjG5vQULG2_ZayBNKGVr1ngsyJ2ZuYXCWVyqA0A9KSTfBay0DraUUWysSa9kBP58UtFKUInfbxygHUYC/s320/P1020831.JPG" /></a>hits you when you have to get up in the morning. I rode back to Jacobs Lake and called in at the lodge for another thick milkshake and a coffee, a bit of an odd choice at 9am on a cold Sunday morning. I ordered a butterscotch and vanilla milkshake and as the staff walked by I said “It’s a great milkshake, but I only had vanilla”. A minute later they returned and said “Sorry, it was our mistake, you can have it for free”. At $5.25 I thought that was a very generous gesture, something I had not expected at all. A voice from behind me said “Is that your bike outside? I am Matt, another cyclist, I am heading from the top of Alaska to the bottom of Argentina”. We chatted a while but as Matt was going to stop for a bite to eat I carried on. The next 50 odd kilometres were as good as all down hill, heading east and then north around the Grand Canyon and alongside the Vermillion Cliffs, which were just wonderful in the lovely rich red colours. Having dropped down the trees disappeared, it’s odd, in the European mountains you head above the tree line, here you seem to have to go below the tree line. I really enjoyed the scenery, to be honest I found it more appealing than what I had seen of the Grand Canyon the previous day, may be it was because I was moving and seeing it change the whole time. I stopped for a coffee at Mable Canyon to see if Matt would catch up. Somebody asked “Were you at the North Rim yesterday, I think you were walking down just behind us. Have you cycled all this way already?” They were Howard and Nancy from near Phoenix, “Give us a call if you come through Prescott” they said. Matt arrived about 15 minutes later, to be honest I was happy with my own company for a while, I didn’t really want to cycle with anybody else, but I had no other reason not to. So having both filled up on water we set off together. Within a couple of kilometres we were crossing over the Colorado River, it had dug itself well down in the rocks and rather reminded me of the Corinth Canal. At 3,500ft this was the lowest Matt had been for over 3 months, it wasn’t to last long though, we were soon climbing again. I very quickly realised that Matt was good company, we talked easily and in fact the kilometres and the climbing slipped by unnoticed. What I did notice was that the road was completely fenced in, may be finding a campsite would be a challenge, but as we were beginning to think we would struggle we found a wire gate that just had a notice saying “Keep gate closed”. No sooner had we gone through and found a suitable place to camp than a bunch of horses with a tag along donkey arrived, though thankfully they eyed us with caution. We cooked our own dinners and shared stories of our trips, there was so much to talk about.<br /><br />As I am now in company I had a lie in until 7am having discovered that Matt, like me, has decided not to put his clock back an hour having entered Arizona. We were still on the road at about the same time as I normally am, settling back into the remainder of the climb. We approached the junction with the 89, we could see the vehicles running along the top of the cliffs to our left, but thankfully we were to turn the other way when we joined it. Scenery wise it was somewhat less attractive than of late. We passed through villages, scruffy little places, and lots of Native Indian roadside stalls with big signs and flags saying “Open”, though the tables were empty and nobody was there. We stopped at The Gap and bought some food, everybody living around here are Native Indians, though unlike the Aussie Aboriginals they are all very friendly and are as easy to talk to as anybody else. We had a fast and furious 54km either gently downhill or on the flat to another scruffy little town of Cameron. There we stocked on food for the evening and water and set off on the road to Grand Canyon and easily found a stony bit of land to camp on beside a dry river bed. It was only then that I realised the big mistake I had made, I had forgotten to buy any bagels. Oh poo! No breakfast for me, I can’t ask Matt for any more of his oats, I had some this morning then promptly dropped half of them on the ground. We chatted away as we cooked and I guess unsurprisingly we have a lot in common, even down to our love of maps. Talking to Matt about cycling the length on the Americas has really made me envious, I would love to ride that route. Cycling seems to make the world a smaller place, yet there is always going to be something else to see, somewhere else to go, there just never seems to be enough time.<br /><br />Since I talked to Nan at Zion National Park I have been thinking about relationships too. Nan said that she could never go on a long trip as she wanted to keep her relationships at home, and that got me to thinking about how I react now to people. I feel I enter a comfort zone very quickly, may be that is because I have little long term contact with people, so I have to get to know people very quickly. The same sort of thing happens when I meet people for a little longer, such as Matt. Within a couple of days it feels as though we have been together for far longer. I guess with so many short conversations that when I am actually with somebody for a few days it really feels much longer. Some of the people I meet for a short time I really feel that I would like to get to know better, but who knows, if we had more time we might find our differences too and perhaps wouldn’t become friends anyway. Yes, I miss those longer, deeper relationships, but I am also very happy with things the way they are at the moment.<br /><br />Back to the road, the long climb to the Grand Canyon. I set off a few minutes before Matt and by the time I reached the viewpoint over the Little Colorado River there is still no sign of him. The viewpoint is a little off the road and whilst I was down there I saw him cycle past so I quickly made tracks. There was a slight tail wind but I still assume it will take me a while to catch him as he is faster than me anyway and he will also <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHOnNG0hPQp3Qvt2Mu27YSkXVz7IowWWl2NYOs7E-7bXXnt-jzTajcMPq6x2kLBmHheDwHw19ie2GBn0YB-qj1QEta47t6y9srrasqaScGaGWeduLmfqockdaFoi2IvYdA3qAvh5UE5EyU/s1600-h/P1020835.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398237247181967314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHOnNG0hPQp3Qvt2Mu27YSkXVz7IowWWl2NYOs7E-7bXXnt-jzTajcMPq6x2kLBmHheDwHw19ie2GBn0YB-qj1QEta47t6y9srrasqaScGaGWeduLmfqockdaFoi2IvYdA3qAvh5UE5EyU/s320/P1020835.JPG" /></a>be trying to catch me! About a mile later things change drastically, suddenly I am heading into a headwind, it gets stronger, much stronger. At times gusts are so strong I have to stop and really brace myself just to stay standing. It gets worse still, about every 100m I am stopping and bracing myself waiting for the gusts to pass, I know I have no chance of catching Matt. I saw a large area of dust heading towards me, I stopped and braced against the wind again, turning my head just before it arrived as dust and large bits of grit were hurled at my bare legs and neck, it hurt. I approached a native roadside jewellery stall, but before I got there I had to stop a number times in the wind, then I realised Matt was there watching me approach, I felt a real wimp, then I discovered that that he had been doing exactly the same. Neither of us wanted to leave, but we couldn’t stop there all day, just the day before 54k had seemed so easy, now 25km seemed almost impossible. As we departed a car driver wished us luck telling it was cold at the top and winds were forecast to be 30-60mph. We couldn’t cycle side by side, Matt went in front. I had my head down into the wind and when I was stopped by it I looked up to see it had stopped Matt too. At other times I saw Matt blown to a halt, then a couple of seconds later the gust would hit me, it was tough. Strangely enough after a few miles the gusts died down just leaving a steady wind to go with the steady climb. We arrived at the National Park entrance, took a lunch break and carried on for the next 6km to Desert View and the first view of the Grand Canyon from the south rim. I have to say that despite the heavily overcast weather it was more impressive than from North Rim. It was cold, it was windy, not the place to hang around too long so having paid a visit to the old Watchtower we made our way to the café to warm up. The people of the next table eventually asked where we were going, then we were aware that all eyes were in us, it seemed that everybody wanted to know where we were going but only those on the next table had the courage to ask. We stocked up on food and water and headed out into the cold having been told that snow had been forecast and on departing the next viewpoint at Lipan Point where we could hardly see a thing, the snow arrived all too soon. There seemed little point in carrying on and seeing nothing so we went in search of somewhere to camp. With the temperature also forecast to be very low we decided to share one tent, a bit cramped, but much warmer. It was already freezing as we cooked, though thankfully the snow soon stopped.<br /><br />By morning the skies were clear, but the temperature had dropped to -6 degrees, it was impossible to stay warm whilst we packed up. The road continued along the south rim giving frequent viewpoints. In the clear morning we could see the Canyon in all its glory. As we moved along the rim towards Grand Canyon Village we could see the weather closing in, it looked like snow was on it‘s way. Before long the clouds were obscuring our views it started to snow and it became pointless in even heading down to the viewpoints, we made our way to a supermarket and café where I drank a vast amount of coffee that at least warmed me up as it continued to snow. I went out to the bikes, the cold hit me despite the temperature rising to a balmy 0 degrees! It was still snowing when we left. We called into Yavapi Point where there was an information centre. We called in to find out the weather forecast. The woman Park Ranger told us it was drop to -11, “S-H-I-T!” slipped out, I held my hand to my mouth “Oops, sorry” I said, she put her hand on my shoulder “It’s alright, I am used to it. I used to teach and said the same thing by mistake in front of all the kids”. We made our way south away from the Grand Canyon and camped a little before Valle where once again it was below freezing as we cooked. So at least I did get to see a little of the Grand Canyon, probably a bit more of that than I saw of the Pacific Highway. I was far more impressed with the view from the south rim than the north rim. The north rim only gets about 10% of the visitors, that’s fair enough, you only get to see about 10% of the views.<br /><br />When we got up this morning it was -11 degrees outside, -7 inside the tent. Our breath had frozen to the inner tent causing it to ‘snow’ every time we touch it. I was amazed how warm I had been through the night, only my feet had been cold and that is despite only having a 2 season sleeping bag, probably only suitable down to about 5 degrees. The water bottles were just solid blocks of ice, there would be no coffee to warm up with. Breakfast went the same way, it had been stored outside in the freezer overnight. Whilst it was ok in the sleeping bags, lying there wouldn’t get everything packed away. It was bitterly cold outside, just touching anything, even fabric made our hands painfully cold. By the time we left we were both very cold and had eaten nothing. Thankfully Valle was only a couple of kilometres away, so we called in at a café for a prolonged breakfast and by the time we left the temperature was above zero. We made good progress, it was still cold but nowhere near as bad as yesterday. We reached Ash Fork knowing that it would be a much warmer night, only going down to around -5 degrees. There were a couple of motels there, so we decided to check them out, so here we are enjoying the warmth and space of one of them. Motels are a little on the expensive side when you are on your own, so here was an opportunity to share the costs and have a room effectively for half price, and added to that Matt had passed 5,000 miles today and was only checking into his 2nd motel. We travel in very similar styles, we both camp and couch surf and even the bikes are loaded the same. The forecasts heading for the weekend are saying it will be back to normal temperatures, I can’t say I am sorry. </div></div></div>John Harwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00560005641620090270noreply@blogger.com8