T+96: Where We Are Right Now ----Wrapping Up Wisconsin

Mile 3410: Dunnville, ONT

WARNING: WHINE ALERT!

Here we are, one day from Niagara Falls, and I am still trying to get the stories from Wisconsin finished.  I very much want to tell the stories as soon as I can, before the memories become too faded.  I keep records and notes, as well as photos, receipts, and maps of our travels.  But each blog post takes quite a number of hours to write, re-write, edit both words and images, post to the BlogSpot, then re-post to social media and emails. 

At night, after a long ride, cleaning up, securing the next night’s lodging, and getting some dinner, I am usually too tired to write.  In the morning, I am fresh, but the days are growing shorter, and it is important to use the daylight to get down the road.  I have been trying to find time in pre-dawn, and that sometimes works.  But sometimes, it is all I can do to get up, get dressed (quite a ritual!), and get on the bike.

The other irritant is the constant hassling with the technology.  For quite a long time, my USB port was not working and I couldn’t easily get my photos from the cameras.  I have twice had to refresh my computer and re-install my software because constantly using open networks and motel Wi-Fi means that malware has been a big problem.  If I harden my firewall, then often I can’t get on the internet at all.  Simple tasks become hard and time consuming.

All sorts of people write me wonderful emails, which go days and sometimes forever without being answered.  There’s not time on the bike, even if there were reliable phone service. 

Wes and I are real mixed bags right now.  In some ways, we feel great.  Wes is almost to “fighting weight”, and I am slimmer and stronger than I have been in years.  My knees are complaining about the daily workout.  Wes complains of feeling mentally weary.  There are nights when we stay in a cottage and nothing feels better than sitting down to a (sort of) home cooked meal.  We have been eating out nearly constantly, and I am sick of it.  I miss my kitchen and my “things”.  I miss all the homely rituals around food: its shopping, preparing, and presenting.    So much of this trip has been in the outback, where food choices are a result of what can be purchased, stored, frozen, or fried easily.  The ubiquitous corporate chicken breast whatever is becoming completely unpalatable to us.

Biking reduces life to the most basic level: going, eating, sleeping, maintaining self and equipment.  For most people on these trips, this is a blessing.  There are many times on the bike, where we are not talking, and just off in our thoughts, our legs moving along.   Wes has been working out what it means to no longer be a teacher.  He circles back to this point over and over, as he tries to understand his new place in the world.  I, too, try on new identities.  I have been so focused for so long on Matrix that there are huge elements of my personality and interests that have stagnated.   I want to more fully live in my body, for one thing.

Despite the wear and tear, we are really excited to see this long journey through.  We will re-enter into the US on Sunday, after just 6 days in Canada.  It has been a wonderful ride on the north shore of Lake Erie, and it has completely changed my view of this most maligned of Great Lakes.  

As for the stories of the travels, I don’t have a solution.  I will just keep moving the story forward, even though my legs are outrunning my brain and my hands.  I think I will do updates as we move along, but forward the story of the people and the ride as best I can.    Reality charges away, with story coming when story can.

Wrapping up Wisconsin

 

We have a forty mile ride to Green Bay, then will need to get across the city, and onto the ferry port city of Manitowac.  We guess the ride will be 70 miles, which we can do, but find it pretty challenging.  We have a reservation at the port hotel and need to be there because our friend Robert is coming up from Chicago the next day to spend a few hours with us.

On the way there, I am quite worried about my brother.  We still have heard nothing but that the flooding is epic.  They are calling it a “1000 year flood” of “Biblical proportions.”  I tell Wes that if something has gone wrong, I will leave the trip in Green Bay fly back to Wyoming.  He says he will join me.  We think about what we would do with our equipment if we had to leave immediately.

Shortly out of Shawano, we encounter two burly Marines, walking the Mountain to Bay trail in combat boots, full camouflage, and back pack with rifles.   I slow down to chat with them as they and we keep going.  I ask, “Didn’t we see you sitting on the grass just outside the K-mart in Shawano?”  Yes, they had seen us, too, on the mad scramble to get to rotten resort before dark.  They are sort of a Mutt and Jeff pair.   One is tall and muscular; his biceps are twice around one of Wes’.  His massive shoulders and pecs prove a long acquaintance with barbells.  His partner is also all muscle, but a full foot shorter, round and solid and a few years older.  Both have “jarhead” haircuts—almost shaved on the sides, with a little bit of length on top.

They tell us they are walking the trail from Wausau to Green Bay.  This is a distance of 110 miles; they will do it in 3 and half days.  They need to walk 30-35 miles a day and have been camping on the trail.  They are raising funds to purchase care packages for soldiers serving in Afghanistan.   They will be featured at the Packers game at Lambeau Field on Sunday.  This is the fourth year in row they have done this.  They like the challenge and the outcome.

We tell that we have ridden from Portland, Oregon, and the shorter soldier’s jaw drops.  This is becoming a more common reaction now, especially when people see that we are not spring chickens and that our equipment is not the most efficient.  We wish them well.  They return the same.   Afterwards, we talk about walking 35 miles in combat boots.  It sounds both painful and impressive.

Our friend Robert is much on our minds as we enter the little town of Pulaski, where there is a big Franciscan abbey in a large tiled domed topped church.  We take our lunch in a Polish bakery and Wes finally gets to indulge his latte coffee habit for the first time in days upon days.  When we order the lattes, the counter woman’s face darkens, and she says, “Let me see if I can get the Latte Girl to come help you.”  Well, the Latte Girl, a young heavy set blonde with a very chirpy voice, makes a damn fine latte.  Wes actually sighs when he tastes it.

To my great relief, I get a text from my brother Scott, who has been able to establish contact with Steve.  My eldest brother and his cat are holed up in the guest room above the garage.  They are all right, but there is no power, no water, and the roads have washed out.  It is still raining a bit, and his house, parts of which sit right next to Left Hand Creek, have sustained heavy damage.  His wife, Esther, is in Maine, but will fly back to Colorado as soon as possible.  It is not clear what will happen next, but it is a great relief to hear they have come through the worst of it.

The bike trail into Green Bay is pretty amazing.  For a long while it takes us through a boggy canal, far below the surrounding surface. We are in green secret passage, tunneling into the innards of the city.  We start to encounter more people on the path.  It is Friday afternoon.  Nearly everyone we see is a baby boomer on a bike. 

After a series of pretty parks, the trail ends on the northwest side of Green Bay, which is a big city.  We come out to the road and try to figure out where to go.  We point our bikes southeast and hope for the best.  At the first big intersection, we start following a bike lane, but the sun is in the wrong place.  So we pull out the handy-dandy compass, and yes, we are dead wrong.  Luckily enough, we soon find the truck route through town, which is going exactly where we need it to.   It is the right direction, all right, but boy does it suck as a bike route.   We ride a lot of bumpy sidewalks instead of fighting Friday afternoon traffic.  We stop and take pictures of the big Fox River just before it empties into the Green Bay.  We are thrilled to finally be in the Great Lakes region.

As we keep following business Route 10 and we start moving toward the inevitable plastic land that rings American cities, the sidewalks disappear.   The traffic is horrendous and fast.  We are reduced to riding parking lots and walking across patches of grass.  It is slow going.  We have been going for hours.  It is getting near 5; traffic is peaking, and we are still a long way from Manitowac.  At a tavern advertising a Friday Fish Fry (a ubiquitous Wisconsin tradition), we decide to get some dinner, wait for the traffic to calm a bit, then enter shoulderless, busy road.

Inside the dark and simple structure, a group of men and women are having beers and getting ready for the first home game of the Packers.  We order the delicious fresh perch and the folks there immediately engage us in conversation.  They are very fascinated by our travels.  The women run outside to see our equipment.  Like all women we have encountered, their first question is, “Doesn’t your butt get sore?”  I tell them my strategies for this very real and never-ending problem and I can tell they are both amazed and repelled.   (Just as a note, many women think a big seat with big pads are a solution: actually it makes it worse because there is more surface to rub.  Tight padded bike shorts are a must.   As is painkiller for my tender parts.) 

We ask about the Packers and find out they each of these people are stockholders in the team—“the better for them to get money from us,” they say.  They also tell us that Lambeau Field holds 80,000 people.  The city has 100,000: they don’t know “what the hell those other 20,000 people are doing on a Sunday.  The town is dead quiet when the game is on.”

The folks in the tavern are very concerned about us trying to make it to Manitowac that night.  There is a big debate about how far it is.  Some say 25 miles, some say 35 miles.  One thing for certain is that is a long way to go after we have already gone 50 miles.  Sensible people, (which doesn’t include Wes and  I) would have taken the hint, cancelled the reservation in Manitowac, and found a place in Green Bay. 

But no.  We are concerned about our rendezvous with Robert.  We are looking forward to not having to mad dash in the morning to get to the ferry.   We make our way out to the highway and squeeze ourselves as far to the right as we can and push on.  We get the turn off to Denmark, which is the direct back road route to the ferry.  The road is horrible.  Made of concrete blocks in the 1950’s, it is broken at the edges and separated between the blocks.  It is shaking the hell out of us and the bikes. 

We continue like this for some miles, watching the sun move ever lower in the sky.  At one point, still outside of Denmark, Wes has had it.  He stops his bike and tries to hitch a ride.  This is futile and a waste of precious daylight.  I tell him, “Let’s just go to town, where the traffic will be slower and we can talk to someone about giving us a ride.”

The town is hardly more than a crossroads, but the road greatly improves and there is a good shoulder.  We don’t stop, pushing hard to cover the distance.  Dusk is starting to come on when Wes stops a man riding a lawnmower, and ask how much further it is to Manitowac.  He tells us we still have 12 more miles to go and we better get a move on, but like a good Wisconsinite, he also wants to visit. 

The landscape is really getting interesting as we get closer to the lake.  We see a few 18^th and early 19^th century buildings, but there can be no stopping to read history plaques.   We zoom down a hill to lovely little glen.  The sun slips behind the horizon.  There is a very sweet state campground at the bottom.  We have to make a decision.  We have missed the deadline to cancel our reservation.  If we camp here, it is likely we will mess up our visit with Robert.

I call the hotel to tell them about our predicament and ask if there is any kind of shuttle service that can pick us up.  They don’t have one, but there is a service called “Two Guys Taxi” who might be able to pick us up in one of their vans.   She gives me the number.

I call and tell them where we are two adults with two bikes and two trailers.  He is in the midst of servicing one of their vehicles, but he will get someone out there as soon as they can.  I tell them we will keep moving toward them as long as there is light.  We make a few more miles and come to a well-lit intersection and decide we best stay put.  I call they guy and tell him where we are.  He is on his way in a car; a van is coming, too.

A little while later, a middle aged man and his 11 year old son pull up in small sedan.  We finagle our trailers into the trunk and back seat. “Don’t worry about the upholstery,” he says.   Pretty soon, the van arrives.  It is driven by his 18 year old son.  We move seats around, fiddle here, fiddle there and finally get both bikes in.  Wes will ride with the son.  The game younger brother will ride in the cargo area of the van.  I will ride with the dad in the sedan.

The ride to the hotel takes a fairly long time on the freeway.  We were obviously delusional to think we could make it on bike.  I have a nice chat with the dad.  He tells me he had been long-distance trucker based out of Milwaukee for 25 years, but then began to get neurasthenia of the feet and could no longer drive.  He was using some re-training dollars to go back to school to study computers.  He and his wife moved to Manitowac to help with her parents.   He was in the midst of his studies, when a school mate told him he was about to lose his business because his partner lost his driving license.  So four months ago, he became a business owner, running this transport service.  It is lots of hours, but he liked it a lot.  They mostly transported people back and forth from the ferry.  A big source of business was taking people from the ferry to the Packers games.  The hardest part for him was dealing with all sorts of customers—“quite a difference from spending hours alone on the road.”  A year ago, his family was in crisis.  Now they felt like they had a future---as long as his feet held out.

At the hotel, he charges us the ridiculously small amount of $30 for the use of two vehicles for a 30 mile round trip.  We give him more than that, and I wish we given more than we did.  I really hope this family can make it in this new venture.  

We have made it to Manitowac all right.  Not quite under our own power, but here nonetheless.   We entered Wisconsin on Sunday.  We will leave on Saturday.  We’re moving fast now.

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Posted from Medina, NY

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T+6: And so it begins...we hope

PORTLAND, OR:  We arrived today to sunny, hot Portland.  We had a magnificent view of Mt. Hood as the plane circled.  It is a huge massif, completely snow enrobed.  Wes spent the entire flight from Denver peering out the window.  We played a guessing game:  “Is that the Red Desert?  Is that Bear Lake?  Is that Boise, ID?”  The skies were clear and the view was amazing.  We saw the volcanic cones of the Cascades from our window and were immediately humbled.  These mountains are obviously named Cascade because of the roaring way the water comes off the steep sides.   We will have our work cut out for us on the first part of this trip.

We have been a jumble of nerves and exhaustion that reached a boiling point last night.  Since we left Detroit on June 22, our life has not yet slowed down.   It is always a fairly rough passage to get to the cabin two days, but we have done it often and know all our favorite stops along the way.   It has become a matter of ritual for us to stop at the Pioneer Co-op in Iowa City.  Here we pick up our fill of good Midwestern produce, fresh hand-made bread, and rich organic coffees.  We know well that such delicacies will be rarities in the wilds of Wyoming.  We stop in a park for a picnic, but are chased away by the swarming mosquitoes breeding in the remainder of the flooded Iowa River.

I ask Wes, “what will we do if we when we are on the bike and the mosquitoes swarm.  There won’t be a car to hide in.”  We remind ourselves other mosquito swarms on other trips and recall our cries for mercy, and our setting up and hiding in the tent for a moment of respite.

Then it is a straight push to Des Moines, where we always stay at a Candlewood Suite and eat some of the food from Iowa City.  One of the delights of this lodging is their video lending library.  We checked out The Way, which was particularly appropriate for us to see at this time.  In the movie directed  by Emilio Estevez, featuring his father Martin Sheen, the meaning of journey is explored.  Each of the characters takes El Camino de Santiago (The Way of St. James) in Spain, saying they are looking for one thing---to quit smoking, to start writing, to lose weight---but find that the journey brings the knowledge they need, not the knowledge they sought.  Throughout the film, the constant refrain and greeting is “Buen Camino” ---roughly good path, good way.   We are thinking a lot about the bike trip, wondering what we will learn, wondering where our tempers will break, and who we will meet along the way.

The next morning, we take a tiny detour to see a working Danish windmill.  As we take a walkabout the minute Iowa town, we see men two staring pensively into the southwest.   The wind is blowing sharply, so I ask, “Does it look like tornado weather?”  “The tornado sirens are blowing in Walnut” is the reply, which is supposed to tell us something, but does not.  We continue our walkabout, when strangers stop us on the street to warn us of “big storm coming”.  We ask where we should go, we are not from here. The answer is go to the Danish Immigration Museum, where they have a good basement.  

We start to make our way there, a good six blocks away, when another Iowa woman, appears at the door of her house and announces to us, “It’s a complete lockdown.  You need to get to shelter right now.”  She considers offering her place to us, but is relieved when we ask, “Should we go back to the Windmill?”  She agrees, “Yes, go there.”  The sky is blackening, and the wind is rising hard, when Wes and I begin running to the mill.  Giant raindrops are pelting when we duck inside, just in time.  A few seconds later, the wind is pushing the rain sideways, the trees are whipping, and it is impossible to see across the street.  The radio is screaming warnings of 70-90 mile hour winds.   We are glad to be inside, in a room far from windows and blowing tree debris.

As quick as it came, the storm left.  When we drove back to the interstate, the road was scattered with all sorts of tree debris, including a few big limbs.  Again, we wonder, what would we do if we were on the bikes during such a violent storm.   Again, we remember hunkering down under an overhang and watching a storm lash our bikes, but not us.

By the time we get to Sidney, Nebraska, it is clear that we have entered the West.  The hotel is full of oil field workers and the prices reflect it.   We choose to eat breakfast at the hotel and regret it.   Like the room, it is flashy trash: bad, cheap ingredients gussied up to look fancy, but in reality, plastic and shoddy and fake.   We are glad to realize that it is only 180 miles to our cabin.

When we get there, it is refreshingly cool, not more than 55 degrees.  The cabin is like a long cool drink on a hot day.  It takes us a little while to open it up.  I can’t rest until the full load of furniture, dishes, and whatnot has made it to its new location.    We are super pleased with how all of it works.  We argue about whether Wyoming looks dry or wet. 

Wes goes out to get a piece of lumber to reinforce our kitchen shelves, now sagging under the heavy load of dishes, and terrifies a young male moose who was quietly, and apparently habitually, eating in our yard.  Wes tells him that he doesn’t have to leave, and to our astonishment, the moose stops, seems to consider the proposition, before deciding that this yard was not big enough for the both of them.   He is a beauty, at least 6 feet tall, 300 or more pounds of moose muscle, with his 2 inch antlers still in velvet.  This is by far the closest I have ever been to a moose, and I was thrilled.

The next day is consumed by errands.   We have to get Wes’ bike shipped to Portland, and we spend hours, truly hours, trying to figure out Wes’  GoPro video camera.  The camera is communicating with the camera is complicated.  I fuss at Wes because I told him months ago to get started figuring out these systems.  He keeps saying, “Who thought it would be so difficult?”  I remind him, over and over, I did. 

The next day is the belated filing of our federal taxes, which goes well until it is time to submit and we realize that we are out of ink and the closest store is more than 40 miles away.  We don’t have internet at the cabin at this point in time, so we go to the nearby hamlet of Centennial and try three different locations before we are able to submit our taxes online.   The technology is difficult and balky, and requires downloads, and re-booting, and failures, and retries.  We are exhausted, stressed, and cranky by the time we are done.

Then we have to go back to the cabin and begin closing it up so we can be on the road by 5 am the next morning.   We work at it, and are so exhausted, we go to bed by 9, but are so keyed up, we are awake by 2 am.  We close up the cabin, (a multi-part process that requires draining all the pipes, among many other things).   Our dear friend takes us the 130 miles to the Denver airport, where with the exception of a difficult security clearance for Wes, we are happy to get on the plane to Portland.  I sleep much of the way.

When we land, we call the bike shop to get instructions and find out about the bikes.  We find out, to our (especially my) great disgust, that our bikes have not arrived. Wes’s is not due to arrive until tomorrow, but my bike and the BOB trailers should have already been here.  A call to Detroit confirms that our shipment, despite having been dropped off more than a week ago, was not sent from Detroit until Wednesday---two days ago.  It is highly likely that it will not arrive until early next week.

Wes is philosophical about it.  Perhaps this is the way the gods are making sure we get a rest.  We have been on the dead run since the first part of May and are truly beat down.  So now we chill in hot and humid Portland (who’da thunk it) and watch the funky street life.    The truth is: the trip takes you, you don’t take the trip.  Apparently, this trip is not quite ready to start…or a maybe the trip is not in the biking….but in the being on the path. That we are, that we certainly are.

T-17: OMG

The to-do list we’re working on is completely unmanageable. I move from obligation to obligation.  What has to be done right now?  What can be delayed a few minutes, a few days?  What is essential, what is not?  As I try to make sense of this, I feel as though I am in a haze.

Here’s a quick overview of the many strands of action I am managing:

Preparing the house for house sitting: getting rid of all the excess that needs to go the Salvation Army, beginning to store all our personal items so the house sitters can have space for their goods; purchasing dog and cat food ahead, making sure all the repairs are done; making sure the animals are up to date with their shots; preparing the “care and feeding of house and animals”  document; getting a debit card to pay for animal expenses; clean, clean, clean… repair whatever needs repairing.

Preparing the yard for our absence: get all the beds in order, weeded, mulched, and organized; prune the overgrown shrubs; replace the rotten garden timbers with brick; make sure the tools, mower, hoses, etc. are in good order.

You may think this sounds over the top. It is to a degree, but it is also defensive.  In the years we have been using house sitters, we have discovered that sitters will do and allow things that owners never would.  A case in point: one year, we left the seldom used basement toilet with a wonky fitting.  We told the sitter to make sure the valve re-seated if the toilet was used.  When we came home, we heard water running.  Sure enough, the basement toilet was running and apparently had been for weeks, given the size of our water bill.   Another example: rare oh rare is the sitter who will maintain the garden.  For renters and sitters, watering and mowing the grass alone is pretty challenging.  If we don’t weed, mulch, and prune, we come home to a jungle with aggressive plant likes grape vines and coltsfoot, circling and killing our perennials.

Getting ready for the trip itself: getting the bikes overhauled and prepared for long-term travel; making sure we have all the maps for the trip.  (We just received maps for our routes from Portland to north of Seattle where we join the Northern Tier route we will follow across the country.  We also received the maps from Portland, Maine to Boston at the end of our trip.  www.adventurecycling.org). We have joined www.warmshowers.com, which is a website that connects touring bicyclists to people who are willing to let you camp or stay at their house. 

We still need make arrangements to ship our bikes and BOBs from Detroit and Laramie.  We think through the pack again and again: do we have the right clothes?  Do we need better rain gear?  What safety and health preparations are prudent and which are extra weight?  We have a flight from Denver to Portland, but how will we get to Denver from our mountain cabin?

Driving across the country:  We will drive across the country to our cabin in Wyoming before leaving.  We have a whole variety of furniture, dishes, and other materials that need to be packed to take to Centennial.  We think we will camp across the country, but because we will need to travel fast, we better make sure we have reservations. 

Wes’ 60 birthday/retirement/bon voyage party: We are hosting a party before we go, so there are invitations to be sent, food to be prepared.  We will spend the weekend getting the backyard ready for the party.  (See above)

Getting our bodies ready:  We both have had extensive dental work and mine is still not done.  I am still trying to get to the gym (although I am supposed to be there right now as I write these words) to continue my strength training.  We have also been trying to get as many bike rides as possible before we go.  I should go to the optometrist, but it is looking like that will wait.

Making sure the retirement and financial changes are complete: There is a mountain of paperwork, new insurances, changes of accounts and more that have to be managed.  Wes has been nagging me for more than 3 weeks to get my IRA transferred.  I say, “soon, soon” and keep it on my to-do list.  We need to make sure we can pay all our bills online, something we have never done to date.  So far that is a “soon, soon.”  But time is running out and I regret we did not do this change last January.

Of course, these are ONLY the preparations on the personal side.  The to-do list for the company and for Wes to close out 30 years of teaching are twice as big and twice as complicated. 

Right now, we are like buffalo facing a vicious snowstorm blowing in from the east.  There is nothing to do but put our heads down, accept that pleasure is not going part of the picture for a while, and keep on plodding to our goal.

So, while we can see that our escape is coming, we are deeply experiencing the tangling bondages we have so tightly wound around our life.  The irony is nearly overwhelming.  We want the weaving to stay intact while we carefully extract ourselves from the weave.  So many threads to unravel, so many threads to re-weave.

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T-68: Getting Ready--Technology Version



How many hours in front a screen?
 

I am still mixed about whether taking all this technology on the bikes is  a good idea.  In rides past, part of the beauty was being untethered.   For our last big trip, in 1998 (!), I don't think we even carried a cell phone, which were still novelties at that point. 

Now, however, screens are us.  I am on my 3rd smart phone.  There are many nights where I am on my phone, Wes is on the pad, and conversation is slight to none.  There is irony here.  We chose to give up television when it went digital at least partially to participate more fully in conversation, reading, and activities.  How ridiculous is it that we are now staring at our small screens instead.

I am also mixed about it because technology is never as easy as it seems it is going to be, as you want  it to be, or as it should be.  Inevitably, it takes me 20 minutes to figure out where that one necessary button is,  or because I cannot figure out how to do that one simple thing...like change the font size, or saving to a new directory...that I did in the previous version of the software or operating system.

Right now, I am struggling to figure out a new Nokia 920 Windows Phone, after happily using my tiny WebOS Veer for the past two years.  That is certainly going better than the fight I am having with this new Asus Windows 8 Zenbook.

I spent long frustrating hours trying to do something which was very simple on my previous technology...put a photo on my blog.  Blogger fights with Windows 8, so I can't automatically take pictures with the great camera on the phone, and put them on the blog.

This, of course, was my big idea.  I could use my great new phone to document our trip and preparations for the trip.   So no, I have to save to the cloud, then find a way to download it without tripping up the stupid blogger photo interface.

That is assuming that the more than a little erratic track-pad on the Zenbook isn't popping my cursor all over the page without warning.  Not only does it flip around without warning, because it is Windows 8, I find myself on the tiles, or on the previous page without ever having meant to go there.

So now I am wondering about the whole damn thing.  On previous trips, we were unbound and free.  Technology is looking and feeling like a tether.  About the last thing I want to do is spend my lunchtime and camp-time fighting with technology, instead of enjoying my surroundings, meeting new people, and losing my stress.

I do want to record my experience.  I do want to share my experience.  I know we are undertaking a life-changing challenge.  Why can't the technology be simple and seamless...like they promise?