Home to Westerville -- another 5:00AM ride

The temperature today is supposed to be 102 degrees.  I'll be leaving work early, around 4PM, and according to Weather.com, that's about the time we get to 102.  I've ridden in 100+ degree heat before.  If I have my druthers, and I do in this case, I'd prefer to be in the shade.  Or in the air conditioning.  Or, just about anywhere other than on blacktop riding a bicycle.

One of the fellas I've been following on Crazy Guy On A Bike was in Kansas two days ago.  At 10AM that morning it was already 109 degrees there.  I knew it'd just be a couple of days before that heat hit here.  Right on schedule, here it is.

Yesterday morning was a relatively chilly 55 degrees, but this morning at 5 it was already 73.  Yowzah. 

It was a nice easy ride today.  A tad over 20 miles -- and I had take a couple of detours to reach the 20.  Stopped at one my favorite hole-in-the-wall / greasy-spoons Fitzy's. 

I guess all 24 hour greasy spoons have varying clientele, but Fitzy's is particularly eclectic.  The early morning breakfast crowd is pretty much what you see everywhere.  The "regulars" all stop by.  Those are the old retired guys who're reading the paper, bitching about sports, bitching about politics, telling lies about which waitresses they've slept with.  Lunch tends to be the working folks.  Not much of a dinner crowd. 

For the real show, you have to get there around 3AM.  That's when the strip clubs close.  The dancers and the bouncers are all hungry.  Fitzy's and Waffle House seem to be the destination of choice.

Only one waitress on duty and she'd been there since the wee hours.  When she cashed me out, she gave me $5 too much.  (Handed me a $10 bill instead of a $5 bill.) I called her attention to it and she thanked me.  Gave myself a little pat on the back for being honest.  Then I thought, well, wouldn't everyone have done the same thing?  Guess not.  As I left, I started back up the Mike McConnell podcast I'd been listening to.  He had on a guest who had been studying why people cheat and steal.  It was an interesting topic and it basically came down to "if you can rationalize it, you'll do it."  Unless you're a psychopath.  Or, I'm guessing, a politician.  Which is pretty much the same thing . . .

Finished Cycle: Jun 28, 2012 7:17:48 AM
Shortened Google Maps URL: http://j.mp/MCccRQ
Ride Time: 1:32:52
Distance: 20.44 miles
Average: 13.21 mph
Fastest Speed: 24.91 mph
Ascent: 416 feet
Descent: 421 feet
Calories: 1620

Home to A Little Beyond Downtown Columbus

Awake at 5:00AM for some ungodly reason.  Two thoughts go through my mind:

(1)  I need to take a wicked piss.  Best to get up to do that.
(2)  I should go for a bike ride.

Be damned if I didn't do both.  Even though I laid there until about 5:20 debating over the second thought.  (The first one was going to get me up.  The debates were centered around, "Well, if I'm already up, do I want to get on a bike and ride?")

55 degrees this morning.  A wee bit chilly.  60 is usually my minimum riding temperature.  My hands and feet just get too cold when it's under 60.  Gloves and socks don't make any difference.  Figured I'd warm up just riding and hopefully within about 20 to 30 minutes the sun would be up and my extremities would survive until then.

I know going down High Street where the 10 mile point is.  Figured a quick jaunt to a restaurant, Dan's Diner, not far from the 10 mile point, would be doable.  Roughly an hour and 45 minute ride.  (You can see below that I estimated it well.  1:44:38.  Not bad.  Was only off by 22 seconds.)  A half hour to eat breakfast.  Be back home by 8:00AM at the very latest.  Plenty of time to start work.

Turns out Dan's didn't open until 7.  I was there at about 6:30.  Well, nuts.  Best laid plans and all that rot.  Was nearly all the way home before I found another breakfast place, about a mile and a half from the house.

Now I'm ready for a nap.  


Finished Cycle: Jun 27, 2012 7:48:23 AM
Shortened Google Maps URL: http://j.mp/OrjKYY
Ride Time: 1:44:38
Distance: 23.79 miles
Average: 13.64 mph
Fastest Speed: 33.30 mph
Ascent: 2997 feet
Descent: 2895 feet
Calories: 1900

Riding on the Interstates

Learned something tonight.

Are bicyclists allowed to ride on Interstates?

It varies by state. All states prohibit cyclists on at least some limited access divided express highways. Several states — Idaho, North Dakota, South Dakota, and Wyoming — permit bikes on virtually all interstates. Other states, like Missouri, simply don't address the issue, creating vague situations. New Jersey and Pennsylvania can issue permits for bicycle use for particular uses and locations. Interstates can be opened for bicyclists where no alternative route exists in many states, including:

• Alaska
• Arizona
• California
• Colorado
• Montana
• Nevada
• New Mexico
• North Carolina
• Oklahoma
• Oregon
• Texas
• Utah
• Washington

In all other states (and the District of Columbia), bicyclists are not allowed to ride on interstates. However, even in these states, there are exceptions to this rule where bicyclists are permitted to use a particular bridge that is part of the interstate system (e.g. I-66 in Virginia, I-70 in Kansas). It is important to note that beyond statutory law, state Departments of Transportation may have additional rules and regulations regarding bicycling on the interstate or other limited access highways.

There was an additional link to The League of American Bicyclists.  (Sounds like the Justice League are all responding to the next emergency by hopping on their Treks . . . )

Home to nearly Granville

It was a nice day for a bike ride.

Temperature in the mid to high 70s, flirting with 80 later on.  Low humidity.

The wind was a bitch, though.   And the ascent / descent numbers below seem a little out of whack.  I swear it was closer to 5000 feet of climb.

As I'm riding, I'm thinking of the guys who're riding in the Rocky Mountains.  These guys are climbing multiple 7000, 8000, and 9000 feet hills daily.  Plus facing headwinds of 40 to 50 miles per hour.

I'm riding up 50 and 60 foot hills and facing headwinds no stronger than 20 to 30 MPH.  I've got nothing to bitch about.

Anyway.  Today was a quick 50+ miler.  Took off on Morse Road, just a little bit south of my house, and headed west.  I knew Morse Road t-boned into SR 161. What I'd not considered was 161 has been turned into a quasi-interstate.  You can't ride a bicycle on the thing.

I didn't want to just backtrack on Morse.  So I took a little bit different -- and convoluted -- path back.  Wound up doing a tad over 57 miles. 

This is the first time in years I've ridden that far without my clipless pedals.  I have to admit, it was very nice.  Just the thought that I can get my feet off the pedals in a 10th of a second is rather liberating.  I may have to consider on those days when I'm going to be a lot of flat riding to just wear my tennis shoes. 

Finished Cycle: Jun 25, 2012 1:36:34 PM
Shortened Google Maps URL: http://j.mp/L9CLuG
Ride Time: 4:43:49
Distance: 57.60 miles
Average: 12.18 mph
Fastest Speed: 32.91 mph
Ascent: 1310 feet
Descent: 1256 feet
Calories: 4439

My new hero

Meet Lucinda Chandler, AKA "The Pink Panther:

From March 17, 2007 until May 12, 2007 Lucinda rode her Catrike Road Trike from San Diego, California to St. Augustine, Florida.  Over 3000 miles.

In the last couple of days I've seen a couple of articles about trikes (3 wheeled bicycles) over upright bicycles for long touring.  The trikes are a lot slower, but, I'm not riding across a continent with a time frame in mind, nor do I have to be anywhere at any particular time.  So, the ability to move quickly isn't necessarily a requirement.

Then again, I don't want to take 8 hours to ride 40 miles.  I found this video of a kid riding a Catrike Expedition.  At one point, going downhill, he reaches nearly 40 MPH:


I'll talk more about Catrikes in a bit.  Back to Lucinda.

What caught my eye was the title of the blog entry of the 2nd day on the road:

This day is horrible!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yeah, that's the same font size she used.  First paragraph:

Up, up, up, and more up. Oh, I forgot, up, up, up with the sun beating down on me! I hate mountains, I hate hills, I even hate the flat parts. I hate my gear and want to throw it all away and I even hate my trike! Why am I doing this? What was I thinking? There is no reason for me to be putting myself through this torture. For what purpose? Why, why, why? This totally sucks! I'm not going to make it. I'm an idiot for thinking that I'm so strong.

Been there. Done that.  Got the T-Shirt and the Mug.  And the DVD.  (The director's cut.)

But Lucinda soldiered on.  Through horrendous headwinds, poring rain, riding on Interstates (she's the second person who's mentioned taking their bikes onto the Interstates.  I'm going to have to investigate that), Lucinda found time to get massages and get her hair done on a pretty regular basis.

She always writes about the folks riding with her.  I'm generally pretty stupid when it comes to remembering names.  In a story, if the person being referred to isn't "important," say, a minor character, I don't pay attention to the names.  In reading through her blogs, I didn't pay the least bit of attention to her co-riders.

Which gave me a sweet little surprise when she mentioned this upon reaching Florida:

I can "fess" up now! Many of you have probably already figured it out. I have made efforts to appear as if I was not alone for the sake of safety, both on the journal and especially when I stopped and spoke with people along the way (such as making references to cyclists that are both in front of me and behind me and to a "support vehicle" following me, etc....).

With the exception of periods of time that I have documented below, I HAVE TRAVELED ACROSS THE COUNTRY ALONE ON MY LITTLE PINK TRIKE!

All across the United States, people have been amazingly kind, drivers of vehicles have been very courteous and patient, and for the most part, even the weather has been cooperative.

I know there are lots of very bad things that go on in this world, but I truly believe that there are more good, kind, generous and caring people in life and have not feared going out on my own.

I hope I have shown that a person, a woman in particular, can go out into this world alone, with confidence, and do something spectacular!

That's impressive.  Oddly enough, just this past weekend I had a conversation about how strong and independent women are extremely attractive.  I've never understood why "women in general" (not all, mind you, just a generalization) will "settle" for being taken care of by a man.  Wouldn't a lady rather stand on her own?  To have an equal partner?   I guess I don't get the whole "Cinderalla / come rescue me, White Knight On A Horse" thinking.

Lucinda seemed to be that kind of lady.  Independent.  Strong.  Happy to blaze her own trail.

Which meant the last entry in her blog, written by her daughter, was sad:

Unfortunately, our beloved Lucinda passed away on July 22, 2010. My family is devastated to have lost such a wonderful and beautiful light in our lives and it means a great deal to see how much my mother has impacted so many people. Although it comes as no surprise to me, I see that she touched the lives of many of the folks in the cycling world, and beyond.

Lucinda did touch me, though she'd been gone for 2 years before I ever knew she existed. 

Joy Ride

Got my bicycle back!  Yay!

In addition to the bearings needing to be replaced, I'd also asked them to replace the headlamp mount.  They did replace it, but they didn't replace it on the handlebars. They left the old one on there.  :: grumble :: 

Fortunately, it was a 30 second job to unsnap / resnap.  Back in biz with a new headlamp.  (Which simply eats batteries like they're going out of style.)

Tonight was the first night since I got the bike back -- on Thursday (today's Sunday) -- that I had a chance to take it out.  On Thursday, well, there was a bit of a problem.

I "bungeed" the milk crate to the back of the bike.  Put Dexter in it.  All we went.  At some point I felt the crate "slip."  I stopped to make sure all was ok with my little white demon.  He was doing ok, but he crate definitely had shifted a little bit.  Figured it was better to cut my losses, turn back towards the house (hadn't gone a mile yet) and get me and the dog back safely.

I had not replaced the headlamp mount yet.  On the way back, I hit a bump and the headlamp went into the street.  I swerved to pick it up . . . and the crate went the opposite direction.

Dexter went into the street.  Pretty hard, too.

Forget the lamp (it's shining so it can't be hurt that bad.)  Go for my dog.  (Who is limping so maybe he is hurt bad.)

I pick him up, dust him off, coo at him for a bit.  Set him down.  He walks off the limp while I fetch the lamp.  He doesn't look enthused about getting back into the basket.  Can't say I blame him, so, I just tote him back to the house in my arms.

He's fine.  After that initial limp, he's doing just fine.

Tonight I wanted to ride when the wind had died down and the heat was gone.  That meant striking out around 8PM.  I was just going to run around the neighborhood.  Get in maybe 5 miles.  I had strapped the cart back to the bike, made sure it was rock solid secure this time, put Dexter in, and off we went.

Since it was just going to be a quick jaunt around the 'hood, I didn't see the need for carrying any extra bags.  My phone.  My wallet.  Water.  Batteries.  All that crap that I normally drag around every time I get on the bike.  I swear, sometimes it's like preparing for a moon launch.

In fact, not only did I bring nothing except the dog, I went in the very clothes I had on.  T-shirt.  Regular short pants.  Tennis shoes.  No biking pants.  No clipless-pedal shoes.

I had the thought that whenever parents get involved in Little League that the game pretty much gets ruined for the kids.  The parents organize, cajole, train, and coach the fun right out of the game.  I think the kids would be a lot happier if parents just let 'em play.

I applied that analogy to tonight's ride.  I didn't carry all the "safety stuff."  All of the "what if" stuff.  All of the crap that adds weight.

I.  Just.  Went.  For.  A.  Ride.

And it was glorious.  Wind in my face.  Legs feeling the resistance of the pedals.  The simple pleasure of working up a sweat going up an incline.  The incredible joy of riding down hill.

That's what bicycling is all about.

While at the Playboy Mansion, I saw a man killed with boobs

The weird part of the subject line?  I'm not exaggerating or making up a single part of it.

In a "past life" I got a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to go to the Playboy Mansion in Los Angeles.  The invite was on behalf of Troma Films.  They were making a Citizen Toxie: The Toxic Avenger 4.  Part of it was going to be filmed at the mansion.  In exchange for some advertising on a mailing list I ran, they got me an invite to the movie shoot.

In the movie, Toxie has an evil doppelganger named Moxie.  Moxie decides to kill this dude by squishing the dude's head in between the boobs of a woman he's "doing the nasty" with.  Observe:

Humph.  Well, if you're going die, there's worse ways of going than between a very nice pair of naked sweater puppies.

The actress who was playing Unintentional Boob Slayer was one of the nicest people you'd ever want to meet.  She had done a lot of films for Lloyd Kaufman, the demented master-mind behind Troma.

Yes, I did get to meet Hugh Hefner.  Not that he'd remember me.  (The security guards who wanted to throw me out 5 minutes after I arrived, now they may still remember me.  But that's a story for another day.)

There used to be a radio personality on AM 700, WLW in Cinncinnati by the name of Gary Burbank.  I loved listening to that man.  If ever I needed a smile, he was the guy to turn to.  He's long been retired, but you can still catch him doing his Earl Pitts schtick.

Gary used to tell a story about hitchhiking in Memphis.  Gary says he was picked up by Elvis Pressley.  He told the story so many times, that when he would launch into it on the air, "I was hitchhiking in Memphis one time . . . " everyone else in the studio would start to chant, "Booooor-ring.  Booooor-ring.  Booooor-ring."

Well, my visit to the Playboy Mansion is my "booooor-ring" story.  Any chance I get to tell it, I will.  Those that know me and (say they) love me roll their eyes and go into the kitchen for more pie when an uninitiated soul says the Secret Word, "Playboy."  "Hey," I say, "I was at the Playboy Mansion once . . . "

What does this have to do with bicycling?  Nothing.  Needed something to talk about because they're still not done fixing my damned bicycle . . .

Got an offer on those comic books

Not $2500.00

Not $2000.00.

Nope.

639.30.  For over 2300 comic books.  About 28 cents each.

Think I'm going to try 'em out on eBay.  

What am I thinking?

. . . was how I ended yesterday's blog post re: the scary goings on in Wyoming.

I guess this is what I'm thinking:

But I guess I still haven't wrapped my head around this existing anywhere in the continental United States on the first day of summer:

SNOW?  Are you kidding me?

Pictures are from Free Range Retiree's Day 42, Fort Klamath to Chemult.

Scary Goings On in Wyoming

I stumbled onto a website called "Crazy Guy On A Bike."  It's a collection of journals -- blog entries if you will -- of folks from all over the world who are doing pretty much what I plan to do in 2 years.

I'm following five guys right now:

East To West With A Dog  This guy is riding from Manhattan to the Pacific with his little dog Frita.

Free Range Retiree A 66 year old gent from Longview, WA.  He seems to be the most experienced one of the bunch.  I've picked up a lot of interesting things from reading his journals.

The Great American Double Cross A gent who's been biking for 35+ years.  He's planning on going coast to coast -- and back again.

TransAmerica Trail 2012 A gent headed from Oregon to Yorktown Virginia among the TransAmerica trail.

And then this guy:  Riding off into the Sunset  He's Joel Carlisle, a retired fireman who's making is way from Connecticut to Oregon.

All five of these gents are currently on the road.  I'm using Google Reader to keep track of their postings.  As I said, I'm learning a lot from reading about their adventures.  For example, the "East To West With A Dog" guy is showing me a few things about riding with an animal.  (I don't share that author's penchant for sneaking his dog into restaurants and hotels where pets aren't welcome.  But each to his own.)  The Free Range Retiree impresses me with his stamina and willingness to camp out all the time.  (If he can do it, by God, so can I!)

But it's Joel, the retired fireman's posts that are the most interesting -- and downright scary -- so far.

On Sunday, June 17, Joel was in Wyoming.  And according to him, it's been the hardest day of his journey so far:

Today was the hardest day so far. A combination of long distance between limited services, winds blowing a steady 40 mph with gusts over 50 mph and a stretch of road that is crazy bad on a good day . . . I figured, being a Sunday, the truck traffic will be minimal. I was wrong, on top of that, being a weekend there were many motor homes and camper trailers being driven by non-professional drivers. Many of the motor homes were towing trailers . . .

I headed out pretty early and the wind was already blowing hard. By the time I was ten miles out the wind was a blasting cross wind and that not only slowed me, but made it a struggle to stay going straight. I considered heading back, but I didn't, tomorrows forecast was for wind too. As the day went on the wind got worse, I was blown off the road more than a few times . . .

I just kept plugging along, then I got to the bad section of road . . . The road shoulder became narrow and crumbled, in addition, in this section of road they decided to add a rumble strip. The scenery was dazzling and maybe drivers run off the road while looking at it? But it leaves little room for bicycles. As if that is not bad enough, the small shoulder has cracks filled with a rubber type goop that when your tire hits it, sinks in . . .

At least the wind was blowing me off the road instead of into traffic. I ran into cyclists heading the other way that were walking, pushing their bikes because they were getting blown into traffic.

It took me from 7:45 AM until 2:30 PM to go the 33 miles from Rawlins to Lamon . . . I then went on 11 miles to Muddy Gap, I stopped at the store / gas station there and got some gatorade. While there the wind blew my bike over breaking the kickstand, it scraped the back of my left calf taking a strip of skin off with it . . . This part of the route headed directly west, into the wind. . . . I fought my my through the wind up and the wind was blowing so hard I had to fight my way downhill. It took five hours to go the 22 miles to Jeffrey City. I had run out of water. It was getting dark . . . 

I can't find an additional part of his blog where he talks about going down hill but not more than 4 MPH because he's afraid the wind will throw him off the side of the mountain.

Good God.

He also posted a picture of a dead rattlesnake

and the scenic place he got to pitch his tent. 

Windstorms.  Rattlesnakes.  Thrown off the side of a mountain.  Campgrounds with not a lick of grass around.

What the hell am I thinking?

Dexter's Teeth

I imagine a dog can get a toothache, right?  They've got teeth.  I can't imagine a canine dental system is any different than a human one.  Gums.  Teeth.  Tongue.

Last night I dragged the little beast into the tub and gave him a bath.  Poor little guy nearly drowns because he only stands about six inches tall.

He likes the bath part of it, though.  Warm water.  Nice smelling bath soap.  He tolerates it well.  After drying off, he runs around like a 6 month old puppy.  I think soap drives chihuahuas nuts.

It's the drying off part he hates.  I don't know if he gets static-y charges from the towel or what, but he absolutely hates to be towel dried.  But I don't want the couch or bed to be use to dry off a wet dog.  So I get him with the towel.

He growls and bites and bares his teeth.  If he was a 70 pound rottweiler it'd be more menacing.  But he's a 7 pound bat-eared critter so it just looks ridiculous for something this tiny and cute to try and look ferocious.  It'd be similar to watching your 107 year old grandmother bare her teeth and growl at you.

That's how I got on the subject of teeth.  I really examined them tonight when he was gnawing on my hand.  (It doesn't hurt.  He's a chihuahua.)  They're not in good shape at all.  The gums don't look inflamed.  But the teeth are very yellow.

I've tried brushing them in the past.  That's a fool's errand.  He won't do any of the "greenie" things that would help with removing tartar and other stuff.

What worries me is being on the road with him and possibly having some sort of dental issue with him.  I guess it worries me having any sort of health issue with him.  How will I know?  He's going to be behind me in a trailer, sleeping.  He's always been a fussy eater, so if he's not feeling well, and not eating, that'll be just like normal.

I've always admired veterinarians for two things:  (1) Unlike people doctors, they have to work on different species.  Humans come in two flavors, but every man is pretty much the same as every other man, and every woman the same as every other woman.  But a dog is built a whole lot different than a cow or a snake.  (2)  A vet's patients can't tell him where it hurts.  In fact, all they can do is bite the vet because they're sick, they're scared, and a vet's office isn't an environment they're used to.

Computer Woes

Around 10PM tonight, all my devices started getting stupid.

The mouse wouldn't work for the main computer.  I fiddled with it for a few minutes, then replaced the battery.

Still wouldn't work.

Checked the keyboard.  It wouldn't work, either.  What the hell?

So I checked the USB hub where the wireless receiver is for both the keyboard / mouse.  Plugged in.  Getting power.  But not responsive.  Unplug it.  Unplug the power supply.  Plug it all back in.  Doesn't work.

Go downstairs to find a new USB hub.  Plug it all in.  It doesn't work, either.

Have to use the power button to shut down the computer.  Unplug the hub from the back of the computer.  Plug in the receiving unit. Works fine upon boot.

But as soon as the machine finishes the boot, it all quits working again.

No need to bore you (or me if I re-read this months from now.)  45 minutes of plugging and unplugging, rebooting and, well, basically, not changing one damned thing, it all started to work again.  While all of that was going on, my phone's battery was at death's door.  Wouldn't have been a problem except about a half dozen people all decided at once they wanted to call.  My iPad started getting stupid, losing its wi-fi connection.

I've had this conversation with a lot of people who rely on me to be their "tech support."  Basically, I don't know how non-geek (i.e, normal people) deal with computers.  They're finicky damned beasts.  Newer computers and better operating systems have made them a little easier to deal with and a lot more reliable . . . but I still don't know now how regular average people who just want a tool they can use deal with the frustrations of the damned things.

To top all that off, this website itself was down today.  Again, not because I changed one single thing.  I didn't.  But for several hours the blog was completely gone and the website itself was in "parked" mode.  Because Blogger is owned by Google, my first thought was, "Oh great, good luck trying to get ANY kind of help from Google on a product."  I looked through the Blogger tech forums, and a number of people were reporting the same kinds of issues.  I'm assuming a Google Blogger server somewhere had a brain fart and blogs weren't talking to DNS servers, bla bla bla.  Just like the problems my computer experienced much later in the evening, all that was required was for me to get frustrated and say, "What the hell is going on?"

Two solid weeks without a bicycle

Grr.

Talked to Bike Source on Friday.  They said the part would be in maybe on Tuesday.  They could then get it by Wednesday. 

So you know what the means, don't you?  Yes, it means I've been using my $10 a month membership to Planet Fitness to keep those riding muscles in shape!  I've been diligent about driving down there, mounting the stationary bikes, and putting in 4 to 6 hours a day, just like I would have on my bicycle!

Right.  Sure. 

Actually, I've been doing the worst thing I possibly can.  Sitting on my fat ass and eating everything in sight.  And if it was hidden, I tracked it down, killed it, put it on a spit, and roasted over an open flame.  (Ice cream really hates to put roasted on an open spit.)

I wanted to do a long distance ride this year.  I originally had planned to do a one way trip to Chicago.  But early this year I'd changed my mind and decided, instead, to ride back from the annual Superman Festival held in Metropolis, Illinois.  I blew it off for various reasons.  Now I'm rethinking Chicago again.

Not as a "test run," though.  I plan on making it a "credit card tour."  Tote no gear or dog.  Just ride from point A to point B.  Stop when I see a hotel that I like.  (Cheap will be the operative word.  Like me!)  Give myself, say, five days to get there.

It's sure help to have my bike back to do it with, though . . .

Reconsiderations

I've been without a bicycle all weekend.  Haven't ridden for a week.  I'm starting to get withdrawal symptoms . . .

I've been spending a lot of time researching "The Ride."  (I'm not sure what to call it.  "The Ride" comes close enough.)  The more I read, the more I shape what the ride is going to be like, based on other people who've come before me.

On one hand I want to make decisions and stick with them.  Endless dithering drives me nuts.  But I suppose I've made the most important decision:  Get on a bicycle on June 1, 2014 and start riding.  Everything else is open for discussion.

For example, though it's been less than a month since I started this blog, I'm already leaning towards changing a fundamental decision about leaving Dexter behind.  I just can't imagine life without the little dog.  I've said it many times before:  there's been times in my life the only living creature in the entire world happy to see me at the end of the day was Dexter.  For that, he gets my devotion until he (or I) passes on.

It helps that he's a chihuahua.  Makes him easier to tote around.  It's still going to be extra weight, but it'll be worth all the extra muscle strain the have him along.  (You better appreciate this, dog.)

Another fundamental decision that I'm going to have to live with:  While it'd be nice to tour the open road in a Seven Bicycle, I'm not going to be able to afford it.  It'd be nice to tour the country in a private Lear jet, too, but that's also way out of my affordability range.  I'm going to have to aim lower, do more with less, bla bla bla.  Everyone not sharing the last names "Gates" or "Buffet" knows what it's like to have to budget.  Buy the most bicycle that I can for the least amount of money.

Speaking of money:  monetizing this makes it sound like I'm riding for money.  I'm not.  The blog so far is nothing more than my "thinking out loud" about all the things I've got to consider to pull this ride off.  One question that has to be answered is, "How do I pay for this?"  (Be nice if our elected officials would have to answer that question before they passed any law.)

That question also ties back into another question:  What do I do when I'm done riding?  I found this on Wikipedia under Bicycle Touring:

The French tourist Jacques Sirat speaks in lectures of how he felt proud riding round the world for five years – until he met an Australian who had been on the road for 27 years.  The German rider, Walter Stolle, lost his home and living in the Sudetenland in the aftermath of World War II, settled in Britain and set off from Essex on 25 January 1959, to cycle round the world. He rode through 159 countries in 18 years, denied only those with sealed borders. He paid his way by giving slide shows in seven languages. He gave 2,500 at US$100 each. In 1974, he rode through Nigeria, Dahomey, Upper Volta, Ghana, Leone, Ivory Coast, Liberia and Guinea.  He was robbed 231 times, wore out six bicycles and had five more stolen.

Another German set off three years after Stolle and is still riding. Heinz Stücke left his job as a die-maker in North Rhine-Westphalia in 1962 when he was 22. He has never been home since. By 2006 he had cycled more than 539,000 km (335,000 mi) and visited 192 countries. He pays his way by selling photographs to magazines. From Asia, Gua Dahao left China in May 1999 to ride across Siberia, the Middle East, Turkey, western Europe, Scandinavia, then another 100,000 km across Africa, Latin America and Australia.

So maybe I don't have to ever stop riding.  And maybe the "paying for it" will work itself out.

Well, shit.

A couple of days ago I took my bike to the shop to repair the headset.  A bicycle headset resides in that short tube of the frame up front.  Handlebars go in the top.  Fork comes out the bottom.  The headset is composed of bearings and washers and all kind of magic things.

Well, the bearings in the bike are shot.  It'll cost about $100 or so to fix.  In light of the hundreds and hundreds of dollars I've dropped on this thing lately, another $100 is nothing.

The guy who is doing the work at the bike shop told me it'd take 10 to 14 days to get in the bearing set.  That if I wanted, I could pick the bike back up, then bring it back again once the part came in.  He told me that he'd see, first, if it was in stock, and then call to let me know.

He left me a message yesterday.  Telling me the part was not in stock, that he was going to go ahead and order it.  I didn't bother calling back.  I decided instead to just drop by and pick the bike up.

When I got there this morning, told him I was there to retrieve the bike, he said, "Oh, gosh, I'm sorry, but I went ahead and took it all apart.  Because you didn't seem all that interested in getting your bike back right away."  I said, "Chad, you're the one who suggested getting the bike if the part's arrival was going to be delayed." 

"I know, I know.  I'm sorry.  I should have asked on the voice mail I left you if it was ok to start working on the bike."

"Ok, no problem.   Just put it back together and I'll get it tomorrow."

"Uhhh . . . well, you see, the bearings were really shot, and we don't have a press to put them back together and . . . uhhh, I'm sorry . . . "

"So, when is this part going to be in?"

"A week?  10 days at the most, maybe?  Do you have another bike to ride in the meantime?"

"No, I don't."

"Oh, gosh, I'm really sorry, but . . . "

Well.  There goes my riding for awhile.  Dammit.

Home to Waldo, OH Jun 4, 2012 10:20:12 AM

Not sure what's going on lately with the phone.  That's two rides in a row where the signal just died about the 9 mile point.  Then, dumbass me, I flat forgot to turn back on the program when I left the halfway point.  :: sigh ::

The wind was an absolute mofo.  Good Lord, I bet it was steady at 20 to 25, gusts to 30.  Nothing zaps my strength faster than a nasty headwind. 

Finished Cycle: Jun 4, 2012 3:41:34 PM
Shortened Google Maps URL: http://j.mp/JGAnth
Ride Time: 4:34:29 Stopped Time: 1:34:46
Distance: 65.35 miles
Average: 13.34 mph
Fastest Speed: 25.25 mph
Ascent: 870 feet
Descent: 802 feet
Calories: 4979

Toting Dexter?

  

It cost me $100 and three hours of driving around.

Ok, not exactly true.  I did drop nearly $100, but it was buying some other things that I wouldn't have bought had I not been out looking for a way to transport the dog.

I had the thought that a milk crate might do fine.  I checked online at Target.  They sell 'em, yes, they're very inexpensive, and they do carry them in the stores.  $3.99 takes one home.

I figured a couple of well placed bungee cords, some bedding, and I'd have me a Weasel Transportation System.

Went to the Target right down the street from me.  No crates.  No bungees.  No hits, no runs, no errors.  Damn.

Off to Wal Mart.  Again, no crates and no bungees.  (What the hell?)  Though I did get a chance to help out a lady who was completely confused about which power strip to buy.  ("I have a phone, a computer, and a router to hook up, and I only have two plugs!" she told me.  She'd spent a good five minutes eyeing power cords.)

Wal Mart was next to the bicycle store.  I didn't really think they were going to be able to help, but it was worth a shot.  Sure enough, they had some very majestic looking travel trailers, but, while I love the little critter, I wasn't going to spend $350 on a trailer.

Next stop, Meijer.  Again, no milk crates.  What the hell?  Aren't these things ubiquitous?  Doesn't every college kid in America get issued 30 of these things to tote their stuff?  

What I did see in Meijer is a dog cage.  There was one for tiny little dogs -- it was $37.00.  Which got to me to thinking that might do . . . but since Petsmart was right across the street, why not go over there and see if they have something designed for what I was trying to do.

They didn't.  They had a cage of their own -- for $48.  The attendant who was helping me at Petsmart did tell me she had lots of milk crates . . . from her college days.  (What did I tell ya?)

Walked next door to the second Target of the day.  Once again, no love on crates or bungees.  A woman was standing there, eyeing some other storage material, so I struck up a conversation with her, explained what I was trying to do, and told her about the utter inability to buy a milk crate in Columbus, Ohio!  We bitched about this and that for a little bit, then she remember that she and her husband had been at The Anderson's just the day before.  They have a little dog, they saw a little milk crate like thing, and she suggested to her husband that might just be the thing to tote around their little critter.

So it was off to The Anderson's.  Where I did find the milk-crate-like object you see in the picture above.  Plus some bungee cords.  The cords are a lot longer than I expected and I may replace them with some shorter ones.  I originally criss-crossed them, but Dexter had to go underneath them and I don't think he was happy about it.  I stopped and rearranged them so they went across the crate parallel. Gave him a lot more room to lift his head and look around.

He seemed to like it.  I tried to stay away from sharp turns, bumps, and sudden stops.  Rode about five miles with him playing Chauffeured Rock Star Dawg.  He's so tiny -- his whole head barely clears the top of the crate -- that folks driving / walking by don't realize he's in there until they're almost beyond us.  Then they get a big silly grin on their face at the "cute little dog" riding around in a milk crate.

Now I've got one more thing to figure out:  now that I've figured out (sorta) the mechanics of toting the dog, is it a good idea to bring him with me?

Biking Day Off

It was a little on the chilly side today.  And I had a ton of errands to do.  Grocery shopping.  Dishes.  Laundry. 

But . . . shouldn't I have gotten out there in the rain, wind, and cold and ridden?  You know, 'cuz it's not like it's going to be windy, rainy, and cold in two years.  It's not going to be sunshine, blue skies, and unicorn farts every day.

I'm still going to have chores to do while I'm on the road.  There's still going to be laundry.  I would imagine there's going to be some kind of bike maintenance to do.  Emails to answer.  Blog postings to update.  Not to mention a lot of administrative stuff I'll have to tackle for the company I own.  (Just because I'm retiring from every day activities doesn't mean I'm giving up all my duties.  The company's too tiny to be able to replace what I do and pay me, too.  I've still got to earn my supper!)

So, was I justified by taking a day off?

That's been a subject I've been trying to figure out.  It ties in with how to monetize this thing.  How to make it pay for itself.  My hazy thoughts on the subject involve folks donating to read my stories from the road.  How well will that go over?  That I don't know.  But I'm figuring if I can convince just a thousand people that my tales are worth a couple of bucks a month, that's more than enough to buy a McSkorpion sandwich a couple of times a week.

But then aren't I "working"?  Shouldn't the paying customers get those tales they've "paid" for?  That seems fair. 

So how many tales a week?  How many blog posts?  I don't know.

I guess I thought that I'll ride Monday through Saturday.  Treat myself to a day off on Sunday.  Stay in a hotel -- ok, stay indoors somewhere that has a shower and a real bed; where I can get some laundry done! -- Saturday and Sunday nights.  (Nothing posh.  Motel 3 And A Half should do nicely.)  Maybe a minimum of a blog post every 2 days.  Since I'm a wordy sumbitch, I'm sure it'll be more often that that.  Let's call it 3 to 4 posts every week.  Tales of where I'm at.  Who I've met. Stories that I've heard on the road.

Would that be worth 50 cents a week?  Would you pay 50 cents a week to follow the tales of an old fat guy (who's broke, don't forget!) on a bicycle in the middle of Wharthafukkarewe? 

I still haven't answered my own question about whether or not it was fair to take the day off today -- and whether it'll be fair to take days off when I'm on the road.  'Cuz, if you think about it, won't every day be a day off?  I'm not punching a time card somewhere.  Not digging a ditch.  I'm riding a bicycle.  Going where I want to go.

Guess I'm going to have to chalk this question up to one of those things I need to figure out.  Suppose I can make up the rules as I go, huh?

June 1

June 1, 2014.  Two years exactly from today.  It's a Sunday.

I'll be 55 years old.  I'll turn 56 40 days later.  I will have been working for nearly 43 years at that point. 

That's my planned "retirement" date.  I've got two years from today to figure all of this stuff out.

On one hand, that seems like more than enough time.  Two years to figure out everything.  Two years to start putting things away, selling things, starting the long transition from one long era of my life to a new one.

On the other hand, it's less than 750 days.  That's not a lot of time to accomplish many of the things I have to figure out.  Things like:  paying for a long bicycle trip.  How long do I plan on being on the road?  What happens after I'm done being on the road?  Where do I stay?  How do I eat?  How do I acquire the necessary skills to survive on the road / being technically and literally homeless?

What about "Plan B"?  What if something happens to my health between now and then?  My brother and one of my sisters have both had their knees replaced.  Does that mean whatever condition they had which led to those operations will affect me, too?  Can I ride a bicycle thousands of miles with replaced knees?

Hell, can I ride a bicycle thousands of miles with my original factory installed knees?

When I got done with my 60 mile ride today, I took a nice, long (two hour!), hot bath.  That helps with the aching muscles.  Where am I going to find a bathtub on the road?

How can I possibly leave Dexter?

Two years.  Not a lot of time to figure out the answers.

-------------------------------------

Completely unrelated, except that it was another major milestone in my life that occurred on June 1.

The year was 1977.  I was sworn into the US Navy and was off to boot camp in Great Lakes, Illinois.  I was 18 years old.

I'd graduated from high school in 1976.  I worked for Shoney's in Millington, TN.  One night in mid-May, 1977, I told the assistant manager that she basically had her head up her ass . . . which was, in a way, a good thing for her since she could then tell the difference between her ass and a hole in the ground.

This was on a Friday night.  I was working the "wheel."  Assembling the cooked items onto the plates to put in the window for the waitresses to retrieve and take out to the tables.  The assistant manager took my observation to heart, but, upon a tenth of a second's reflection, decided that Shoney's would somehow have to muddle on without my tremendous talents.  (Obviously, since that Shoney's is no longer in business in Millington, we can assume that she bet wrong.  Que sera sera.)

She could probably bring some sort of trademark infringement against Donald Trump.  As she said the words, "You're fired!" long before he gathered up a bunch of apprentices and made them do stupid things.

I took my apron off and proceeded to change my status from "Shoney's Employee" to "Shoney's Customer."  I sat down at the horseshoe shaped counter and demanded to see a menu.  Oddly enough, the woman who just fired me had also assigned herself a "wait station," which just happened to include the counter where her former employee was now demanding a menu.

Seated next to me, appreciating the irony of the situation, was a US Navy Recruiter.  After I placed my order, the recruiter, having watched every detail of my firing, turned to me and said, "So, when are you coming down to the office to take your entrance exam?"

Told him I'd be there on Monday.

I didn't have to take a test.  I'd had my ASVAB (Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery) results from school.  My scores were so high, that I qualified to do anything I wanted in the Navy.  I qualified for every single rating (job) the Navy had.

The recruiter tried to get me to go into "nukes."  He wanted me to become a nuclear engineer so I could ride submarines.

I was 18.  I wasn't interested in being on submarines.  I was only interested in one thing:

Payback.

I told the recruiter I wanted to be a cook.  

"Umm, you can do anything you want.  And you want to be a cook?" the flabbergasted recruiter asked.

"Yes.  I want to be a cook."

You see, I had this idea that the Navy would teach me how to be a gourmet chef.  Then, once I'd mastered all of the possible culinary arts, I'd waltz back into Shoney's, be-medaled, be-decorated, be-high-ranked, and say, "Sorry guys, y'all's loss."

The recruiter shook his head, got my guaranteed "A" school for the MS (Mess Management Specialist) rating, and on June 1, 1977, I was put on a plane and shipped off to Great Lakes, Illinois.

(No, I never became a cook.  First trip through a Navy chow line convinced me to do something else than peel spuds at 4AM.  Another tale for another day.)

Every single thing that has transpired in my life stemmed from that one point in time.  I'm sure everyone can look back in the life and say, "Yep, that was the day.  If things had gone slightly differently, my entire life would have changed."

The symmetry appeals to me to be ending my "adult working life" on the same day it began.