Chicago Trip / Day 1: Richmond, Indiana

Not long after I left Gratis I saw this sign:

Which has absolutely nothing to do with anything. But I had to take a picture of it.

Not far from that sign, I saw a mile marker sign that told me Richmond was only another 25 miles away. I did some quick calculations and realized that I was going to get into Richmond real early. Way way earlier than I'd planned.

One of the websites that I've discovered since starting to think about The Big Ride Two Years Hence is WarmShowers.org. Bicyclists themselves, the creators of the site wanted a world wide database where those of us on the road might find someone local who'd be willing to let you use a shower, sack out on a downstairs couch, or even heat some vittles for you.

In planning the trip to Chicago, I tried to utilize the database to cut down on some lodging expenses. I'm quite happy with the Motel 3s and Super 4s (they're only half as good as Motel 6 and Super 8) of the world. I'm easy to please and after a 70, 80, 90 mile day, I could fall asleep on the garage floor if that's all the space someone had for me.

Because the one immutable law of the universe is I have lousy timing, all five people who were in the WS database in the Richmond area were busy on the Sunday I was going to be in town.

One very nice lady, Amy, and her husband were actually attending RAGBRAI -- the annual ride across Iowa (this was RAGBRAI's 40th ride) -- and they told me that if everyone else bailed on me, I'd be welcome. It's just they weren't going to be home so I'd have to cool my heels until about 11PM until they arrived.

They coincidently lived right off of US 40. In fact, when I made my trip to Richmond last year I went right by the street they lived on. I knew the area, knew it was commercial, and figured I could easily entertain myself for 7 or 8 hours. Amy suggested dropping my gear off on their back porch. Even taking a nap back there if I wanted.

I had figured I'd arrive in Richmond about 3PM.

At 11:00AM this sign greeted me:

"Hi," it said. "Welcome back to Richmond. You must have put some serious spin in those wheels, fat boy, to get here so early."

Sunday was one of those incredibly rare days that only happens about twice a year. The temperature is moderate -- 70s / 80s. The wind isn't trying to knock you down. The humidity is non-existent. The sky is a blue generally only seen in Thomas Kincaid paintings. The thought of wasting that gorgeous day sitting on a porch . . . well, wasn't the whole reason for being on this ride in the first place was to ride?

I stopped at Taco Bell to ponder. Amy had texted me at one point to say they were going to be even later than 11PM. They were going to tell their dog sitter to unlock the house and allow me to go on in and make myself at home. While sitting at Taco Bell my mind wandered . . .

After Miss Indiana departed The Mexican Phone Company (Taco Bell. Get it?) my brain's circuits rebooted and I could think again. I decided I was going to try and beat my all time record of 117.28 miles by riding on to Gas City. Ironically, I set that record back in 2011 by riding from Richmond all the way back to Columbus in a single day.

Gas City was 78 miles away. I'd already ridden 50. If I survived the trip (ha!) I was going to shatter the old record.

I rode over to the local CVS and bought a "Thank You" card for Amy and her husband, Kurt. I wrote my heartfelt thanks for opening their house up to a stranger -- you can't get any stranger than me! -- and explained that I simply had to keep riding. As bicyclists themselves, I hoped they understood. I put the card on the porch (right where I could have been napping!) and headed off.

Google had told me about The Cardinal Greenways bike route that went from Richmond to Gaston, IN. Unfortunately, what it didn't tell me was where the trail head was. I got a vague sense of where it might be and pointed my bike that way.

I got to where I thought it should be, but, nothing. No sign. No bicyclists. No parked cars. There was a cop sitting in his squad car talking on a cell phone. I rode over. He paused his conversation. I apologized for interrupting and asked him if he knew where the trail head was.

He told the caller that he'd have to call (him? her?) back. He suggested that I follow his squad car. Told me the trailhead wasn't far. I said, "As long as you don't expect me to be able to keep up with you!" He answered, "I'm a bicyclist myself. I won't leave you."

Before he even got out of the parking lot we were in, he stopped his car, got out, and walked over to me. "If I get a call, I don't want to run off and leave you. So, you're not from here, are you?"

"No, I'm not."

"Yeah. I guessed. Tell you what, just turn around and look over there at that flag pole by the post office." I did as he suggested. He came over and pointed over my shoulder. "See those guys riding the bikes? That's where the trail head is." Huh. All of about 200 yards away.

As any two bicyclists do when they're together, we compared rides we'd ridden. He was 51. I told him that he was young whippersnapper in comparison to my 54. I told him about my plans to retire in two years. He asked what I did and I told him about owning a massage therapy business. I mentioned my ride from Columbus to Richmond. He said he makes it to Columbus all the time because his sister is an assistant pastor at a church that I actually happen to know about. I told him the next time he was in Columbus, stop by my biz and I'll treat him to a massage. Gave him one of my business cards.

He asked where I was headed and I told him Chicago. That the only thing that had me a tad bit worried was Gary, Indiana. He grimaced. "Yeah." He put his hand on his weapon and said, "Here, just take this. Bring it back when you come back through." Made me laugh.

Chicago Trip / Day 1: US 35 is a feckless bitch . . .

US 35 breaks my heart.

I've been studying the route to Chicago for a long time. US 35 seemed to be a good choice to follow, with a few major caveats. For example, right through Dayton itself it's an incredibly busy four lane highway, indistinguishable from an Interstate. Through parts of Indiana, it is an Interstate as it and I-69 romp northward together in an orgy of asphalt.

But before 35 slips on its "come hither" look and goes straight north with I-69, and after it gets over it 4-lane "Hey, look at me! I'm a real road!" ego trip through Dayton, it becomes a nice little sedate 2 lane with ample room for a bicycle in the breakdown lane. The better to pedal my fat ass, my pretty.

To get to 35, I had to take a few other roads. Ohio 725 took me out of Centerville to the little town of Gratis:

Gratis? As in, "Free"? "No Charge?" Then, yes, thank you, I'll take a complete town.

The busting metropolis that is Gratis hadn't quite yet embraced the whole "Rise and Shine" by the time I got there. I stopped for breakfast at the local BP station. The lady working the counter had one of those, "Yeah, I'm here on Sunday because I need the hours, NOT because I give a shit whether you come back to visit us again," demeanors.

Breakfast, Gratis BP style:

From Gratis it was a pretty short trip to intersect with 35. 35 greeted me with open arms. It said, "Come with me, Bicycle Man. I'll give you the ride of your life!"

I was smitten. For some time I've been carrying on with US 23 and US 40 which run north / south & east / west out through Columbus. All of them carry big trucks and fast cars and I've always felt a special bond with them riding my little human powered two wheeler along the berm.

35 was wild and unpredictable. Sometimes it'd go north. Sometimes it'd head west. Part of it would be rock solid asphalt and then it'd shift unpredictably to crushed / packed stone. Like my other two loves, 35 could be cosmopolitan and rip right through the heart of the big cities, then quietly meander through little Americana towns, with a friendly shoulder for the grazing cows comparing notes on the latest rolling iron.

As I said earlier, I knew 35 was going to run off with 69 (and what say you keep those dirty jokes to yourself) at some point, but, before then, it was going to deliver me safely to Richmond. I was going to console myself with a new bike path while 35 finished her tryst with The Big Road, then pick her back up towards Gas City, IN.

Imagine my feeling of betrayal when, without notice, 35 did this:

Without even as much as a "how do you do," 35 said, "Hey, I'm going to play with Interstate 70 for awhile!" "But, but," I stammered, "I can't ride the Interstates in Ohio on a bicycle!" 35 dismissed me with a wave of her guard rail, and shot off at 65 miles an hour, leaving me confused, betrayed, and alone.

I angrily consulted my phone's mapping system. "Why didn't you tell me?" The phone blinked back unperturbed. "I showed you the evidence. In 16 million colors. You didn't want to believe me. I told you 35 wasn't what you wanted or what you needed. But you had to see for yourself." I quickly closed the map app and put the phone back in its handlebar mount. (I heard the odometer whisper to the phone, "Play something off his Favorites Playlist. That'll calm him down.")

Sullenly, I did the unthinkable for a bicycle rider. I backtracked. Yes. Went back a half mile. I knew what I needed. A couple of quick, down-and-dirty, "it doesn't mean anything" jaunts down some back-alley county roads to get to . . . her:

I sang the Simon and Garfunkel song for her:

Hello Forty my old friend . . . I've come to ride on you again . . .

40 didn't complain. Didn't ask a lot of embarrassing questions. Didn't want to know whose asphalt had been under my tires. Just smiled wide, showed off those great four lanes she's known for, took me by the hand and said, "C'mon. Let's go into Richmond and see what's new there, shall we?"

Chicago Trip / Day 1: Centerville, Ohio

Started early. Like about 6:30 early.

My eyesight must be good as I can see this ball of fire 93 million miles away

As I've mentioned many times, I really enjoy riding in the early morning. The air is cool, still, and fresh. The sun hasn't warmed up the atmosphere so the wind isn't in your face. There are few people stirring about. The ones that are -- the bread delivery guy, the lady sweeping the convenience store parking lot -- are going about their burdens quietly and efficiently.

Big Long Dude

 

My first destination is Richmond, Indiana. Last summer I made a ride from Columbus to Richmond right across US 40. It's about 55 to 60 miles to Richmond from Centerville. I figure on taking my time and just enjoying the ride. My plan is to work my way to US 35 and follow that bad boy right to Richmond. (You can click the link from the menu to the right if you're interested in that journey.)

This is tentatively a "test run" to learn things about the bike and myself for my "retirement" two years from now. It's not an exact test as this is going to be a "credit card tour." Meaning, I'm not worried about bring all the same gear that I would then. No sleeping bag, no tent. No cooking gear. I'll be sleeping in hotel rooms, eating in restaurants.

But the whole time will be spent thinking about the financial aspect of, imaginging really never coming back (I'll literally be homeless), transporting Dexter the Chihuahua with me, and whether or not I'm physically able to pull this off.

Plus, this trip really is to take my mom with me. Mama never traveled much once she started raising kids. There wasn't time or money for that. When all four kids were grown, she and my dad divorced, and my mom had a lot of aimless years. She spent her last years with my sister in Bowling Green, KY, wheelchair bound, tied to an oxygen bottle. Last summer I picked her up from Bowling Green and took her back to what I consider home: Millington, Tennessee. From there we went to where she considered home: Bastrop, Louisiana. It was a 1500 mile trip. It was hard on her, but I think she thoroughly enjoyed it.

She passed away with January of this year. She was cremated and her ashes were split between myself, my brother, and my two sisters. Each of us were to take a portion of her ashes to her favorite places, like her favorite fishing hole in Millington. For example, on her birthday in April, I took her to New Orleans. We'd leave some of her ashes in each place we took her. That way, she was definitely there.

As I stop to take pictures on this trip, I'll most likely leave a little of her in each location. I hope she enjoys the trip.

 

Chicago Trip: Taking my mom to Chicago

Well, I did promise her some traveling.

My route is roughly 300 miles. The plan is to do it in 5 days.

While I'm going to be pedaling in the hot sun, Mama will at least have some shade.


She'll be riding in the back. Ride might be a little bumpy, but she'll be in the bag so she won't notice.

(And yes, for all of y'all out there who I'm being insensitive / irreverent . . . the former, no. The latter, yeah. But she would have liked that.)

Fun With Pictures

My ex wife, of all people, disputed that anyone could see the similarity between me and the Food Network dude, Guy Fieri.  I'm with ya, Michele.  I don't see it either.  But then again, I've also been compared to Newt Gingrich.

My favorite picture of all time of me was the day I completed 471 miles of bicycling in 7 days for RAGBRAI in 2008.  I was dipping the front tire of my bicycle into the Mississippi River.  This is the "I Made It Through RAGBRAI, Dammit!" custom.

On a whim I had a caricature drawn of that photo.  I'm a little surprised at what the artist saw in the picture.  It's as close to the guy on the right as I'll ever get, I suppose:

Home to . . . well, out there and back

I own a massage therapy business.  In The Bag Massage.  We tried an experiment for about six months where we put a massage therapist in a chiropractor's office.  We split the profits.  It was a win for both of us as the chiro didn't have to hire / schedule a therapist.  We had no overhead.  Plus, we had no labor costs if appointments didn't book as our therapists are paid on commission and only if they actually work.

The chiro had some funny ideas about schedules, though.  He didn't want anyone in his office if he wasn't there.  While I understand the concern, it limited the hours we could provide a therapist.  Our assurance that we'd make him whole if ever there was a need fell on deaf ears.  After about six months with way-less-than-optimal-hours the therapists became frustrated that they couldn't get booked.  They weren't making any money.  The chiro wasn't.  We weren't.  Why bother?

We parted amicably.  My biz partner went over and gathered all of our stuff.

Or, so she thought.  She missed a couple of things.  First and foremost was a little netbook computer.

Yesterday I went to fetch it.

I was surprised how close the place was.  Had you asked, I would have told you it's a good 20 miles from my house.  Oddly enough, it was about half that.  A little over 11 miles.  Then again, I wouldn't have taken the same route by car as I did by bicycle to get there.  By bike I could make almost a bee-line for the place. 

Once I got there I realized that the day was still early.  Why not trek on a little bit more.  Since the weekend had been so hosed.

I was wearing new bicycle shorts.  $175 for three pair of the things.  Yikes.  But, the old pants I had lasted nearly 5 years, so, they're good investments for keeping your bum abrasion free!

New pants.  New tires.  New gear sprocket.  Unlistened to podcasts.   I'm in the middle of a Stephen King audiobook:

And there's always music to listen to.  Yes indeed.  Why not let's boldly go?  

Speaking of music, I've got another song to add to my "Never Get Tired Of Listening To It" Playlist:

A quick little 20+ mile ride evolved into a 60+ mile ride.  Amazingly the wind cooperated.  It did its ever changing direction crap that it always does, but somehow it worked in my favor.  I can't remember more than a few miles that I was headed straight into it.

Along US 40 I came across one of my favorite "hole in the wall" diners, Henry's. The last time I was there I stopped and got their blue plate special.  On that particular day it was tuna casserole.  Man, was that good.  I craved tuna casserole for a month after that.  Even tried to make it, but I sucked like an Electrolux at recreating it.

But I blew Henry's off because I knew if I rode far enough, I'd go by Der Dutchman, also one of my favorite places to eat.

Should have stuck with Henry's.

DD was fine.  But the buffet was . . . well, limited.  Everything they had on it was good.  Not a bad thing in the bunch.  It just didn't hit the spot.  And $14 for lunch ($12 for the buffet, $2 for the drink) was too damned expensive.  Throw in another $3 for a tip and that's the better part of a Jackson for a "eh, it was all right, nothing to write home about" lunch.  Should have gone back to Dan's for an $8 omelet.


Finished Cycle: Jul 25, 2012 4:35:55 PM

Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20120725-1035.kml
Ride Time: 4:40:17
Distance: 63.45 miles
Average: 13.58 mph
Fastest Speed: 25.86 mph
Ascent: 1615 feet
Descent: 1623 feet
Calories: 4964

Clusterfark of a weekend

On Sunday, July 29 I'm going to ride to Chicago.

Yeah, I know.  Nucking futs.  Completely.

Last weekend I wanted to get a bunch of miles under my belt.  Kind of like a shakedown cruise.  Feel the burn.  Chafe my ass.  What have you.

The goal was to be180 miles over 2 days.  I've a friend who lives outside of Dayton.  I figured it'd be good exercise to ride there, 90 miles from my house.  Get up Sunday and come home.

As I do every year in the Spring, I take my bike to where I bought it from, Bike Source, and I have them do a complete overhaul of all of the "necessary parts."  Chain.  Gear sprocket.  Tires.  Inner tubes.  This year I did all of that and had them check the cables, replace the brake pads.  Nearly replaced everything except the frame itself.  ("Except for the handle and the blade, this very same ax was used by George Washington.")

I always buy the upgraded tires.  Flats are a pain.  I understand they're a part of a bicyclist's life, but that doesn't make 'em pleasant to experience.  I've yet to have a flat where I said to myself, "Man, what a convenient place to stop and get my hands dirty!  I just had a hankering to unload the panniers, break out my tire changing kit, and just relish the time spent on the side of the road, sitting on broken concrete in 105 degree heat."

The two big group rides I did -- RAGBRAI in 2008 and XOBA in 2009 -- were 471 and 520 miles respectively.  I didn't suffer a SINGLE flat on either trip.  The ride I did to Lake Erie last year, by contrast, there was one miserable day when I suffered four flats. 

In the 5 years I've owned this bicycle, with the exception of that trip to Lake Erie, I've had no more than a half dozen flats.  I chalk it up to those upgraded tires I buy.  They're not impervious to punctures, but they're very resilient.

In the Spring tune-up I must have got a bad batch.

About 10 days ago, when I suffered the fifth flat with these new tires, I took it back to the store.  Grabbed a manager and said, "Look.  I've had as many flats with these tires in three months that I have had in five years."  He assured it that it wasn't the tires.  Rather, "it was a bad batch of tubes."  He replaced the tubes, assured me the tires were just fine.

Uh huh.  Sure.

My previous long post about not being able to breathe came about because I'd been wondering what route to take on that Friday morning.  I was trying to find a "hillier" place to ride (a challenge in itself in flat Columbus, Ohio) as I was lacing up my shoes.  It was all for naught because when I got out to the bike . . . there was flat number 6.

Dammit to hell.

I planned on Saturday to take the bike back to Bike Source and tell 'em to get those cursed tires off.  They don't open until 10.  By the time I got done bitching at 'em, and they replaced the tires, tubes, we're looking at 12 to 1 before I'm on the road.  Knowing it's going to take me 8 to 9 hours to ride 90 miles, I decided to just fix the flat and deal with Bike Source later.

I pulled the bike in the house, turned on Big Bang Theory, and went to work.

I got on the road at 10:30.  You can click on the link below to see how far I got before suffering from flat number 7.


Finished Cycle: Jul 21, 2012 11:40:50 AM
Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20120721-1021.kml
Ride Time: 43:52
Distance: 9.18 miles
Average: 12.55 mph
Fastest Speed: 27.98 mph
Ascent: 283 feet
Descent: 229 feet
Calories: 716

You.  Got.  To.  Be.  Kidding.  Me.

Flip the bike upside down.  The flat's on the rear tire.  (Of course.)  Do the quick release.  Get the tire off.  Open up my bag to fetch my tools.

The tools which are lying on my kitchen table.

Because that's where I left them after changing the flat in the house.

You.  Got.  To.  Be.  Kidding.  Me.


I gave my youngest a call.  This ain't the first time I've had to summon my progeny.  "You need rescuing again, Dad?"  (Fortunately for me, the kid works for food.  The further she has to drive, the more expensive the meal I have to buy.)

Gnawing on a Dagwood at the Ohio Deli

As I usually do, I'd left my car keys where she could find them.  This way, she can bring my car which is already equipped with a bike rack for easy totin'.  (She also likes to drive my car since it has a factory-equipped iPhone / iPod / MP3 player input jack.  Her tunes never sound better than when they're played through my car stereo!)

While I was waiting for her to arrive, a local cop car stopped and a patrolman got out.  "Hi, officer, what's shakin'?" I said to the Dougie Howser of the Dublin, Ohio Police Department.  "Just wanted to make sure you were ok.  We got a call from someone on the road.  Figured you might have taken a header or something."

Thought it was nice that someone would be so considerate, but, why didn't the person who called stop to see for themselves what the trouble was?  I suppose the caller could have been an unaccompanied woman and, truthfully, it's never a good idea for ladies who're by themselves to stop and help someone out.  It's a mean old world.  But, thanks for the call, Lady!

I assured the cop I was fine, thanked him for stopping by, told him my daughter was on her way to rescue me. 

Shortly after, Spud arrived.  Bless her heart, in addition to bringing the rescue wagon she also raided my fridge to bring a couple of things to drink for her dear old dehydrated daft dad.

We loaded the bike, I asked her if she had time for me to go over the Bike Source and bitch.  She assured me that she'd like to watch the show.  I promised her lunch at the Mexican restaurant literally next door.  (Chili Verde Cafe.  I'd never been, but I'll go back!)

I got the attention of one of the bike mechanics who's personally done a lot of work on my bike.  (They all know me in there.)  I was firm, yet polite in my demand that those cursed tires were coming off that bike.  He apologized, said he'd see what he could do since Specialized -- the maker of my bike and the tires -- really took seriously their commitment to great products.  Yeah yeah yeah, I thought.  Just get some new tires on there.  I'll take the same brand as, until this batch, I've had good luck with them.  But those tires gotta go.

Spud and I went over to the restaurant.  Both of us had quesadillas.  (Why doesn't Google spell check recognize that word?)  Went back to the bike store and they'd completed the fixes.

All gratis, too.  Well.  What a nice surprise.  I figured they'd tell me I'd put X number of miles on the old set, so they were going to pro-rate the cost of a new set towards that.  Frankly, I would have been satisfied with that answer.  But, no.  New set.  No charge.  Major brownie points for you, Bike Source.

Took Spud back to the house where she could fetch her car and go on about her day.  I moped around for an hour or so.  Bitching that I wasn't going to get in a huge ride like I wanted. 

I decided that something would be better than nothing.  What if I started in London again?  I could get in about 50 miles or so, then 50 back to the car the next day.  About half, but, well, it'd still be a ride, right?

Drove the 40 miles to London.  Unloaded the bike.  Locked up the car.  Got everything ready to go.  Got on the trail.

That's when the gears start slipping.  The chain wouldn't stay in any particular gear.  Didn't matter whether I was pedaling or not, the gears kept throwing the chain off.

You.  Got.  To.  Be.  Kidding.  Me.

It started about 1/4 mile into the ride.  I shifted gears several times manually to see if I could "work it out."  Nothing doing.  I made it to the 1/2 mile point, then turned around and went back to the car.

Oh, I was seriously pissed.

Loaded the bike back on the car.  Fired up the phone to find where the closest bicycle shop is.

It was 40 miles back in Columbus.

Right about the time I was thinking about throwing something heavy at the nearest pane of glass, my Dayton friend called wondering what my status was.  I told her, "Oh, you sooooo don't want to know."  Told her that the bike had been causing me fits, that I didn't know what my plans were, and that I'd check in later and let her know.

I decided to head to Dayton.  Figured I'd find a bike shop there, see if they could take a look at what was going on, and then I'd live to ride another day, like, on Sunday.

I found a Performance Bicycles shop with a fully manned service department.  Yes, as a matter of fact, they did have time to look over my bike.  The mechanic -- who probably had 10 years on me -- figured it was the chain that was causing the problem.  There appeared to be a frozen link that wasn't playing well with others.  After 30 minutes of trying out that theory, he figured it was the gear sprocket itself.  So I had him replace that because by this point I didn't care any longer.  Just make the bike ride-able.

$35 and another half hour later, it was ready to ride.  Except by this time I'd used up most of my daylight and all of my patience with bicycles.

Sunday morning I was ready to ride.  My friend treated me to Cracker Barrel for breakfast.  I accompanied her to Wal-Mart for a supply run.  She had a motorcycle to ride -- none of these silly human powered two-wheelers for her! -- and she was happy to see me off on my quest to burn some calories.

Five minutes after leaving her driveway I checked mail / voice mails at work.  So much for my day off.  I couldn't go riding because I had to come into the office.  By the time I drove all the way back to Columbus, went into the office, fixed what needed fixing, then ran some necessary chores, it was mid-afternoon again.  Wasn't going to get 90 miles in on Sunday, either.

Dammit.  What a wasted / frustrating weekend for bicycling.  

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know.  Me and my first world problems.  90% of the world would be happy to have as their main worry of the day their bicycle didn't take them on a joy ride.  Yeah yeah yeah.

Dark Knight Rises

I went to see the new Batman movie.

Thought it was damned appropriate / ironic that I drove to see Batman in a car with this license plate:

Then again, the most excited I got about the movie was the trailer that came before it:

Insomnia Blues / Breathing Method

I suppose you could say it was a vast improvement over the previous night's sleep.  Wednesday into Thursday I got a whopping 2 hours sleep.  Last night I got 5.

Plus a 90 minute nap in the late afternoon. To be fair, I should add that to the credit side of the Sleep Ledger. Or is that a debit and you enter it as a negative . . . hell, who but CPAs would know.  No wonder CPAs and geeks never get laid . . . we're all too busy checking out the trees and forgetting the forest.

Back up at 5 this morning.  Took care of a couple of work things.  Decided a quick 20 mile ride would be in order.  Fretted a little bit about which route I'd take.

A little voice went off and said, "Hey, lazy fat boy, why don't you try something other than flat ground for a change?  You know, maybe actually do some cardio or aerobic work for a change?  You will be riding over mountains at some point.  Maybe you should actually put a little stress on your heart, what say?"

Damn I hate that voice.  Hate it even more when it's right.

I'm not a big fan of hills.  I like 'em as much as I like 30 MPH headwinds.  Strike that.  Like them less than headwinds.  Sometimes the wind will change direction, even if for only a few seconds.  The hills?  There's no letting up.  You climb them . . . or you don't go any further.

Part of the problem is mental.  (Which is what my exs have been saying about me for years.  "Yeah, he's mental.")  The first couple of years I rode I did so "suffering" from a "mutated" thyroid.  The thing had grown so large in my throat that it was actually closing off my trachea, aka my windpipe.  A normal trachea, not encumbered by a fat ass thyroid, has an opening of between 15cm and 20cm.  You can get plenty of air down that bad boy.

My thyroid was literally choking me.  It had pinched my trachea to an opening no more than 2 to 3 centimeters.

Try pedaling up a hill with 90% of your air cut off. 

I remember the very first time I encountered this problem.  I was riding along a very nice bicycle path in Westerville.  Ahead of me was a incline.  Perhaps a 5% grade.  It was about 200 to 300 yards in length.  I'd been pedaling serenely along and decided that I could stand to get my heart racing a tad.  I revved up the engine and took the incline (it could not in any way be classified as a "hill") as fast as I could.

When I got to the top of the incline I couldn't breathe.  I literally thought (and remember, when I use the word literally I understand exactly what that word means) I was going to die right there on the side of the road.  I could not get any air.  I was breathing just as hard as I possibly could.  It was not unlike someone having his hands around my throat, preventing me from drawing any air in.  I was starting to see spots and was headed towards black out.

Mentally telling myself to just calm down, sit down, that even if I did black out, my breathing would eventually kick back in.

Or, I'd die.  But at least it'd be over.  One way or the other.

I understand asthma sufferers go through this.  Dear God, what an absolutely horrible feeling.  

I made an appointment with the throat / ears / nose guys.  They stress-tested me, put me on treadmills, measured my lung capacity (I'm a 36D!)  They could find nothing wrong.  All of my "breathing parts" were in fine working order.

Afterwards, I had a few more instances of nearly dying on the side of a road.  (Including one time where some people pulled off to see if I was suffering from a heart attack as I was clutching my chest and turning blue.)  I went to a specialist who gave me the news about my mutated thyroid.  "Great, now that we know what's causing the problem, how do we fix it?"

Surgery, of course.  As he was required to do, he started rattling off the "things that could go wrong."  "We could cut your vocal chords."

Say what?

Those six little words kept me from having the surgery for four years.  C'mon.  A surgery that could remove my ability to talk?  Or if not remove it completely, change my voice totally?

In that four years the condition got worse even as the distances I traveled on bicycles increased.  I'd learned to anticipate when I was going to get hit, but that didn't always work.  Sometimes I'd be completely surprised.  I'd be riding with moderate to low exercise levels and all of a sudden I just couldn't breathe.

The first few hills of the day would always do me in.  I remember when I did RAGBRAI, on the very first morning, at the very first hill, at about 6:15AM, I got to the top and truly thought I couldn't go on.  Only 470.5 miles to go of my 471 mile ride and I'm already thinking I'm finished.  I thought, "I'll just stay here in Iowa and sell bacon.  Right here at the top of this hill."

The condition worsened to the point I had to do something.  Taking a drink of something cold would close up my throat.  I would bolt upright out of a dead sleep unable to get a breath.  I finally had a thyroidectomy in February 2010.  They didn't nick my vocal chords at all.  Within about 6 weeks my voice was pretty much back to normal.

And I could breathe.  And ride up hills.  I still hate 'em, but I can ride up 'em.  (Well, I haven't tried the Rocky Mountains yet, but . . . )

Breakfast Run

Just looked over the report below.  Says the fastest speed was 37.96 MPH.  Obviously the program is smoking crack:
 
Finished Cycle: Jul 19, 2012 8:33:13 AM
Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20120719-0617.kml
Ride Time: 1:36:21
Distance: 22.88 miles
Average: 14.25 mph
Fastest Speed: 37.96 mph
Ascent: 1615 feet
Descent: 1683 feet
Calories: 1786


Went to bed last night at around midnight.  Nothing unusual about that.  In comparison to other nights, that's a little early for me.

Read for just a few minutes, then was out like the proverbial light.  (Ok, out like a soon-to-be-outlawed-everywhere incandescent light.  I'm not sure LEDs ever go out, do they?)

Was wide awake at 2:00AM.  Went to the little bicyclist's room, let the dog out to the little Chihuahua room, then back to bed.  Tossed and turned.  Couldn't get back to sleep.  A friend of mine on Facebook the other day wrote:

"When I was a child, I wanted super powers like flying and super-strength.  Now that I'm grown, I'd like the super power to go the hell to sleep when I wanted to."

I'm with ya, brother.

At 4:00AM I finally gave up.  Grabbed the iPad and headed to the tub.  Figured I'd soak for a couple of hours and maybe, afterwards, be able to grab a couple more hours sleep.

Nothing doing.  Whatever was keeping me awake was doing a fine job of it.  (I'd say it's the ever present worry on how to cover payroll for my company, but, according to the President, since I didn't build the company myself, I should let the government worry about how to make paychecks good.)

 

At about 5:30 AM I realized that it hopeless.  I just was not going to get any more sleep this morning.  What to do.  What to do.

Hey.  I know.  How about play Klingon Boggle!  

Eh.  It's probably better played with other Klingons.

Hmm.  What else can I do?  

Hey!  I could go for a bicycle ride!  Now we're talking!

I suited up, patted the dog goodbye, checked the air pressure on the tires, and off I went.  

I've mentioned before how much I enjoy early morning rides.  I just wish they didn't occur in the, you know, early morning.  The air is relatively still.  There's few people out and about.  It's a really quiet time to ride.  

I've made so many rides down High Street that I can pretty much tell you where just about every mile marker is.  For example, this place is exactly 10 miles from my house:

I keep trying to wrap my head around whatever the Universe is trying to tell me in putting a funeral home exactly 10 bicycle miles away.

A little over a mile further south from the funeral home is Dan's Diner.  Last month I was suffering from insomnia, just like this morning, and I'd headed out to go to Dan's.  Except I left far too early.  Dan doesn't open until 7.  Had to settle for a "not as good" breakfast somewhere else. 

Not this morning, though.  Dan was open for business and I took my place at the counter:

 

The view from the counter at Dan's Diner

Have I mentioned how much I like "dives"?  That show on The Food Channel, "Drive Thrus, Dives, Diners" (or something like that) speaks loudly to me.  (Or it did.  I cut my cable out 2 years ago and haven't watched an episode since.)

Side note:  I had a lady who worked for me who said I reminded her of the host of that show, Guy Fieri.  "Yeah, you look just like him!" she told me.

You've.  Got.  To.  Be.  Kidding.  Me.

Anyway, Nicole -- the morning shift waitress at Dan's -- served up a nice 3 egg omelet, loaded with bacon, sausage, and ham.  Their meat lover's special.  Side of toast and some very buttery grits.  Threw in a large Diet Coke to wash it all down.

The total cost?  About eight bucks.  Holy Anchovy, Batman -- you can barely get out of McDonald's for less than eight bucks for breakfast.

Made the trip back home with the wind at my back.  Tussled with the city buses as I always do.  Showered, shaved, fed the dog, headed off to work.  Where I'm now officially dead tired and could sleep for a week if I could get away with shutting my eyes for two minutes . . .

Follow up to Harrisburg to Jeffersonville

I wanted to get yesterday's ride documented.  Left out a couple of things.

I found another "Great Song To Bike To."  I see I'm going to have to create a playlist that includes all of these songs.  Any time I hear one of them, while on the bike, I start singing along, forgetting the physical exertion necessary to propel the bike, and wind up doing amazing things like climbing huge hills without even realizing it.  I guess you could say I totally zone out with the music.

That's a good thing, ain't it?

I also heard Charlie McCoy's version of Shendoah:

Which brought back a flood of memories from around 1973 or so.  Father's Day was rolling around and my dad loved Charlie McCoy.  So my brother and I went in together and bought a couple of 8-tracks (yep, you read that right) by Mr. McCoy.  It would be the only 8 tracks my dad ever owned.

To "make sure they worked" my brother and I tried 'em out in the Ford Country Squire station wagon that was the Owens Family Truckster:

Truth be told, the real reason I was "testing" the tapes was to listen to Shendoah.  Absolutely beautiful music.  It wouldn't be hyperbole to say that song soothes my soul.

Side note on that Ford.  I remember we were going on vacation.  (That was an incredibly rare event for us.  We never had money for vacations.  Vacation was daddy not going into work for a week, staying home and catching up on "honey do" work, cutting the grass, working on the car, and having more than a couple of beers on the last weekend of his vacation.)  We were headed to Penascola.

Except there was something wrong with the car.  I honestly don't remember what was wrong, but I got the general sense that, yes, it was fixable, for exactly the amount of money my mom and dad had set aside to go on vacation with.  Another week of cutting grass and working on the car for my dad.  No escape for him.

My Dad and I.  This was at least a couple of years ago.

It's amazing that one song -- Shenandoah -- could have released such a flood of memories.  My dad died on March 7, 1995, six months shy of his 62nd birthday.  (On Friday, January 3, 2020 I will be older than my dad was when he died.  That is, if I don't get run over by a truck while out bicycling.) 

Millington, TN is what I consider my home town.  I joined the Navy in 1977.  My second duty after VP-93 in Mt. Clemens, MI was . . . Millington TN.  It happened to be home (at the time) to the world's largest "inland" Naval Base.  It's still a huge base, but all of the aircraft related training was sent to Pensacola decades ago. 

On a day off, I took my dad down to the Mississippi River.  We'd gone through Shelby Forest to get to a part of the river that not many people knew about.  We spent a couple of hours exploring the banks of the Mississippi, watching barges go by, and just having a good time hanging out.  My dad would have been a little younger than than I am now.  Days later I remember my mom asking me what we'd done.  He hadn't given her any details.  But he kept going on and on about what a great time he'd had with me that day.  That one memory stands out as my most favorite moment about my dad.

This wasn't taken on our trip to Old Man River

In 1981 in the Navy I was given the job of running our computer systems.  The Navy had contracted with an outfit called CADO Systems.  The computer I was tasked with administering had a whopping 20MB hard drive.  (Not GIGAbytes.  MEGAbytes.)  That beat the last CADO system I worked on which used 7 inch single sided floppy disks.  No hard drive at all.

My dad was always amazed with the things I knew about computers.  I believe technology in general fascinated him.  That he had a son who was particularly adept at understanding and using computer technology was a point of pride for him.

All of that is a long way to get to this point:  I wonder what my dad would have thought about me going across country on a bicycle?  I first raised the issue back when I was in high school.

My mom -- who passed away just this last January -- would have been completely supportive.  But she was that way with everything.  She may not have understood what my brother and sisters and I did (the lady was flummoxed trying to figure out how to turn on my television) but her overriding mantra was:  "If it makes you happy, I'm ok with it."

My dad could afford to be a little more judgmental.  He'd not out right tell you it was a stupid idea, but within five minutes of you explaining The Master Plan he could come up with 30 or 40 things you'd not thought about.  (Sadly, I think I do that with my own two girls.  Sorry, girls.)

I wonder what he'd think of a cross-country bicycle ride.  I wonder what things would occur to him to consider that haven't even crossed my mind yet.

Strange how your mind can wander during the course of a song that's only 181 seconds long.

Harrisburg to Jefferson Ohio

Nearly 80 miles today.  In 94 degree temperatures.  Am I nucking futs or what?

This morning I got up with the idea that I wanted to get in about 50 miles or so.  Where, I thought, can I go to see something new.

Well, that's a problem.  Years ago I used to work for a human resource company.  I had clients all over the state.  It's nearly impossible for me to get lost in Ohio.  I've been in every single county, on every major road, on every interstate, and in every major city, and been through a ton of small towns.

Back in 2008, I rode across the state of Iowa with RAGBRAI. 7 days.  471 miles.  West to east across the whole state.  I loved it!  It was my first big group ride.  I was in a state that I had been in before (eh, I've been in every state except Alaska), but while in Iowa I didn't spent a lot of time looking around.  RAGBRAI allowed me and 17,000 of my closest friends to ride through little towns, enjoy the local cuisine (remind me to tell you about "neck wraps"), and just enjoy the pure joy of bicycle riding.

In 2009 I rode across Ohio with the XOBA group. Blech.  Part of the problem was the group dynamics.  Instead of 17,000 riders there were only 250.  While on RAGBRAI you didn't have to pay a lot of attention to road markings because there were always a few zillion people in front of you.  Just follow the masses of asses.  But with XOBA, there'd be times I'd never see another rider until the end of the day.

But I think what was worse for me in XOBA was . . . I'd been everywhere the ride went.  I wasn't seeing anything new.  That was a big attractor for the IOWA ride.  All of the places were places I'd never been before. 

This morning I had a bad case of, "Yeah?  What else ya got?"

I looked over the maps.  I could take US 62 / Ohio 3 to the south.  The wind was coming out of the WSW, so I'd be riding against it on the way day, and with it on the way back.  That appealed to me.  I'd driven that road several times, but I'd never ridden a bike that way.  SOLD!

The only problem was it was a 20 to 25 mile ride to get to the spot I wanted to start riding.  Well, hell, if I ride to that spot, it'll be time to turn around and come home.  That's not going to work.

Fortunately, the bank and I own this magnificent machine that will tote you, four or five friends, and a whole mess of luggage, to the destination of your choice.  I recalled that I used it just a couple of days ago to get to London.  By George, I could use it again!  I could schlep my fat ass and my bicycle down to Harrisburg to start my little ride.

That's exactly what I did.  Found a good place to park, then off I went.

At one point I passed this sign:

Since it was right by a bridge, I figured pretty soon I'd be looking at the bridges of Madison County.  I'd keep my eye peeled for any hot sexually frustrated farmer wives who might believe I look like Clint Eastwood. (Yes, Dexter would have to get along with their seeing eye dawgs.)

There's a lot of farm land down yonder way.  There appears to be only two crops:  beans and corn.  I'm in no way a farmer, but I guess if you're going to grow cash crops you can hardly go wrong with beans and corn.

US 62 is a major road and there was a lot of traffic -- but there is a fine breakdown lane the entire way.  Cars and trucks still moved over into the opposing lane a lot to keep from getting close to the crazy guy on a bicycle.

25 miles or so after I left I got to the town of Washington Court House. (Is that not the dumbest name for a town?)  Outside of WCH there is a series of outlet malls.  I figured another five miles or so to get there.  I was feeling pretty good.  Figured I could extend the ride to 60 miles instead of 50.  Why not go there and eat lunch.

But, of course, nothing's ever quite that simple.  You see, the only way I'd ever gone from WCH to Jeffersonville (where the outlet mall is) is by car.  Straight out US 35 and you're there.  But you're not allowed to have a bicycle on 35.

It didn't stop me, though.  I figured if I cop pulled me over, I'd plead ignorance.  "No, officer, I didn't see the sign prohibiting bicycles.  I'll get off at the next exit." 

Long story short, I took 35 for a few miles, then really didn't want to compete with trucks zipping along at 65 to 75 miles per hour.  Took an exit which dumped me off onto a secondary road.  It also took me about five miles further out of my way to get to the outlet mall.  So now I was looking at a 70 mile day.

Well.  Ok.  What else did I have to do?

It was about 3:30 when I finished lunch at Chipotle.  Even at a headwinded 12 miles per hour, it'd only take me 3 hours to get back to the car.  I didn't want to go back the way I came, though.  If the goal was seeing new places / new routes, I wanted to go back a different way.  So I consulted my phone's mapping app.  Off I went.

Except I missed a turn somewhere.  I didn't want to back track.  Time to go a different way.  Again, long story short, this zigging and zagging necessary after I missed the turn cost me yet another 10 miles.

I might have mentioned there was a lot of corn and beans.  And graveyards, too.  After looking at beans, corn, and graves all day long, while sitting at a Sunoco I was quite ready for a change of scenery:

Thank you, God, for creating smokin' hot women.  And for giving me a lifetime supply of testosterone to appreciate 'em.

The last mile of the ride was the most pleasant.  Mainly because it was the worst first mile.  The first mile was uphill against the wind.  Which made the last mile down hill with the wind at my back.  Thus the "fastest speed" of 28.04 MPH was achieved coming back to the car.  


Finished Cycle: Jul 16, 2012 7:02:42 PM
Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20120716-1103.kml

Ride Time: 6:03:34
Distance: 78.69 miles
Average: 12.99 mph
Fastest Speed: 28.04 mph
Ascent: 956 feet
Descent: 1109 feet
Calories: 6151


With those 6151 calories I bought a big ass Pizza Hut pizza tonight.

Home to Powell

Just a quick ride around the neighborhood.  Sorta.

Had been suffering from a huge headache all afternoon.  So instead of biking, I took a long nap.  Three hour nap.

I've suffered from migraine headaches ever since I was a teenager.  Back in January 2012 Excedrin took their Excedrin Migraine off the market.  Unfortunately for me, it's the only product I've ever used that knocks out a migraine.  Without that medicine, my only hope in fighting a migraine is sleep -- and lots of it.

Strapped Dexter's milk crate to the back of the bike, put the little beast in it, and off we went.

Finished Cycle: Jul 15, 2012 9:31:09 PM
Route: Daily Ride
Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20120715-1935.kml
Ride Time: 1:22:16
Distance: 21.01 miles
Average: 12.73 mph
Fastest Speed: 25.85 mph
Ascent: 494 feet
Descent: 615 feet
Calories: 1367

You ever take a 2 year old in to get a picture taken?  The kid will look everywhere except where you want him to look when in front of the photographer.  My dumb ass dog is just like that. 

Pretty uneventful ride.  Sun went down so I turned on my tail lights.  Other than that, not much to report.

London to Xenia

Today was one of those incredibly rare days in Ohio where it was an almost perfect day to ride a bicycle.  Warm.  (High 70s / low 80s).  Half the day was filled with overcast skies, keeping the direct sun from frying you.  The wind was an issue, as it was rather stiff, but it was going across my path and neither pushing nor being a headwind. Plus, the section of the trail I rode, the Miami Valley Rails to Trails, from London to Xenia, has a lot of over growth alongside the path, blocking a lot of the wind.

The trail head starts in London.  For years they've been talking about connecting the different bicycle paths in Ohio.  Eventually it'll be so you can ride from Cleveland to Cincinnati all on bicycle trails.  For all my complaints about Ohio -- and they are legion -- I gotta tell you that this trail is the best I've ever ridden.  I've ridden nearly every mile of it.  (Just one last leg through Dayton that I've not yet reached the end.)  I've ridden hundreds, if not thousands, of miles on this trail.  I remember one very early morning ride on the trail about a year ago.  This was the sunrise from the trail:

Leaving from London it's almost dead-on 10 miles to South Charleston.  From there it's almost dead-on 10 miles to Cedarville.  And then an almost spot-on 10 miles to Xenia.  I've got nothing to back this up, but I'd bet you it's not a coincidence.  I'd say back in the day that the train companies established those stops and the little towns grew up around those stops. In any case, it makes for a handy measuring stick.

I got to a park in Xenia.  Sat down at a bench where there was no one else around.  Have you ever arrived first at a movie theater, found the absolute perfect seats, and then have the second person arrive and sit right in front of you? That's what happened today.  A hundred other places to sit, and this noisy, "never-stopped-talking-on-her-cell-phone-for-a-single-second" woman, with a snot-nosed 2 year old boy in diapers, her drug dealer "baby daddy" in tow, a sack of Taco Bell, and a loaf of bread sat down at the picnic table right next to me.  Are you kidding me?

She then took out pieces of bread and started throwing them at the ducks and geese.  Which attracted more ducks and geese.  Pretty soon the place was overrun by them.  The picture below was within the first five minutes of the feeding.  Before 10 minutes had passed I bet nearly every waterfowl in a 100 yard radius had swarmed around hoping to get their little piece of Wonder Bread Duck Chow.

It's not that I mind the ducks / geese.  I like 'em, myself.  If I'd had a loaf of bread I would have fed 'em myself.  It's just that this woman was hollering at the fowl when they'd approach her son, hollering at him for approaching the birds, and continued to bellow into her cell phone (which she had on speaker.) 

At a couple of points, she actually picked up the birds.  It was obvious the animals were terrified -- literally scared shitless in two occasions.  Which for some unfathomable reason surprised Noisy Woman.  "They shit on me!"  Well, dumbass, why did you pick them up in the first place?

The ride back was uneventful.  At least until I got to South Charleston.

In all the years I've ridden this rails to trails trail, this is the very first time I've ever been stopped by a train.  The train was moving at quite a nice clip, so I could hardly complain.  I know, I know, stupid picture to post.  But it just struck me as an odd thing.  I didn't think the railroad tracks were ever used.

I'd listened to all of the podcasts I had on file.  So I switched over to music.  I found a couple of songs that really got my legs pumping as I sang along to them:




and



What an eclectic taste, huh?  Actually, there's another song that always gets my heart racing and legs pumping like the pistons they are:





Along the way back, I snapped a picture of this guy.  He seems to follow me around on sunny days:

He's a lot fatter than I am (which is saying a lot), but he manages to keep up with me pretty well, I'll give him that.

A few years ago, some "Friends of the Miami Trail" got together to really spruce up the London trail head.  They increased the parking spaces by a factor of 2, put a nice little shelter by the lot, stocked it with brochures and the like, and put up some nice art work there by the trail:

All in all, a very nice day to be on a bike.


Finished Cycle: Jul 13, 2012 5:42:07 PM
Route: Daily Ride
Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20120713-1211.kml

Ride Time: 4:26:31
Distance: 61.01 miles
Average: 13.73 mph
Fastest Speed: 18.62 mph
Ascent: 437 feet
Descent: 525 feet
Calories: 4726

Home to Johnstown

All right, it's obviously a symptom of being an idiot, but . . . I can't remember the ride:

Finished Cycle: Jul 9, 2012 6:11:51 PM
Route: Daily Ride
Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20120709-1421.kml
Ride Time: 3:14:53
Distance: 42.41 miles
Average: 13.06 mph
Fastest Speed: 28.49 mph
Ascent: 1120 feet
Descent: 1145 feet
Calories: 3337


Yeah, I remember some bits and pieces of it.  It was only 4 days ago, for crying out loud.  But it must have been one boring ass ride because nothing about it stands out in my mind.  How do you ride for over 3 hours and never have one "hey, look at that!" moment?

The 9th was significant only because it was the last day I was 53.  I turned 54 on Tuesday, July 10.  Shit, does this mean that turning 54 made me senile?  Guess it was bound to happen at some point.

4th of July trip to Chillicothe

I'd planned on doing 60 or so miles by riding 30 one direction, turning around, and coming back the same distance.

But about 15 or so miles into it I thought, "I've got nothing else going on.  It's a holiday.  The store's closed.  Why not splurge?  Go 60 miles one way, camp out, and come back the next day?

The thing is, I had Dexter with me.  Thought I'd see how the little beast would do for long distances.

The problem with that?  I was riding right down US 23 in the middle of a 100 degree day.  Poor old dog.

Poor old dumb dog, though.  I stopped every 5 or 10 miles to make sure he was doing ok.  There was only one point where he worried me a little bit.  He was panting particularly hard and I don't believe I've ever seen him with his tongue hanging out that much.  But I couldn't get him to drink any water.  What he'd rather do is run around the entire area that we'd stop at.  It's like he needed to inspect every corner of the stop.  And then, maybe, if he was satisfied with the conditions of the place the Alpha Dog has chosen to stop, he'd take a sip or two.  I wound up poring a lot of water on him in an effort to keep him somewhat cool.

I pestered a friend to scout out "pet friendly hotels" in Chillicothe and email me a list of them.  Told her that I have no problem staying in a "dive."  Within a few minutes I had the list and started calling.  The Chillicothe Inn quoted me a price over the phone even better than what was listed on the website.  I gave the guy on the phone my debit card info.  Then I confused him considerably when answering what time I'd arrive.  "I'm about 20 miles away, so, maybe a couple more hours."  You could hear the wheels turning, "The hell is he driving?"

The hotel turned out to be a dive, but, what the heck.  I was looking for air conditioning, a bed, and a shower.  Still set me back 70 bucks.  Dexter made himself right at home.  (And I'm thinking, "Dude, I did all the pedaling.  You rode in a milk crate.  Why are you exhausted?")

This being a test run of what future life on the road is going to be like, I'd have to give myself a failing grade.  For one thing, I didn't plan properly on bringing the dog.  I didn't have a leash.  I didn't have a collar for him.  I didn't even have a water bowl.  (I figured he'd drink out of the water bottle tops.)  Plus, I spent a small fortune in food / drinks.  When combined with the cost of the hotel and basic stuff I had to buy at Wal-Mart . . . I far exceeded any conceivable daily amount I plan on spending when on the road.

Since I wasn't planning on being gone overnight I at least have to grant myself a "by your leave" on that aspect.  I had no choice but to get a hotel because I had no camping gear.  Still.  Had this been a night two years from now, I would have spent way too much money.

Oh, speaking of Wal-Mart, I had a moment of panic while leaving there.  On arrival, I'd locked the bike to a table.  When I got back out to it, I couldn't get the lock undone.  Great.  Now I'm going to have to go buy a bolt cutter, cut the lock, buy another lock, and return the bolt cutter.  After a few minutes of swearing like the sailor that I am, I scared the lock into opening up.  Or, maybe it didn't like what I was saying about its mother.

Not having the leash almost was fatal on the way back.  I stopped in Circleville, about 20 miles from Chillicothe.  (Don't get me started on why Ohio has a fixation on starting their city names with the letter "C".  Chillicothe.  Circleville.  Canton.  Centerville.  Centerburg.  Columbus.  Cleveland.  Cincinnati.  What the hell?  Did Sesame Street give 'em a discount on the letter "C"?)  Anyway, at a McDonald's I got breakfast and walked over to a little area adjacent to a field.  Dexter could run his little heart out.

You ever see those movies where the hero of the movie is getting on the up elevator to go get the heroine?  He gets on the elevator on the right, the doors close, and you see the indicator show that he's going up.  As soon as he's gone, the heroine has arrived in the lobby in the elevator on the left, missing the hero.  I hate that plot device with all my heart.  Pure frustration and it sets my teeth on edge every time I see it in a movie or TV show.

It happened at McDonald's.  I walked to the edge of the field to get Dexter.  He was walking around an obstruction on the side where I couldn't see him.  I'm going north.  He's going south.  We can't see each other.

He decides to walk through the parking lot.  Now, remember, the dog stands all of six inches high.  The driver in the big ass truck with the dual wheels backing up has absolutely no chance to see a six inch high animal who's currently not paying attention to the big-ass truck that's literally a foot from backing up over him.  (I use the word "literally" literally.).

I spotted Dexter looking for me as the truck backed up.  I shouted at Dexter.  Fortunately, the driver had his windows down and heard me shout.  He stopped dead.  (Pun kind of intended).  Dexter walked calmly away from the truck with a "What's all the fuss?" attitude.  Driver glared at me.  Understandably.

Damned dumb dog.

My weather app had told me by noon it was going to be over 100 degrees again.  I'd decided to leave at 6 when it was only going to be 75.  It never did make it to 100 before I got home, because a huge storm popped up.  While it gave me a brisk headwind to contend with all the way back home, the sun was blocked out, the temps stayed in the low 80s, and the intermittent raindrops felt pretty good.

The app that I have which measures distance and draws a map of the route I rode also calculates calorie burn.  I don't think it gave me credit for being in 100 degree weather on the ride down.  4867 calories?  I'd say double that.

Worthington to Chillicothe on the 4th

Finished Cycle: Jul 4, 2012 4:10:32 PM
Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20120704-0926.kml
Ride Time: 4:42:39
Distance: 54.28 miles
Average: 11.52 mph
Fastest Speed: 38.12 mph
Ascent: 3947 feet
Descent: 4398 feet
Calories: 4867


Chillicothe to Worthington on the 5th

Finished Cycle: Jul 5, 2012 11:21:42 AM
Route: Daily Ride
Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20120705-0622.kml
Import URL: http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20120705-0622.kml
Ride Time: 4:02:05
Stopped Time: 57:32
Distance: 53.68 miles
Average: 13.30 mph
Fastest Speed: 28.07 mph
Ascent: 2434 feet
Descent: 2190 feet
Calories: 4338

Red White Boom

Every year Columbus puts on Red White and Boom, billed as the "largest fireworks show in the Midwest."  I can't verify the claim, but it's not a bad show and it does attract a few bazillion people.

(Look in the background, beyond the people in the foreground to see the crowds lining up along just one street.  I think they always estimate the crowd at over a million people.)

I've driven down to RW&B a few times since I've lived in Columbus.  Every time I've done so, I swear never to do it again.  The last time I made that oath I stuck to it.  Haven't intentionally gone near the place in years in a car.

This year I wanted to see the show so, I decided to bike.  Trust me when I tell you that's the way to go.  The years I've driven downtown I've never been able to make it out of downtown in less than three to three and a half hours.  Biking?  Was out of downtown in minutes.  Was home in 48 minutes.


Ride to Downtown

Finished Cycle: Jul 3, 2012 9:51:48 PM
Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20120703-1902.kml
Ride Time: 1:04:48
Distance: 14.03 miles
Average: 12.99 mph
Fastest Speed: 38.55 mph
Ascent: 1269 feet
Descent: 1484 feet
Calories: 1091

Ride Back Home


Finished Cycle: Jul 3, 2012 11:22:58 PM
Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20120703-2227.kml
Ride Time: 48:44 
Distance: 10.26 miles
Average: 12.63 mph
Fastest Speed: 20.24 mph
Ascent: 296 feet
Descent: 77 feet
Calories: 833

It's funny to see the crowd makeup based on the direction they arrived from.  For example, coming from north High Street are the college girls.  (No, I don't ever pay attention to men.  When I people-watch you can take it to the bank that I'm girl-watching.)  Young, fresh faced, a good percentage of them dolled up to beyond Victoria Secret supermodel levels.  (I'd have taken pictures but I literally can't think when there's a 5'2" cutie, long straight blonde hair, 38Ds, wearing a red mini-fuck-me dress standing a foot from me.)  Their overwhelming attitude is, "Let's party!"

Coming from west Broad Street is a completely different crowd.  Still young, but, "ridden hard and put away wet."  The overwhelming majority are not fresh-faced. They're toting very small children.  Cigarettes dangle from their mouths.  None without tattoos, many covered with them.  The overwhelming attitude from this crowd?  "Mmm.  Fried dough and explosives!"

I had some time to kill before the show, so I'd taken off down west Broad Street.  I stopped at a convenience store to grab some water.  I took this picture of what's available for "Quality Literature" there:

I figured for some of the residents of this part of town that these papers would be their only chance to catch up with what's going on in the family.

There were plenty of restaurants, but I decided I'd "eat street":

 

It wasn't bad.  $4 for the two drinks, $6 for the Philly Steak.   I stood there in front of the cart and ate my dinner. While standing there, some guy wearing a badge and a bored expression on his face rode up in a golf cart.  I couldn't hear what they were saying, but it was obvious the bored badge guy was checking on licensing.  The proprietor had to do a lot of head nodding, then he ran off across the street to fetch some name tag / ID thing and affix it to the front of his shirt. 

There were street vendors every where, of course.  That's part of the draw, isn't it?  Go down to a festival, eat some "fair food," people-watch, and see what crap they're hawking this time around.  This young mother had three kids, all wanting to buy something from the vendor, and nothing was priced under $10.  I'm sure she already dropped $30 to $40 on food.  Expensive night on the town.

In addition to all the vendors, there were a number of street preachers, perched on boxes, complete with microphones, trying to get The Word out.

I thought it ironic that I could hear the street preacher as this young lady walked in front of me.  I remember involuntarily exclaiming as I watched her magnificently walk away in those tight little jeans, "Jesus!" 

Obligatory video of the Grand Finale:

At least it lasted longer than the San Diego fireworks display.  (From the comments section:  "It was great because it was big, but it sucked because it didn’t last longer? Typical. Women."  And:  Somehow I understand my girlfriend’s disappointment better . . . "  And:  If your fireworks grand finale lasts more than 4 hours, call your physician.")

After the show, I hopped on the bike and took off towards home.  There's a nice big bike trail that goes from a little ways north of my house all the way downtown.  I knew right where I was in relation to picking up the trail.  Turns out this wasn't an original idea.  (Not that I expected it to be.)

I'd not be afraid to say there were 200 bicyclists all trying to negotiate the intersection of Marconi and the bike trail simultaneously.  It was painfully obvious few of these people had ever ridden in a large group before.  And if they had, I can flat guarantee you none of them had ever done a group ride in the dark before.  (A lack of headlights and tail lights is a dead giveaway.)

I snapped this picture, but it doesn't show the bulk of the group:

About 3 years ago, on this very bike path, I got a flat tire.  I had no spare. No tools.  No phone to call anyone.  (Not that it mattered.  Anyone I knew that could come get me wasn't available.)  I was faced with a 10 mile walk home.  As I'm weighing my options a black dude on roller skates came by and saw my distress.  He asked if I needed some help.  Told him I had no spare, etc., etc.  He stopped, took off his back pack, and handed me a new inner tube.  He then whipped out bike tire changing tools and we got the bike up and running in just a little while.  I tried to pay him, but he refused and suggested I just pay his kindness forward.

About a year later, on a 4th of July weekend, I encountered a lady who'd broken down.  I was able to help her husband with a patch to his wife's tire.

This year was another couple.  She had a flat on the front and back tire.  (Did she run through a broken bottle or something?  Don't know.)  I stopped and asked if they needed some help.  Guy worked at a bike store, so he knew what he was doing, but he was short a tube and a CO2 cartridge. Which I just happened to have.  Just like I did with the black guy, he wanted to pay me, but I was having none of it.  Shook their hands and wished them a safe trip back home.