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Si Se Puede

'After months of want and hunger, we suddenly found ourselves able to have meals fit for the gods, and with appetites the gods might have envied.'

-Sir Ernest Shackleton

Sunday Bloody Sunday

'Bicycling is very much like a love affair, chiefly it is a matter of faith. Believe you can do it and the thing is done, doubt and for the life of you, you cannot.'
-H.G. Wells

There is much truth to this statement, though a love affair it is not. Not sure if old H.G. ever rode up a hill into a head wind, for that is a harsh mistress to keep. We are currently in the middle of the final punishing push south. After San Fran we spent two days getting down to Carmel and the northern reaches of the Big Sur fire and road closures. At the Carmel Safeway around 8pm the squad still had no idea where it was going to sleep. Fortune, of course, favors the lucky. Standing around the fire information board we met Carol and Calvin, who were nice enough to let us sleep on their deck (and buy us lunch in Big Sur). In the morning we readied ourselves for the 100 mile charge through the fire zone to San Simeon.

We began early and reached the charred hillsides (which unfortunately sloped primarily uphill for us). A favorable wind kept the smoke away as we rode the cliffs and beaches. A 1000 foot climb right at the end of the mountains, followed by a quick descent and another 500 foot climb completely demolished this correspondent. 7pm found me unable to get warm, shaking and dehydrated, yet we still had 20 miles to go. After a couple gatorades, cheese and peanut butter sandwiches and a long look into the depths of my soul (which is basically a daily practice on this trip), I climbed back aboard Le Renard. Within a few miles the life came back to my legs and we had one of the most enjoyable stretches of the whole trip. The land flattened out, darkness fell, Le Renard hummed along and we were the only people on the road. The moon shone out over the Atlantic, Elephant Seals barked on the beach below and Hearst Castle glistened in the distance. Elephant seals literally covered the beach; as animals they have reached a certain level of enlightenment that most men aspire to, namely they lie around, stay away from sharks, get fat and make crude noises all day.

The next day saw more of the same as we rode another 90 miles. Last night we stopped in Orcutt, CA. After searching in vain for the city park, we finally found a Lutheran Church with a hidden yard where we could sleep. Apparently 4am is the lawn watering hour for Lutherans, as we were rudely awaken and promptly soaked. And so our ragged squad was left with little choice but to pack up and ride out. We did 20 miles before 7 am. We are now holed up in Lompoc, CA attending to yet another broken spoke and filling our empty stomachs.

We should be in Santa Monica by tomorrow, though there has been talk, mainly spoken in hushed tones, of riding through the night in one last epic 150 mile day.

As we forge ahead, I leave you with a quote heard yesterday from someone amongst our ranks,
'sometimes I think about getting hit by a car just so I dont have to do this trip anymore.'

Manu Forti.

Cannery Row

'Sometimes it seems that all the world is on fire'

-Cora Munro

Our squad, back down to two, sufficiently coddled and fed, gets back on the road. Headed straight for the joys of smoke, road closures and chili out of the can. Fear not, as we are both behatted now with ultra-cool flip bill bike hats. The squad also had a rare exercise of it's mental muscles in winning the Trivia night and $30 at the Pig and Whistle on Geary Street.

photos

ill catch any frisbee you throw my way

attracting deer with corn
bagels and cheese, a classic

schank and the sea stacks

for the lads and all the scotch in brooklyn


a typical camp

Wherever there is a bike on a hill, Ill be there.

"Perhaps I lack even the simple strength to stand.

then again, perhaps I can stand after all

[stands]

Drop...Your...Sword."

-Wesley nee Dread Pirate Roberts

(To be read in your finest Scottish brogue, facing west. Like highland madlibs add aye, lad, lass, ewe, dram or a simple grunt wherever seems appropriate.)

The squad arrived busted, though victorious in San Francisco at 11:45pm July 6. Mileage totals for the past 2 days: 85 mi and 97 miles. Yesterday noontime found our daringdoers with shattered legs, covered in filth and at an all time low. 3 days of hard mountain climbing, forest fires and torturous coastal cliffs and gulches had left us staring into the pit of despair. San Francisco was still far off and our bipedal spirits were broken. The original plan was to pedal from Stillwater Cove to Samuel Taylor Park (around 65 miles) and then head to San Francisco on Monday. Somewhere around Tomales, right as it seemed we might not even make Taylor Park, we had an epiphany of the mad (we are now three as we have picked up a stowaway) and decided that the only answer for our tired legs was to cycle the 40 extra miles to San Fran. Darkness, prudence and lactic acid be damned.

We passed Taylor Park (our original destination) around 7:30 pm. We sealed our fate when I called my grandmother and told her to leave a key out as we were inbound that evening. We all ate whatever energy bars we had, coating them in peanut butter for extra sustenance. After this bitter roadside repast, we started out again. We rode into the Marin suburbs, taillights flashing, headlamps blazing, reflector vests shining. I was at the helm navigating the maze of quiet streets as we did out best to parallel Highway 101 (where bikes are prohibited). We passed quaint bistros and cafes, couples out for Sunday evening strolls as we rode deeper into the great yawning sprawl of the Bay Area. We rode through the stinking bogs into Sausalito. Women and children did avert their eyes as the haggard and bearded riders aboard their creaking steeds sauntered past. In Sausalito we caught our first glimpse of the city, with the Bay Bridge in the distance. Some in our crew thought that was the bridge we were to cross. 'Nay,' I said, 'Our bridge, she is painted red.' We began to climb out of Sausalito: up, up. up. With still a few hills to climb we saw the Golden Gate, shining through the fog. But the colossus was still a ways off. Up and up we climbed further. Finally we reached the bridge only to find the gate locked for bikes and pedestrians. Our worst fears had been realized and we readied the skindoos for Hari Kari. As a final appeal we sent Cody under the bypass to scout the other side of the road. From across the highway, we heard an alarm, and saw a flash as Cody sprinted away into the darkness. The rest of the squad was preparing for a hasty retreat when Cody appeared and said that he had found the great northwest passage for bikes across the bridge.

After carrying the bikes up and down flights of stairs (no small feat), we reached the gates. There we pressed the secret red button Cody found, and a voice spoke out of the darkness, 'Bikes are allowed to cross at night, but do not loiter and pedal straight across.' The squad vigorously nodded their helmets in unison. From there the wizard did open the gates and the squad, smelling victory, pedaled on towards Oz. We crossed the great span riding three abreast, not a non-motorized soul on the bridge save us; the glistening city to our left, the Pacific to our right, pain and misery behind us. From there we coasted the final miles through city streets. We arrived to eat our fill of Gramma's salami, beer and chocolate cake. We then slept soft and safe, beasts of our own making.

If it is that we are but pale etchings on the scrolls of history, then perhaps on that day our three riders did etch their grooves (and that of the bike saddles in their arses) just a wee bit deeper.

[Fin]
Photos to come.

photo

photos uploads are disabled on these computers. more to come as soon as we are able.

our beacon of promise for the time being is San Francisco and its warm beds and regular showers

Sometimes I Take a Great Notion

Quoth the Raven, Nevermore...

-E.A. Poe

Actually, the raven doth quoth every morning right outside my tent at about 5:30am. The raven also doth eat my tortillas when I am not looking. Thankfully now that we are down in bear and mountain lion country, campgrounds all have bear lockers to keep out the thumbless hordes.

Internet and phone signals have been hard to come by of late. The missive is being written from Arcata, CA, hippie capital of CA where the squad is getting in touch with its inner earth mother goddess. Two days ago we steamed out of Oregon and crossed into California. We have camped every night for the past week at state parks along the coast. They all have sites for hiker/bikers available for $4. We are no longer the freaks that we were back east as the road is littered with touring cyclists and their unsteady loads. At this library alone there are three other cyclists using the computers right now. Conversations among the cyclists usually contain such stimulating morsels are "what did you think of that hill, it was pretty bad, huh?"

The weather is cold and foggy. I am happy to report that with the usage of my knee warmers these past days, I have now used each item that I brought, always a victory for any camping trip. I never knew my knees were so cold until I deployed my knee warmers. Each night we camp in the fog and the mist and wake to find everything soaked. Last night was a low ebb for the squad, prompting the first ever 10 mile (1 hour round trip) beer run into Trinidad to lift our soggy spirits.

The terrain has turned hilly again but we now have an elevation map to chart the misery. Coming south out of Coos Bay, OR we turned on Seven Devils Rd. Unfortunately the Seven Devils referred to were seven dastardly hills, steep grades all. To keep my mind of the pain, I began to say aloud, in my best Castillian lisp, my thoughts on the keys to Spanish victory in the Euro final (this being a few days ago before the game). (For the record: 1) get Torres on track 2) contain Lahm on the attack and exploit him on the other end of the pitch 3) defend free kicks and corners).

Between Coos Bay and Brookings the squad suffered its first broken spoke at Humbug Mountain. After a nervous night not knowing what to do, dawn saw the expedition blacksmith smelting the broken spoke in the camping stove to give it enough of a hook to attach to the wheel. 50 wobbly miles later (for Cody) we reached a bike shop in Brookings. We spent a day off in Brookings watching the game at the Pine Cone Tavern where the Spanish achieved all three of my keys to victory. After the game we discovered to our dismay that Taco Bell wont serve a bike on the drive through. The expedition's legal counsel is looking into a discrimination suit.

From Brookings we headed south to Crescent City and then through the Redwoods. Last two days have been spent gawking at tall trees, moss and fog. We have both gotten good at unzipping jackets and shirts on the way up the hill, and then furiously re-zipping for the descent (which we call nipple hardeners). After Eureka we head inland a bit . Tomorrow brings the dread Leggett Mountain (over 2000 feet climb in elevation) before we turn onto Highway 1 and head back to the coast.

Current Elk Sightings: 0

Photos

Willamette Valley - Rye Grass Capital of the World

Lighthouse Janine
Sea Lions
Sven Goran
Svengali Spandex

Let Me Be Your Salty Dog

Oregon continues to earn its title as best state of the trip so far.



Headed out of Corvallis and over the mountains to Newport. Our new bike specific map tells you where there are major grades and hills which helps the squad in its daily mental preparation. The climb out of Corvallis would have killed lesser men (i.e. us a few weeks ago), yet we managed to get over the hills. The mountains literally tumble into the sea at Newport. We spent the night at the Rogue Brewery Public House and then South Beach State Park. At the Rogue Brewery you get a free pint on Tuesday if you wear a Hawaiian shirt. We tried to convince the bartender that we qualify if we both wore our bright orange reflective vests, but to no avail. Later we harangued the gate guard at the state park to let us camp for free. A few minutes of half-hearted banter and $4 a person later we were allowed to camp. Two devastating blows to my negotiating skills in one evening was hard to swallow. Whats more a raccoon managed to get into our bagels, trailmix, energy drink and cheese during the night.



The next day we rode through the 'post-card' area of the coast. Steep cliffs, sea lions, lighthouses and hidden beaches dotted the way from Newport down to Florence. We camped at the base of the Oregon Sand Dunes and had our first real interaction with other touring cyclists. There are also a number of people hiking down the length of the coast on foot. I find that particularly crazy, yet many people along the way have told me that I am crazy for biking down the coast, so to each their own.



Down to Coos Bay (home of Steve Prefontaine) tonight. In San Francisco around July 4.

Oregon Trail

Bike lanes, free steak dinners, free bicycle repairs, free salmon dinners, microbrews, sunsets over the pacific, snow capped peaks, bike lanes, 70 degree weather, cool nights, flat valleys, Williamette River, pheasants, glow in the dark frisbee, boysen berries, strawberries, roadside fruit stands, bike specific maps and bike lines.

So far Oregon has welcomed us with open arms and and gently caressed us to sleep each night with full bellies, safe sleeping spots and promises of more of the same tomorrow. We are currently in Corvallis, headed west over the coastal range to Newport today. When in Salem, OR visit Santiam Bicycle Shop.

Internet will be an unknown commodity on the coast. Pictures and further details forthcoming.

Go West Young Man

All America lies at the end of the wilderness road. Our forefathers had civilization inside them, the wild outside. We live in the civilization they created, but within us the wilderness still lingers. What they dreamed, we live, and what they lived, we dream.
-T.K. Whipple

We leave at first light to explore the Oregon coast, probably by way of Corvallis. Today saw the squad learn a lot about adjusting the tension of brakes and other matters of bike mechanics. We also experienced our first major fall when my front tire fell into the groove of the street car tracks in downtown Portland.

Like sailors in port, Portland has been decidedly off budget. Trips to bike stores, REI, Euro soccer have all contributed.

A brief interlude

Said that'll be cash on the barrelhead son
This old gray dog gets paid to run
When the engine starts, lawd, the wheels won't roll
Give me cash on the barrelhead I'll take you down the road
-Charlie Louvin

We have spent the past two days on a greyhound bus from St. Louis to Portland, OR. After a day in Portland tuning up the bikes, resting and restocking we will be back on the road tomorrow cycling south down the coast. Regular posts will resume as soon as we have recovered from the spirit crushing 48 hours on the bus.

photos

The Mighty Mississippi

To be read in the style of Charles Kuralt.

The advance squad had its first glimpse of the Mississippi River from a bicycle at 11:50 am CDT, June 6, 2008 west of Murphysboro, IL on Illinois Rt. 3. We went 811.4 miles; 81 hours, 3 minutes, 7 seconds of riding time; 15 days, 4 hours and 20 minutes total time.

Steaming hard out of Carbondale this morning we were both excited to reach her muddy banks and healing waters. But lo, she would not give up the ghost that easily as we had one last crucible of punishing hills to tease out every ache and pain we have been harboring before she revealed her big, broad bosom to us. Finally speeding down out of the high bluffs we saw her: flat, wide and muddy, just as we had imagined. With Missouri to our west, we raced barges and freight trains north headed for St. Louis.

Le Renard was happy to be entering the Louisiana Purchase and the land of his french ancestors. As we pass towns like Ste. Genevieve and I switch him into a high gear to climb yet another bluff, he now whispers softly 'Mondieu Monsieur!'

And so as Phase One of the journey comes to a close it is a time of celebration and reflection. Our riverboat legs have pushed and pedaled us out of the crowded east. Tonight we camp on the river bank at Prairie de Rocher with but a short victory ride into St. Louis ahead, like the final stage of Le Tour, the outcome never in doubt. We have two fine Cuban puros smuggled in by our commissary man, and maybe a pull or two of good corn whiskey to accompany our cold beef stew.

And so it is that two men with little training or preparation, be they so determined, can reach the mighty Mississippi using nothing but a bicycle.

Manu Forti and God Bless America.

Photos

bathroom at the Cadillac Inn

we didnt see even one bbq restaurant there
at hogdaddy's, old shawneetown

tarp on bed at Cadillac Inn

Illinois Central

We have finally left Kentucky for the wilds of Southern Illinois crossing the Shawneetown Bridge over the ohio river about 5pm cdt yesterday. We did a solid 75 miles yesterday from Owensboro, KY to Shawneetown. Thunderstorms the previous day forced us to stay in Owensboro and rent a room at the Cadillac Inn. Both of us put down tarps on top of the bed and slept in our sleeping bags. Cody wouldnt even take a shower there.



Today we rode about 60 miles to Carbondale, Il. In the process both of us were hit by a truck mirror that had swerved onto the shoulder. Luckily, both of our backs broke his mirror so we hope it is quite expensive to fix as he didnt even stop to see if we were ok. Photos of bruises forthcoming. Land is flat and boring, but the lads are starting to get good at drafting.


Phase one of the trip is rapidly coming to a close. By Tuesday we should be in St. Louis. The advanced planning team has made drastic changes to our route in our search for constant misery, discomfort and pain. Upon entering St. Louis, the squad will board a greyhound bus for 2 days headed straight to Portland, OR. From there we will turn our faithful steeds southward and head down the pacific coast to LA. Now that we have made it out of the mountains, we find it only appropriate to skip the flatlands and go straight to the coastal headlands.

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ohio river, indiana on the other side

last nights sleeping arrangement

protein
abe lincoln's boyhood home
cicadas are everywhere