Still Learning

I feel relatively good today for having had such a rough night, but I'm going to stay in this refuge until I've more completely recovered. You'd think I'd have learned more about my limitations by now, but that other important lesson about trusting life to give me what I need is too well logged. It's just that sometimes what I need is another lesson about my human frailty. In short, a 56-year-old shouldn't try to do 80 miles in southern heat and humidity on the first day of a long ride.

Better planning could have prevented my bonk. I could have been traveling lighter, but I packed with an eye to getting everything home from Georgia, rather than only carrying exactly what I need.There are certain things you always need on a bike ride. Sunscreen, Desatin, Aloe Vera, Arnica (used a lot of that on my crampy legs last night. But the most important thing I forgot was salty tang. The best way I've found to replace the elements we sweat out is to mix a couple teaspoons of Morton's Lite Salt into powdered drink mix with plenty of vitamin C. For every three bottles of pure water I drink, I'll have one of salty tang. The sugars feed my muscles, while vitamin C and electrolytes replace sweat, especially the all important Potassium, the key to preventing cramps.

So I'm happy to report that the first forty miles of the Silver Comet Trail from Atlanta to Rockmart are a sweet way to spend a Georgia morning. There's a Subway sandwich shop just off trail at about 20 miles. They still charge less for a veggie sandwich if you add an egg. I got a footlong, ate half there and the other half just before Rockmart. I probably should have stayed away from the coffee and drunk more water.

The trail between Rockmart and Dallas is not rails-to-trails. It's near the railroad tracks, crossing frequently at odd angles. I saw one cyclist go down (ALWAYS SQUARE OFF) but he wasn't hurt. The trail is not railroad grade. In fact there's one short surprise hill that is at best 18% grade. Several of the road crossings are very poorly designed. I do not understand why trails install stop signs for bikes, rather than using yield signs and insuring good visibility.

This fifteen mile segment of the Silver Comet doesn't have greenbelt on both sides like the rest of the trail. In fact, a big chunk of it is right alongside a busy highway, which also appears better graded than the trail. The trail surface is concrete, rather than smooth asphalt, the rest of the way to the border. At least Dallas to the border is rails-to-trails again.

Crossing into Alabama was delightful. Although the asphalt trail is narrow, there's shady mowed grass on both sides. I was not feeling great, but I could push through by stretching and shaking out cramps. I kept telling myself that if I made my eighty miles, I'd miraculously find a bath and bed. It was true, but I could have imagined a smoother transition.

About a mile before Piedmont, I felt whoosy. I parked the bike, lay on the grass, and lost my lunch. Note to self - take time to chew more thoroughly. I cleaned up, cooled down, drank a lot of water, and an Emergence- C. After a brief rest, I decided to roll into town, but I had to stop a couple times for my head to clear. I was spinning in a low gear to avoid cramping.

Looking about town, wondering where I might find a motel, I pulled into the shade and rested my head on my handlebars. I remember a dreamlike sensation of gratitude that I was wearing my helmet. As I lay there, my legs still straddling my bike, I knew my blood sugar had  bottomed. I slowly dug the honey packets out of my bag and sucked some energy into my system.

Three guys stopped to check on me. One went and got me a Poweraid and I got my head back only to experience the worst series of leg cramps I've ever been through. One of the guys got his pick-up and carried my bike - remarking at the weight - and I to the motel. My cramping gut blew out all the sugar water, but lying in the tub and slathering on arnica helped my legs.

I knew I had to get potassium. The motel attendant had a container of Morton's Lite Salt that had been left in a room. I sprinkled some into a glass of Sunny D and began feeling better, while she poured a couple teaspoonfuls into bag and pointed me to a store where I could get Tang. Next to the store is a Mexican restaurant where the nursing student waiting tables concurred with my therapy of plain rice and beans.

The spicy beans didn't settle well. Pepto Bismol only briefly relieved the acid in my esophogas. After hours of hiccuping (no, Yaney, holding my breath didn't work), they came back up violently. Hopefully I got some potassium out before they blew. Anyway, I slept like a baby till my alarm woke me before dawn. This morning's bananas and cashews seem to be settling better. And now I've got salty tang.

So, as much as I've looked forward to riding the Katy Trail, the Cowboy Trail, and the George Mickelson Trail, I think I'll grab AMTRAK in Memphis. After cheating across some of the more hostile hot country, I may still ride to Corvallis from Whitefish. Hopefully, I can convince some of my family to join me.

Bicycling in the Blood

Roy Russell was the clerk of court in Chouteau County, Montana, early in the 20th century. He had no use for automobiles. He got around by bicycle, including one trip from Glacier Park to Yellowstone Park, over 400 miles of rugged roads.

There are clues to explain Roy's distaste for cars. He was a prohibitionist and in those days cars in Montana ran on alcohol. I imagine he associated obnoxious, noisy machines that hogged the road with loud drunkards who disrespected the law.

I suspect there's more to it than that. I knew Roy's son, Edward (my beloved Great Uncle Ted), who was a machinist with deep appreciation for elegant design. I expect that family trait informs Roy's love of bicycles. The efficiency of a bicycle can be awe inspiring.

Here is a later picture of Roy Russell with his safety bike and a classic trike. That baby was either his granddaughter, Meg Lewis, born in 1921, or her sister. Thirty-four years later Meg became my mother. She also loved bicycling.

At 59, Mom joined one of the first groups to include American cyclists on a tour of Communist China. Her bicycling diplomacy also included a trip across strife torn Sri Lanka. She rode through many exciting places, but I more often remember Mom cycling around our home town, her baskets full of whatever.

So I guess I inherited cycling as well as peace making. I've come to believe that the bicycle is the appropriate transitional tool for our times. It will keep people moving without using oil and we'll all be better for it.

My antipathy for cars does not come directly from my great-grandfather, however. I earned that. I was a professional driver and used to train CDL students on the LA freeways. As a first responder, I got to see close up what happens to a human body that's hit by a car. A car is a deadly weapon, even when that's not the intention.

I remember writing to my mother that "more people are killed on US roads every year than the total number of US soldiers who died in Vietnam. We were in the streets against the war. Where are the protests against the car?" The main reason I avoid driving is the same reason I don't run around randomly firing a shotgun. I don't want to injure or kill anyone. Bicycling is more peaceful behavior.

I'm passing on my love of cycling to others. Bike4Peace and the CBC are my main outlets lately. I'm most proud of my little girl. Lucy grew up on the back of my tandem and at 27 she's still bicycling today.

Last time I rode across Montana, I stopped at the Chouteau County Courthouse and called up Grandpa Roy. Since I got this ticket on my bike, I've been dwelling on his spirit. His memory strengthens me. I guess that's the value of ancestors.

Direct Action to End Climate Change

http://www.thepetitionsite.com/1/direct-action-to-stop-global-warming/

We want our great-grandchildren to inherit a livable planet. We recognize it is impossible to continue to consume resources faster than the Earth produces them. We are determined to act now to fix this problem.

That's why I created a petition to The Oregon State House, The Oregon State Senate, Governor John Kitzhaber, The United States House of Representatives, The United States Senate, and President Barack Obama, which says:

"In recognition that it is impossible to continue to consume oil at the rate we now do, and that the climate is changing largely because of our consumption of oil, we the undersigned hereby vow to learn to get around without gasoline consuming personal cars. We urge you to stop subsidizing cars and to plan for a world where nobody burns petroleum to get around."

Will you sign my petition? Click here to add your name:

http://signon.org/sign/direct-action-to-stop?source=c.fwd&r_by=834024

Thanks!

DC

For the third time since Bike4Peace started, I rode my bicycle into DC on Monday. Still love the trail system that serves to enter this city; still terrified but miraculously unharmed by the urban traffic. And it's still the mysterious and intriguing center of our dysfunctional government.

Ironically, even as Bike4Peace has maintained DC as the goal of our ride, my political vision has diverged. I retain no hope for personnel changes in our government ever reforming our system. We need a radical transformation much deeper than that if we hope to continue as a species on earth.

I've watched Cynthia suffer the consequences of being a leader who speaks truth to power. Recently her house was broken into and many of her associates seem to be under surveillance. We all know the list of such leaders who have been murdered. I pray she will continue to avoid this fate, even as I want her to succeed in fomenting nonviolent revolution.

Each of us can help by becoming better resonators for truth and and stronger advocates of justice. Every action of our lives must reflect our desire to undermine the corrupt and exploitative power structure and to build communities which foster peaceful egalitarianism. Tax resistance, counter recruiting, and continuous outreach are tools we must be familiar with. Bicycling from organic gardens to collective organizations, we will build a better world.

Biking the Ozarks

Some drivers here seem to believe that if they honk loud enough the road will get wider. Overuse of the horn somehow gives them permission, especially if they drive a log truck, to pass impossibly closely on the narrow, hilly roads.

Although they offer more topography than Kansas, the Ozarks aren't much as hills go. The highest peaks are under 3000 ft. But the roads were built before dynamite and D10 Cats were invented by farmers who were more concerned about saving farmland than making the route easier for their oxen. There are some sharp climbs.

Now I don't want to give the impression that everybody is rude around here. Some drivers are very polite and patient, while the majority give a cyclist plenty of room, even if it means an unsafe venture on the wrong side of the road. Face-to-face, everybody seems quite polite, although few seem to understand why anybody wants to bicycle through the area. Since the Trans-Am runs through here, they've seen enough cyclists to accept them as part of the scene.

I'd like to review the Missouri Driver's Manual with a few of these drivers. I'll bet the section on slow moving vehicles isn't much different than any other state. "An over-taking vehicle is responsible to remain a safe distance behind the slower vehicle until it is possible to pass safely on the left."

While we're reviewing that, we may want to look over the section on who is allowed to use the roads. We know the courts have ruled that human- and animal-powered vehicles have a right to use public roadways, while motor vehicles use it by licensed privilege. The small towns around here are crawling with unlicensed quads, from bladeless supercharged riding mowers to off-road destroyers. I'm not sure why local law enforcement looks the other way. They don't seem to enforce seat belt laws either.

Today we decided the motel room wasn't too expensive after cruising by the home where bicyclists can stay for a free-will donation. The big "Jesus is Lord" sign over the Ten Commandments in the front yard reinforced another cyclist's assessment of the host as a "whack job." We just didn't feel like spending the evening explaining our lifestyles in his little house.

Back on the other side of Missouri, we had a wonderful host who is a Code Pink transsexual who has run for national office three times and been arrested for speaking truth to power. Then we spent a night camped on the lawn of a courthouse listening to the same five cars drive in circles late into the night.

Riding lots of relatively short up and down hills requires a different style than the slow pulls of the Rockies or the flats of Kansas. Broad gearing and smooth shifting habits give opportunities to maintain maximum forward momentum of the bike by maintaining full spinning momentum of the cranks, with the occasional exception of an out-of-the-saddle maneuver to pull over the top of a short rise without downshifting.

I want to pay homage to Aaron (or is it Erin?) McCrotchety, the fabled Scottish bike tourist who developed the out of saddle descent. With head and arms in a full tuck, tail elevated, and knees and elbows bent to absorb shocks, this posture allows one to move downhill quickly. Between this and powering over the hills, we avoid TB (tired butt).

A Missouri monsoon nearly turned us into Sag4Peace, as we wimped our way into a safe motel. Today in spite of ominous forecasts, we rode without rain. The humidity was high enough that one was challenged to know that it wasn't raining, but no drops fell, save the sweat dripping from my helmet straps. Through the hills and hollows of the Ozarks, Bike4Peace 2010 continues.

Written by Vernon Huffman.

Utah

Who knew August was the rainiest season in Southern Utah? I was caught unprepared for a thundershower at 10,000 feet, but incredible fortune left an open bay in an unattended snowplow garage. The next rain shower found Yeyo & I huddled under a tarp I had made to protect the bikes at night. It's worked well in both roles.

Even as I tried to prepare for every eventuality in the lightest way, I knew one cannot possibly anticipate what will happen on a long bike ride, only accept miracles with grace and gratitude. This ride has proven no exception.

The road across southern Utah has been a lot to handle, with various surface and traffic conditions dipping and climbing at grades up to 14%. Add to this weather conditions from soaking downpour to dry-as-bone desert, some pretty intense winds, and temperatures from 40s to 90s.

I can't even begin to describe the landscapes. Frequently you round a corner or top a ridge to find yourself on another planet. Eons of settlement, upthrust, and erosion have created incredible places with amazing scale and diversity. I've spent a lot of time imagining how the first people lived here.

Plans for making this difficult path across the continent with this mix of riders on a two month schedule were overly optimistic. Oh, never fear, we will make it. Most of us will ride our bicycles most of the way, but we have had to depend upon a rented motor vehicle. I'm not thrilled to make this compromise, but it was the only wise choice.

Our goals are intact. Our spirits are high. We are learning and growing with every spin of our pedals and the universe continues to provide abundant and glorious experiences. Bike4Peace 2010 rides on!

Loneliest Hours on the Loneliest Highway

We left Ely, NV, at 1:00 AM, as has become our custom during this week of crossing the hot, dry, sparsely populated area. The first hours of climbing were about what I had expected, but something switched on inside me as I rode down the seven and a half miles of six percent downgrade. I hit the bottom spinning at full leg speed in my highest gear, stretched across my aero bars for minimum air drag. Pulling to the front of the pack I kept that spin going for eight miles across Spring Valley from Major's Junction, watching the silhouettes of the eastern mountains slowly grow against the first light of dawn.

The road gradually climbed toward the towering mountains until I could see the details of their upthrust granite faces in the dim light directly in front of me. Then highway 50 turned northeasterly into a short descent too steep to spin through and slowly climbed out, so I could continue my spin by down-shifting one gear every quarter mile. It went through a series of swells, each taller than the last. I stopped on a downturn to remove insulating over-clothes and felt the slight tailwind.

Now the crags on my left were closer than those on the right, where a dozen modest homes were tucked into the hillside, about half of them behind an archway built entirely of cast off elk antlers. As the morning sun made a western peak glow, the coyotes burst into song and I struggled to keep my spin up in my climbing gear, pulling five miles up at six percent grade. As the hills on both sides mellowed toward the pass, the scrub pines took over the landscape from the sagebrush.

I took a nice long break at the top of the pass. Though it was the first I'd seen of the sun, it had fully risen on the valley to the east. From here it was a pleasant downhill all the way to Baker, where I write this while waiting out the heat of the day. Tonight we'll face one of the most challenging rides so far - 84 miles without services. We're ready.