MAINE TO OREGON '07

Introduction

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When people have asked me why I’m doing this trip, I’ve tended to answer something like “because it’s a beautiful country and the people are friendly”. It’s an honest enough answer, but yet doesn’t seem quite equal to the scale of the task. After all, cycling across America from Maine to Oregon means travelling over 4,500 miles, with only legs for power. It means crossing New England at its widest point; cycling along the entire length of Lake Erie; traversing the Midwest states of Indiana, Illinois, Iowa and Minnesota; tackling the vastness of North Dakota and Montana; crossing the Rockies, the Cascades and the Coastal Range before finally making it to the Pacific Ocean. Go ahead and look at an atlas – it’s HUGE – I’m not kidding!

But even so, I can’t find a more convincing motive. It really is about spending 90 days crossing an amazing country, and the opportunity to meet people along the way. It’s about small town America; about lakes and mountains; about seeing things I’ve never seen before – maybe a moose or a bear? It’s about reducing life to the simple routine of pedalling, eating and sleeping, and the mental shift that occurs when this happens - not to mention taking a break from the domestic stress of work and unfinished DIY projects. And, perhaps most importantly, it’s about the simple pleasure of cycling down the open road.

Friday, 29th June 2007. Destination: Berkeley YWCA, Boston, Massachusetts

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A long day's travelling from Brighton to Boston via Gatwick and Philadelphia. My Hostel in Boston, the Berkeley YWCA, is in the historic downtown district, all pretty avenues and brownstones, but by 10:30pm too dark to really appreciate. Feeling hungry, I took the warden’s advice and went round the corner for a pizza and beer at Picco, a nice little restaurant on Tremont Street.

Sitting at my table looking out the window in this snug, small corner of a vast, foreign continent a sense of unreality came over me: was I really about to do what I was about to do? More to the point, could I make it to the Bus Station early enough tomorrow morning to get a place on the 6am (no reservations, first come first served) Vermont bus to Bangor, Maine? I went to bed tired, disorientated and slightly anxious...

Saturday, 30 June. Destination: Bar Harbor Hostel, Acadia National Park, Maine

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My taxi glided through quiet 5am streets of Boston to the clean, modern bus station where a queue for the Bangor bus was already growing. I wanted to get some breakfast but didn’t want to loose my place: the next bus was not till lunchtime. When the bus arrived it was already half full, coming in from somewhere else. I didn’t expect that. Despite the resulting mild panic (I hate uncertainty on days that depend on schedules going to plan) I got a place - and somewhere on the road we even pulled in for breakfast. A few hours later arriving at Bangor, the Bar Harbor Shuttle Bus was already full and ready to go: fortunately, you could book that bus in advance and so the lady driver was waiting for me, with one spare space beside her. By coincidence, she turned out to be a keen cyclist who's also cycled across America, on the Transamerica Trail. She's currently planning Lands End to John O'Groats, so we spent the short journey from Bangor comparing notes and enthusing about bicycles.

So, I've arrived in Bar Harbor and all is well. The place is lovely - coastal Maine as I imagined it: all white-painted ship lapped houses and lobster shacks, with boats bobbing on the bay. The sea is sparkling and the sky is blue. First official meal of the trip: clam chowder, naturally. And, more importantly, there's a good bike shop to help me out with last-minute stuff. I'm currently sitting in a cool, shady internet cafe drinking a mango smoothie while listening to a precocious kid - 10 year old? - playing Mozart on the piano (quite well, actually). Edward and Ewa arrive tomorrow. I think I'll spend the rest of the afternoon down by the bay, gazing out to sea.

Sunday, 1 July. Location: Bar Harbor Hostel, Acadia National Park, Maine

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A lovely day on Mount Desert Island, Acadia National Park, with nothing to do but wait for E&E to arrive, so I decided to explore the island on my lovely new bike. Cycled round the park loop road, which goes past the aptly named Sand Beach; Thunder Hole (an oceanfront rocky-outcrop-acting-as-echo-chamber kind of thing); and Otter Creek bridge, where I dipped my front wheel in the ocean.

Then, to check out the gears, a jaunt up Cadillac Mountain, the highest point on the US Atlantic Coast (1,500 feet from sea level). Back in plenty of time to hang out with my new buddies at the bike shop - a big thank you to Chris Nice at Bar Harbor Bikes for all his help - and to hope that E&E would arrive OK, or at least before tomorrow (read Edward's blog for details). As it happens, they got in around 10:00pm, and we (or I should say Ed) had their two bikes put together by 1:00am, ready for the Big Start tomorrow...

MAP 01 - Bar Harbor, MA to Ticonderoga, NY

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Day 1: Monday, 2nd July. Destination: Motor Inn, Bucksport, Maine

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It’s hard to avoid the impatience and expectation that accompany setting off on a long journey, and I’d anticipated leaving early after breakfast. Ideally, a breakfast of eggs & home-fried potatoes straight off the griddle, in an American-style diner sitting on tall chairs at a chrome counter listening to old guys talking about fishing while a friendly waitress kept our coffees topped up. But we had to take it slow: E&E had to get their bike cases to the depot which was sending them on to Toronto (their finishing point), and both Edward and I had some last-minute fiddling to do with our bikes. Good news is that we had our breakfast, pretty much as described, at a place next to the hostel. Then, to try to keep delays to a minimum, we split up: Ewa in a taxi with the cases, Edward & I to the bike shop, where we planned to rendezvous. The rest of the morning trickled away. Edward’s brakes / suspension weren’t quite right and Chris was doing a thorough job getting them sorted. Ewa arrived so we went searching for fruit smoothies and muffins. Perhaps we were all a bit anxious that we still had our day’s cycling ahead of us, but there was nothing much to be gained by talking about it.

We finally set off in the sunshine at 12:30pm along a scenic high road overlooking the coast of Bar Harbor. It was about then, on the first incline, that the truth of the matter dawned on me: here I was, setting off on the first day of my cycle trip across America and I had no idea if I was fit and strong enough to do it. The unfamiliarity of an elegant new bike with clever gears and pedal cleats, a fully-loaded pair of panniers and handlebar-bag – even a new set of cycle clothes – surely all little more than a costume to disguise the victory of aspiration over common sense. But, as grey clouds gathered and it started to rain I found myself settling down, and from that moment on my instinct was to avoid such thoughts: if I could get through the day without causing myself any physical damage, then I could carry on tomorrow. It wasn’t going to help weighing myself against the enormity of the journey. I had to trust that my training, planning, common-sense and a bit of luck would be sufficient. If not, then I could always jump a freight train for the middle bit, or spend my summer fishing on the banks of a New England river…

We crossed onto the mainland in the rain. Not quite the dazzling starting line I’d imagined - more a succession of island hops over low, grey bridges. After which, the 46 miles through lovely New England farmland to Bucksport seemed to take a long time and we didn’t arrive at our motel till 6pm. The town, on the banks of the Penobscot River, seemed pretty much deserted, but a friendly chap guided us across the bridge to the local diner. We’d made it through our first day without accident, and found food and shelter. All we have to do is the same again tomorrow, right?

Day 2: Tuesday, 3rd July. Destination: Blue Skye Farm B&B, Waldoboro, Maine

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Breakfast with the bikers in Verona. That’s Verona Island across the river (where we ate last night). I revolted E&E by ordering oatmeal, which I have a soft-spot for. Plus, here I get to laden it down with maple syrup, brown sugar and raisins. Heading down the coast Edward was having bike problems: his front brake sticking. He had to stop and get it fixed. The first bike shop we came to didn’t look too hopeful, and the guy wasn’t going to put himself out by doing anything in a hurry, but none-the-less we decided that Edward would stay while Ewa & I press on to Belfast, 7 miles ahead, to see if the shop there could offer a speedier service. Well, it couldn’t. But on the bright side, our guy said Edward’s mechanic was probably the best in the area. We relayed this to him via the bike shop phone, and agreed that Ewa & I should press on at a leisurely pace and let Edward catch us up.

And so we had spinach savoury snacks in Belfast; lunch at a lovely old trading post in Lincolnville Center (where Ewa befriended the trading post dog); stopped for ice-cream in the pretty seaside town of Rockport; and enjoyed wending our way through more picturesque Maine countryside before arriving in Waldoboro just as we were beginning to feel a bit tired. The place we were staying, however, turned out to be a bit of a distance from the centre of town, one of those places that are always round the next corner. A very charming farmhouse B&B built in 1775, but in the middle of nowhere.

Edward arrived 45 minutes later, safe and sound but having neglected stopping for ice-cream and scenic views. We had to cycle our weary way back into town to eat, but were rewarded by good food, real ale and live bluegrass music, “Oh Brother, Where Art Thou” style, at the Narrows Tavern. A fine evening. Even the cycle back to the B&B in darkness, with a heaven full of stars above us and our blinking bike lights illuminating the road in front, seemed determined to compensate for the out-of-town inconvenience. I think it’s safe to say we slept like logs.

Day 3: Wednesday, 4th July. Destination: Maine Motel & Cabins, Lewiston, Maine

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Breakfast at the Blue Sky Farm B&B was lovely, with fresh fruit, yoghurt, home-made pancakes and jam, eggs and fresh fruit juice. The sun was up, and my cycle clothes were drying on the line outside. The day was warm but uneventful: I remember a haddock roll basket with coleslaw and fries with root beer for lunch at a canteen-style diner in the one-horse town of Dresden Mills.

Onwards, into the grey drizzle countryside that seemed to surround Lewiston. An endless suburban road lined with low, grey buildings leading eventually to our motel, where our accommodation was one of a cluster of semi-detached white painted cottages which looked like they’d been modelled on those barometers that are made to look like Swiss Chalets - the ones where a man or a woman pops out of two little doors to let you know whether it’s going to rain or shine. But if that was cute enough, then the introduction to mini Tootsie Rolls at the check-in was sensational.

However, the place was a way out of town and a bit damp. We decided to phone out for pizza which was a sensible if rather dispiriting choice: pizza around here seems to be of the doughy and cheesy variety, which rapidly looses appeal even when hungry. No fireworks visible to celebrate the 4th, and damp cycle clothes struggling to dry on the backs of chairs completes the scene. Goodnight John-boy, goodnight Edward & Ewa.

Day 4: Thursday, 5th July. Destination: Oxford House B&B, Fryeburg, Maine

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First hill climb today, over Streaked Mountain (approx 1,250ft). Looked very scary on the map’s route elevation profile, but not so bad in reality: we all managed it with some energy to spare. In fact, far tougher were the two smaller climbs afterwards which proved a point that Ewa & I were beginning to suspect: small steep climbs and “gently rolling hills” can be a lot more tiring than one big climb. Our longest day so far, at 67 miles, but the return of beautiful New England countryside lifted our spirits. I was riding ahead and feeling fit, so sped into town looking out for the Oxford House B&B. By the time I’d cycled out of town and crossed the state line into New Hampshire, I was beginning to suspect I’d overshot.

By the time I got back E&E had already checked in. Set back from the road, lined with trees and not numerically in sequence were about the best excuses I could muster for missing it, but no excuses were really needed: there were two luxurious suites for us, each with a large, deeply matressed bed, and a posh dinner in a dining room with views out to the mountains. A bit fancy for my taste (expensive mashed potatoes called “rumbledethumps” and a somewhat prim hostess who required us to be enthusiastic about them) but Edward enjoyed it all and was happy to supply enthusiasm. Despite finding myself a little grumpy I had to concede that it was good to sit at a handsome dining table with a glass of red wine in my hand and a well-starched napkin on my lap. Terrible night’s sleep, though: that deep mattress couldn’t disguise the noisy humming from a ventilation unit downstairs.

Day 5: Friday, 6th July. Destination: Red Sleigh Inn, Lincoln, New Hampshire

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The day started with crossing our first state line into New Hampshire, and commemorative photos were taken. Our route took us to Conway, at the foot of the Kankamagus Pass. At 2,855ft this mountain has loomed over our map’s elevation profile, hurtling straight into the sky till yesterday’s climb looked like a foothill. We gauged the day accordingly, keeping it short. I was cycling a bit ahead, and waited for E&E outside a café in Conway (true to our unspoken rule never to pass a food-serving establishment without consultation). 20 minutes passed and they didn’t arrive, so I stepped out of the shade into the hot sunshine and stood at the crossroad for a further 20 minutes (true to our other unspoken rule that whoever was ahead should wait for the others at any major junction). By this time I was starting to worry. I flagged down a car but the driver, who had driven up from Fryeburg, had seen no other cyclists on the road that morning. The guy at the gas station wouldn’t let me go till he’d tried to contact Edward using his international phonecard, but without any luck. Eventually – as time was getting on – I decided to head off up the pass. It seemed to me that if E&E had got into any kind of trouble I’d have heard about it by now, so most likely they were already ahead of me, somehow having missed each other at the turn-off.

The pass turned out to be beautiful. The sun was shining, and the road followed the sparkling Swift River up a wide, forested valley. Families were out enjoying the day, swimming and picnicking. The incline was a long but pleasant grade and my bike just seemed to love it, urging me to pick up the tempo by responding enthusiastically to any increase in cadence. The climb seemed to go on and on, but apart from concerns about the whereabouts of E&E I was having a good day’s cycling. Nearing the summit, however, the weather changed dramatically - grey clouds rolled up the valley bringing with them the sound of thunder. It started to rain heavily. A break in the clouds – and the trees - showed me that I’d gained quite an altitude, with pine forests of the White Mountains all around. I plodded up the final ascent, and took a self-timer photo at the summit, clad in raingear.

The descent was pretty scary: the rain had stopped, but visibility was low and the road was wet and shiny. I seemed to spend a long time hurtling down the mountainside through a series of unprotected hairpins. Most of the time my hands were hovering over my brakes and for the rest were on them. And then, just as I reached the bottom and was heading into Lincoln, there was E&E, consulting Edward’s sat nav. I think it was a relief just to meet up again, so we didn’t really try to figure out what’d happened. We cycled into Lincoln together, and checked in to the lovely Red Sleigh B&B.

I'm writing this from an internet cafe bookshop in the Marketplace Mall while Edward & Ewa catch the new Die Hard movie (“Live Free Or Die” – as it happens, New Hampshire’s state motto) at the cinema next door. This is the closest we've come to a rest day so far, arriving in town at 3pm. We've crossed Maine already, and passed through some beautiful countryside dotted with picturesque hamlets, New England farmhouses and clear lakes bordered with pine forests. The cycling's been fine, bar Edward's brake problems. We're up in the mountains now, starting the day in bright sunshine and ending with thunderstorms. No sign of moose, though plenty of signs warning us of what to do if we meet them. Lots of colourful birds and chipmunks is about the extent of wildlife. Everyone has been super-friendly, and I think we're eating so much food we're actually putting on weight. But right now I really need to get some sleep...

Day 6: Saturday, 7th July. Destination: White Goose Inn, Orford, New Hampshire

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We said cheerful goodbyes to our hosts Bill & Loretta at the Red Sleigh B&B heading out of town up the Lost River pass over Mt. Moosilauke. By now, these climbs are becoming second nature, almost. I was a bit ahead and noticed a couple of girls cycling up behind us. They passed E&E, and soon caught up with me. We started chatting, so I picked up my tempo a bit and they reduced theirs. They told me that local cyclists referred to the Kancamagus Pass as “The Kanc”, and they were planning to cycle up Mt. Moosilauke and down the other side, turn back, do the Kanc and back to Lincoln before meeting up with family in the nearby town of Woodstock (yes, that Woodstock). Just a nice morning’s cycle.

Well, by that time, my increased tempo was beginning to take its toll so I encouraged them to get on with it. Overtaken by girls; the humiliation. OK, so they were on racing bikes and carrying no luggage and pretty fit, but even so. Their friend, another girl, caught up with me soon after. She was the “unfit one” of the three, but soon overtook me too… seemed like I was rapidly running out of excuses for my plodding pace. When I got to the summit they were taking a break so we chatted some more before they hurtled off. I got out my camera to snap E&E reaching the top, and they responded by cycling side by side, holding hands for the photo. For the record, there was a museum up there where you could pan for gold (I just used the loo), and a crossing-point for the Appalachian Trail.

The rest of the day should have been short and easy, but Edward’s chain broke, then it started to pour with rain. And our bums were really beginning to hurt. We made it into the small town of North Haverhill where there was a bike shop, barely stopping to glimpse at the stunning New England barns red painted and solemn sitting amongst lush, green fields. At the bike shop Edward decided to replace his chain, and thus also his rear cassette. We took the opportunity to have a leisurely lunch at an oddly oversized fast-food café, which seemed big enough to serve as the Village Hall despite being mostly empty. You could have anything you wanted there, as long as it was deep-fried. We opted for the deep-fried veggies, with deep-fried curly-fries, deep-fried cheesy-stuffed potato skins and a side or two of (free!) popcorn. Mmm…

Onward to the town of Orford, on the Connecticut River. A strange little place, rather elegant yet strung out along a single street as if uncertain as to where the centre should be. As a result, we were uncertain where our B&B should be. But a combination of local helpfulness at the general store and Edward’s sat nav got us to the edge of town and the characterful White Goose Inn, a porch-encircled two-storey house with a narrow staircase leading up to our attic rooms. Our host Marshall seemed a little reticent at first – a trait we’d yet to come across on our journey – but he warmed up as the evening progressed, driving us the short distance across the river to Orford’s other half, Fairlee in Vermont, where the restaurants were. He drove us up and down the street before we chose a nice, homely place with a deck lit up with fairy lights, serving good beer and excellent grilled salmon. We walked back across the wide steel bridge in darkness; the river looking black and mysterious at it disappeared into the night, with fireflies picking out the riverbank with tiny points of light.

Day 7: Sunday, 8th July. Destination: Sweet Onion Inn, Hancock, Vermont

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Our host at the White Goose continued to impress with a lovely home-made breakfast of excellent pancakes. We chatted with another guest, a friendly chap called Philip Potter – of whom more later (see post for 21st July) - as we stood on the porch fashioning cycle-helmet rain-covers out of cling film. The Connecticut River valley was peaceful and lovely, low mist clinging to the valley sides, surrounding us in a veil of rain-laden greyness which reminded me of Japanese paintings.

We crossed the river into Vermont by another steel bridge in East Thetford, and stopped for photos. Our route left the Connecticut and headed back into the hills, via a picturesque covered timber bridge (closed for repair, but we sneaked through). The rolling countryside, farmland and woodland continued to the College town of South Royalton, formed around a grandly-scaled yet welcoming grassy square lined on one side by two-storey stone-built shops and cafes, one of which had a deli selling a fabulous selection of veggie meals and snacks. We had Indian-style chickpeas and rice, which maybe doesn’t sound so special, but after a week of deep-fried food was simple the best thing ever. Served by cute College girls, too, which is always a bonus. Onwards passed the much anticipated Gaysville which regretfully failed to live up to its name in any way you choose to interpret it. Stockbridge, 4 miles later on, was a similar disappointment, bearing no likeness at all to its Edinburgh namesake. Not even a roadsign for a commemorative photo.

And so, a bit weary and with damp clothes, we arrived at the Sweet Onion Inn, Hancock, nestled in the White River valley. We got there early, but a note stuck to the door directed us to our rooms and bid that we make ourselves at home. We went through the by-now automatic daily ritual of showering and hand washing our cycle clothes before lounging on the living room sofas to await supper. Which turned out to be entirely vegetarian, in a pleasant if slightly earnest fashion – nachos with beans, home-made salsa and a variety of hot sauces from mild to crazy. Two veggie meals in a day: a coincidence, or is this how they roll in Vermont?

Day 8: Monday, 9th July. Destination: Super 8 Motel, Ticonderoga, New York

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First thing in the morning our last mountain stage of this first map, over the impressively steep-looking Bread Loaf in the Green Mountains. The pass was at 2,000ft and it wasn’t effortless, though hardly as monstrous as our map’s near-vertical elevation profile would have us believe. Besides, I’m well stocked up with Clif energy bars and energy gel (Gü or sometimes Hammer), which – true to the label’s claim - gives an effective 45 minute energy boost. You have to get the timing right, though, as they take 15 minutes to kick in. This time, I took one 15 minutes before the top so missed the boost and had abundant energy for freewheeling downhill. D’oh!

The descent through lush, green forests took us through a scenic little hamlet called Ripton, where an old-fashioned general store offered worms, campwood and chewing tobacco. We stuck to Tootsie Rolls, Snickers and M&Ms, eating them on the porch. Continuing down the valley to Middlebury, a busy little market town, we avoided a shower by lunching at a general store which offered excellent cheese sandwiches. All very pleasant, so far, but as we headed towards Lake Champlain the temperature started to rise and it grew muggy. Tiring cycling weather. The last 20 miles were sluggish and hard work, despite tantalising views of the lake as we approached it and a nice ferry ride across to New York State. Ticonderoga was a welcome site. The Super 8 Motel, though, was right though town and up and out the other side, and by the time we reached it the temperature was soaring. We just collapsed on our large motel beds and watched TV in air-conditioned comfort till summoning the energy to go out again and eat.

Day 9: Tuesday, 10th July. REST DAY #1: Stonehouse Motel, Ticonderoga, New York

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We chose a good day for a rest: thunder and lightening storms all over North America with strong winds and high humidity. Many fingers crossed that it’ll pass by tomorrow, but no-one seems to know: could be more of the same, but if there’s a storm tonight it could bring cooler weather or at least an end to the mugginess. Despite the heat, we follow Ewa’s lead by cycling out to Ticonderoga Fort, scene of many a chapter in America’s struggle for Independence from the French and the Brits. Commanding a panoramic view over Lake Champlain, it offers an enjoyable display of fife and drumming along with a museum (oh yes, the Scots were here too, battling away in their kilts) and a lovely flower garden, where Edward & I left Ewa so we could weblog at the local Library. We spent the afternoon avoiding a thunderstorm by hanging out on the porch of the Olde Mill Café, drinking beer and eating red pepper soup.

We then moved out of the bland Super 8 into a rather more groovy stone-built motel in town. There was a power-cut and storm clouds gathered. In the gloom of the temporarily lightless living room, we met up with a long-distance cyclist called Matt who was travelling the other way, and we compared notes while I coveted his shoes: Teva-style sandals with cycle cleats on the soles. My cycle shoes have been absorbing water like sponges, yet I’ve become addicted to those cleats: it’s a good feeling, clicking your shoes onto the pedals. Efficient and purposeful. Edward seems to think its all nonsense, like energy gel, designed to part impressionable cyclists from their money, and Ewa seems quite content as she is – so I must pursue my quest for the Perfect Shoe on my own. Edward has noted, quite correctly, that I find it hard to pass a cycle shop without popping in – who knows why? I think I just like the ambience. But now, at least, I have an excuse.

MAP 02 - Ticonderoga, NY to Lackawanna, NY

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Day 10: Wednesday, 11th July. Destination: Aunt Polly’s B&B, Newcomb, New York

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We left Ticonderoga at 6:45 am, hoping that getting out of the plain early would help us avoid the worst of the day’s heat and humidity. The road took us up a long, gradual incline into a raincloud-covered land of woods and lakes. The road passed occasional lakefront cabins and houses scattered amongst trees and comfortably dilapidated timber mooring decks, giving the place an end-of-season air though it was probably just midweek and rainy. Jolting me out of fog-bound reverie, a small dog came tearing out of nowhere onto the road, barking madly. At that same moment, a car came round the bend on collision course with the dog. A fraction of a second later a log came hurtling through the air aimed at the car, together with a loud shout. My heart was beating wildly. Whether or not the driver saw the log, or heard the shout, or come to think of it how the dog escaped without a scratch, I’ll never know: it all happened in an instant. The dog sped back up to the garden and the car whizzed past. The log lady neither cautioned her dog nor acknowledged my existence, but I left the scene with the distinct feeling that she thought the whole drama was somehow my fault.

A little while later I passed the lovely and mysterious Eagle Lake, on the look out for our breakfast stop in the town of Paradox. The town turned out to be no more than the solitary but welcome Paradox General Store, a timber building with a porch and a wooden bear carrying a sign saying ‘welcome’. I went in and ordered two egg muffins and a coffee, then wandered to the outhouse before looking back down the road to see E&E pulling up. Breakfast, after a 16 mile uphill start, was most welcome.

From there it was uphill into the Adirondacks. As it turned out, the sky remained overcast and relatively cool, and the humidity dropped so we survived the day in better shape than we’d feared. We passed a buffalo farm and took a break for coffee and to ask what the difference was between buffalo and bison. Not much, apparently. Just outside Newcomb hunger got the better of us and we stopped at a roadside store to share a large pizza. The timber shack exterior and low, dark’n’dingy interior made me suspect that this isn’t as well-off a town as some we’ve come through. A stale smell hung in the warm unconditioned air as the waitress bustled about, serving tray in one hand and flyswatter in the other. Thwack. That said, though, the pizza wasn’t bad. I just hope those were olives.

We ended the day at Aunt Polly’s B&B in Newcomb, a lovely and characterful place with equally characterful owners who shuddered at the thought of us dining at that roadside store. They sent us to the Newcomb Bar & Grill, where the only veggie item on the menu was tortilla chips covered with the kind of liquid cheese you get at cinemas – possibly the worst crime against food ever perpetrated. Now I don’t want to criticise, but this place made the roadside store look good. But I don’t want to dwell on the negative: there was beer and there was pool, which we played (badly), and rock’n’roll on the jukebox. ZZ Top’s ‘Tush’ and Lynyrd Skynyrd’s live version of ‘Freebird’ were my favourites. Back at the B&B, before heading off to bed, we watched half of the movie ‘U.S. Marshall’ on TV in the guest living room, where a full-size (toy) bear sat next to us on a comfortable armchair.

Day 11: Thursday, 12th July. Destination: Deer Meadows Motel, Inlet, New York

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This is bear country, and everyone has a photo or two to show you of a bear wandering through their backyard. But we haven’t seen any yet – just a few chipmunk and some pretty flowers. First stop of the day was at the tourist town of Long Lake in order to drink coffee and check out the quality of local snacks. Pulling in to Hoss’s General Store, we saw a young man pushing a large, black bear across the yard in a shopping cart. Not a real one, as it turned out, but from a distance close enough to make you wonder – if just for a moment.

The Adirondacks are all lush forested mountains and crisp blue lakes. Lovely cycling country: the hills are just big enough to make you feel like you’re making an effort, without being so big as to wear you out. We passed Blue Mountain Lake, where people were fishing and rowing boats, enjoying the sunshine and quiet roads. Lunch at a rock’n’roll bar in Raquette Lake then on to the Meadow Motel outside a place called Inlet. Edward headed into town to have more work done on his bike (he’d been cycling most of the day with his front disk brake rubbing against the wheel, which would have driven me crazy), while Ewa and I checked out the lake across the road.

Some paddling was done (by Ewa), and then we wandered along to where a sign advertised flying-boat trips. Seeing the plane bobbing on the lake by the shore was all it took to convince us that this was an opportunity we’d regret not taking. So, a couple of hours later, the three of us were being whisked across the lake and into the air for a 20 minute loop over the surrounding lakes, forests and mountains. A lot of fun, and strangely disorientating to see from above the countryside we’d cycled through: roads and houses disappeared under the canopy of trees making the area look uninhabited as far as the eye could see. How on earth did we make our way through all that?

In the evening we ate at a rather posh restaurant at the eastern end of the Fulton Chain lakes, which Edward had discovered on his earlier cycle-mending foray into town. In an unexpected touch, the place provided crayons to doodle on the paper placemats. We drew some flowers. As dusk fell, Adirondack chairs set alongside the grassy shore provided an almost too picturesque location to watch the sun set across golden waters, till we were left in fairy lights and darkness - before having to belt home to rescue our almost-dry clothes from an unexpectedly heavy shower.

Day 12: Friday, 13th July. Destination: Headwaters Motor Lodge, Boonville, New York

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I don’t know at what point precisely we left the Adirondacks, but it happened sometime today. Probably heading out of Old Forge, a largish town at the Western end of the lakes, where we stopped for breakfast (two eggs, scrambled, with white toast, home-fries and coffee). On the plus side leaving was mostly descent, but I’m going to miss the pretty scenery. One more picturesque stop of note by Moose River, where we skimmed stones and watched Edward scramble easily across rocks to a mid-stream island to then get stuck on his way back. I actually wanted to join him, but was too chicken and, yes, I didn’t have a pair of who-cares-about-getting–wet tevas on my feet. One day I’ll find them…

The last 10 miles of the day were tiring for Ewa & I: perhaps the combination of a slight headwind (first we’ve really come across), plus uphill at the end of the day was enough to put the snail in our pace. So it was good to arrive in Boonville, despite joining the first major road in a good while and having to follow it out of town before arriving at our motel. Comfy enough place, though; plus the walk into town wasn’t bad at all, taking us past characterful townhouses into the faded grandeur of a rather ramshackle main street. We hung out at Chatty Cathy’s Internet Café, blogging to lounge music, before eating veggieburgers and fries at a chrome-and-red-leather banquette in Freddie’s rock’n’roll Diner. We listened to The Beatles “I Saw Her Standing There” on the jukebox, and drank chocolate milkshakes. On a note more The Omen than Happy Days, we were accompanied most of the way home by a very large and somewhat frightening black dog. Even Ewa, our resident dog-lover, was a bit ill at ease. Fortunately it got bored of us and wandered off down a darkened side street, no doubt to transform into a werewolf.

Day 13: Saturday, 14th July. Destination: Driftwood Motel, Pulaski, New York

2010-06-12T20:50:00.003+01:00

First stop, the small town of Osceola for the 36th annual turtle race. We arrived just as they were getting ready for the Big Day, painting a large circle track on the town square and setting out a bunch of stalls with turtle-related t-shirts, tablecloths and cookies. Some friendly folks with a metal washtub full of turtles explained the rules: 1) Put your turtle on the track and the first one round wins; 2) Drink lots of beer. E&E sponsored a turtle, but I’m sorry to say we couldn’t stick around to watch it race. A short way out of town a couple we’d met drove past in their pick-up and stopped to tempt us away from the road with the offer of an afternoon of beer drinking. Most sociable, but I declined on behalf of the three of us – after all, E&E don’t drink – and besides I’m getting far too puritanical to let beer-related pleasure detract from the miles we have to cover. Still, we’d taken a liking to the good folks of Osceola, and it seemed a shame to leave the fun behind.

Plenty more to look at on the road to Pulaski. Large tracts of woodland subdivided into plots inhabited by cabins, trailers, caravans with d.i.y. pitched roofs, burner-out bungalows, prim timber-framed houses bedecked with a multitude of doo-dads (flags, toy windmills, welcome signs), houses that looked like the Creepy Coupe from the Wacky Races, all with lawns strewn with animal figurines (deer, bear, flamingos), broken-down cars, car-boot-sale junk, old tractors and engine parts, and creatively decorated mailboxes.

Our motel in Pulaski (pr. sky) had red carpet on the walls, sluggish a/c and the kind of look that only a total lack of care can produce. It would seem that people staying here aren’t too picky. In town we dined on sweet corn, beans and curly fries at a near-empty sports bar. Some guys were playing pool rather badly in the next room, but after our dismal performance at the Newcomb Bar & Grill we weren’t about to take them on. We’re almost at Lake Ontario, and I can’t figure out why this town exists, being so close to ports and rivers, yet removed from both. Maybe there’s some closed-down industry I don’t know about, but this place feels like a ghost-town.

Day 14: Sunday, 15th July. Destination: Carriage House Inn, Sodus Point, New York

2010-06-12T20:40:00.023+01:00

Three miles to Selkirk and breakfast within a stones-throw of Lake Ontario, still frustratingly out of sight. Short stack of blueberry pancakes for Edward & I, which turned out to be of epic proportion and defeated us half way through. We had them wrapped to go, and I managed to disgust Edward by eating mine cold and doughy a little further down the road. A long day in the saddle (69 miles) with a mild but persistent headwind for most of it, but the cycling was fairly flat. We stopped for lunch in Fulton, an unremarkable town redeemed by a long, wide bridge and a characterful red-neck family diner where I managed to disgust E&E again by choosing oatmeal for lunch.

16 miles further down the road we reached Fair Haven, technically on Lake Ontario but once again keeping it just out of sight. We stopped at a pretty, white-painted art gallery - because a sign outside promised a café - and made our way through the lobby past sundry local paintings to a small servery area where a matronly lady stood in front of an impressively shiny espresso machine. Good news, as strong coffee is hard to come by in these parts: most diners preferring to serve the translucently weak filter variety. The good news was short-lived, though, as the lady had no idea how to use the machine and proposed to use the filter beside it. Edward (knowing about such things) wanted to help, but the lady was stubbornly resistance to his advances. I sloped out of the gallery clutching a plate of muffins, resigning myself to filter; but Edward was persistent and about 20 minutes later came out of the front door proudly bearing three hard-earned cups. Meanwhile, Ewa had more success across the street, bringing back delicious ice-creams. I have a feeling we sung some ice-cream related song as we headed out of town, but I could be mistaken.

Finally we reached Sodus Point and our first evening on Lake Ontario. Our B&B was a lovely house in a perfectly manicured neighbourhood. We ate at a lakeside restaurant, were people arrived by speedboat. It seems to me that by reaching the first of the Great Lakes I’ve successfully crossed the first discernable chunk of my journey – at least, from the perspective of a US wall-map. It has been good so far, and apart from a few itchy insect bites on my legs, all is well.

Day 15: Monday, 16th July. Destination: Econolodge, Brockport, New York

2010-06-12T20:30:00.001+01:00

Another long day in the saddle for us, at 75 miles. We left our B&B early after breakfast and cycled a short distance before pulling in at the general store & gas station in Pultneyville. I’d though we’d just be picking up snacks and heading on, but Ewa had other ideas and was next seen heading towards the seating area clutching large beakers of coffee. Up to this point our snacking/resting/eating routines have been remarkably in-synch, but with only 10 miles on the odometer and a long day ahead I was eager to press on, and so I fidgeted grumpily as E&E took their time chatting to locals and sipping their drinks. They eventually relented, and 21 miles later we arrived at the Mormon town of Palmyra, a distinguished red-brick Main Street setting it apart from many of the places we’ve been through lately. We ate ice creams in a corner shop and a guy took our photo for the local paper.

Palmyra marks the point where we join the Erie Canalway Trail which takes us 91 miles to Lockport, 20 miles east of Niagara Falls. We dropped down out of hot sunshine into the welcome cool shade of a tree-lined towpath which took us all the way to Fairport on the outskirts of Rochester, at a population of 219,773 quite the largest place we’ve come through so far. Here we found a fabulous place to eat, ‘Alladins on the Canalside’. Falafel, pita bread and hummus! Such a welcome change from fried food. We’d been looking out for it since Matt the cyclist we’d met in Ticonderoga had said how good it was. There were ducks waddling about on the towpath and Fairport locals keeping the place busy. Ewa took a photo of Edward & I sitting with our plates in front of us, and our faces glow with the kind of anticipation normally reserved for Christmas Dinner.

The next part of the day took us through the historic industrial areas of Pittsford and Rochester, now pretty quiet with wooded parks to wind through and rusted bridges to cross. As the afternoon wore on, we returned to countryside where the slowly curving Canalway Trail took us steadily to Brockport, our progress being measured by road bridges crossing us at approximately 1 mile intervals. Brockport was a welcome sight, and looked promisingly interesting from the canalside. But the place had little in the way of groovy alternative places to eat. What was I thinking? Alladins must have gone to my head. We had to cycle a couple of miles back from the canal to reach our motel and couldn’t really summon the energy to do more than watch TV and sleep. Well, it had been a long day, but tomorrow takes us to Niagara Falls and our final rest day together.

Day 16: Tuesday, 17th July. Destination: Budget Inns, Niagara Falls, New York

2010-06-12T20:20:00.004+01:00

Cycling along the restored canalway has been a real pleasure, though 91 miles of gravel track has taken it’s toll on our bottoms. I composed a song entitled “(I’ve Gotta) Sore Butt (And My Butt Is Sore)”, and sang several dozen choruses to keep myself going. No cars and some people walking have provided a nice change. Early morning today, a flock of Canada Geese flew in formation down the canal, passing us in elegant silence. We saw beaver, squirrels, chipmunk and an abundance of ducks and geese.

The last day of our cycle trip together took us past elevator bridges that opened upwards to let boats pass underneath, past locks, and past more small towns serving the boating community. Arriving in Lockport, we had a steep ascent past a large lock that marked the end of our Erie adventure, and then rejoined the world of cars and roads. Welcome enough, at least by our bums, though the peace and quiet will be missed. The final 20 miles to Niagara Falls were straight and uneventful, passed flat, green fields dotted with woodland. It started to rain as we negotiated the grey, industrial outskirts and major road intersections approaching Niagara. It seemed that according to the ACA map we were almost in the centre, yet all we saw were huge areas of electric transformers and concrete overpasses.

As has become our routine on this trip, I usually cycle ahead navigating with the current panel of our unfolding series of maps displayed in the transparent cover of my handlebar bag. Ewa is behind me and Edward usually brings up the rear – not because he’s not Mr Muscle, I hasten to add – have you seen his calves recently? - but (and this is conjecture because I never asked) to make sure there were no stragglers left behind. At any questionable junction I’d wait for E&E and, if necessary or for the purpose of reassurance, consult with Edward who had the same route unfolding on his sat nav. The limitation of the printed map becomes evident when it’s necessary to go off-route, or the town is slightly more complex than the 4m/1” scale can illustrate (I suspect that’s what happened back at the foot of the Kanc). At such points Edward would take over using his sat nav, and that’s what he did here. He took us up and over a fabulous abandoned bridge into the heart of the somewhat seedy and dilapidated old town till we finally found our Motel on the edge of the tourist strip. We made it! Celebration commenced in the motel room with a jumbo bag of doritos and an extra-large can of beer for me, phone-texting for Edward and TV watching for Ewa.

After the usual shower and clothes wash procedure we walked into town to admire the Falls, which revealed themselves dramatically at the far end what would otherwise have been an ordinary city park. Quite mesmerising, watching the sheer weight of water pound down into the gorge below. Still, you know, we’re cyclists at the end of a 71 mile day and hungry, so enough with the view, already: where’s the food? We chowed down at the unexpectedly charmless Niagara Centre, which had all the character of a partly closed-down 1980’s shopping mall. Its saving grace being an Indian buffet which, although about to close and just about run out of food, served us some rice, naan and veggie curry on polystyrene plates. Don’t say we don’t know how to party.

Day 17: Wednesday, 18th July. REST DAY #2: Budget Inns, Niagara Falls, New York

2010-06-12T20:10:00.008+01:00

Breakfasted at Denny’s across the road from our Motel at the Days Inn. Annoyingly expensive considering it was just regular roadside diner fare, but there was nowhere else around. After that, we took a turn on the tourist boat Maid of the Mist, getting up close and personal with the Falls. We had fun with our blue plastic ponchos (yes, three people can fit into one) and generally acted like tourists. Afternoon spent blogging with Edward back at the Niagara Centre, where they crammed a small row of computers into what looked like a service corridor off the lift hall. Ewa had better sense and took herself on a balloon ride to look at the falls from above.

We had planned to go and see the new Harry Potter film in the evening, but film times clashed with our desire to siesta back at the motel (I wanted to lounge around with another jumbo bag of doritos and another extra-large can of beer and Ewa was content watching episodes of Star Trek: Next Generation on the SciFi Channel). But this is the last night the three of us will spend together on this trip - tomorrow I head West towards Lake Erie and E&E start the final part of their journey North through Canada to Toronto - so we dined out at the rather swanky Red Coach Inn courtesy of Philip Potter of Greenwich Massachusetts, who gave us $100 to have dinner on him. We met him back in Orford, New Hampshire at the White Goose Inn, remember? He served in Italy and the UK during World War 2, where “those scrounging Brits” left him with some fond memories. We’re happy to keep those scrounging traditions alive! Thank you, Mr Potter.

MAP 03 - Lackawanna, NY to Monroeville, IN

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Day 18: Thursday, 19th July. Destination: Lighthouse Inn, Irving, New York

2010-06-12T19:50:00.002+01:00

From the moment I woke up, a sense of transition was in the air. Packing panniers as usual – except this time I was doing it on my own. Mixed feelings as I pedalled away from the motel: half panic (will I survive on my own?) and half liberation (I’m now free to eliminate those post-breakfast pre-brunch coffee breaks!). Couldn’t help feeling a bit vulnerable, and certainly alone: there’s comradeship in the face of things going wrong (punctures, getting lost etc) that could be tough – even scary - to do without.

And so I headed off alone into Canada across the beautiful Rainbow Bridge. A brief visit along the Niagara Parkway then back into the US over the Peace Bridge into Buffalo. Not the prettiest of towns. Overcast weather, a brisk headwind and my second puncture of the trip didn't lighten my mood. However, just as things were looking down what do I see but a small sign by the roadside directing me towards the Frank Lloyd Wright estate of Graycliff, on the coast of Lake Erie. I stopped by just in time for the 2o'clock tour. Not, perhaps, the greatest of FLLW's house designs but full of interesting details as you'd expect. Nice metal-framed corner windows opening up to give uninterrupted views of the lake.

After all the pretty New England scenery, the road following Lake Erie seemed a little bleak. My first night's solo accommodation was equally unpromising - a two-storey prefabricated box of a building divided from the main road by a car lot. No town to speak of; just a gas station and a road junction further back down the road and a diner further up. The whole thing pretty much devoid of anything you could loosely call scenery. It just sat there, a place without context. The forlorn whistle of trains heading west (or east) a little way behind my window provided just the right tone to compliment the kind of room that felt like it had never seen better days. My neighbour had been living there for a couple of weeks, doing some local work. It was hard to imagine there was any work around here for him to do.

Day 19: Friday, 20th July. Destination: Vernondale Motel, 7m W of Erie, Pennsylvania

2010-06-12T19:40:00.001+01:00

On, briefly, through Pennsylvania for my bike's 1st 1000 mile checkup in a place called North East to the lovely Vernondale Motel, a little East of Erie. The Lake County bike shop in North East was one of those places that the second you walk in you know you're in safe hands: some kids were hanging out talking about an upcoming bike race, and the tech guy / owner knew them all and - as became evident - was involved in organising the local bike club. He was busy, but the second he realised I was doing the coast-to-coast he put down what he was doing and gave my bike a thorough check-up, throwing in some maintenance advice for free. I couldn't help thinking of how, in these secular times, places like this have taken on the community role of churches, and this bike guy was doing a good job of keeping the local tearaways on the straight and narrow.

Well, with such uplifting thoughts and my gears meshing smoothly I cleared the city of Erie popping out the other side ending up at the Vernondale Motel. Stuck a bit out in suburban nowhere, it had charm sufficient to compensate for it's location: The old lady at the front desk offered me a cyclist's discount and a fresh squeezed glass of orange juice and the room was pure 1950's, with one wall (behind the bed) a giant technicolor print of pines, lakes and mountains and everywhere else collectable 50s lamps and chairs. Neat-o mosquito.

Day 20: Saturday, 21st July. Destination: Rider’s Inn, Painesville, Ohio

2010-06-12T19:30:00.008+01:00

Today I'm on the road to Painesville, just East of Cleveland. Stopped at the fancy new Conneaut library to get some weblogging done, heading on to Ashtabula for coffee and muffins. As a consequence, I've been singing Bob Dylan's 'You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go' all morning:

"I'll look for you in old Honolulu,
San Francisco, Ashtabula,
You're gonna have to leave me now, I know.
But I'll see you in the sky above,
In the tall grass, in the ones I love,
You're gonna make me lonesome when you go."

Had the good fortune to take a break at the Harbor Perk café, a smart place serving excellent coffee. I chatted to the owner and his wife about the contradiction of coffee in the US: everyone loves it, but the stuff served is generally weak, filtered and totally lacking in perk - unless you drink 3 or 4 mugs. Which, come to think of it, might explain the general free refill policy…

Beautiful weather all the way to Painesville. Cyling along straight, narrow roads that curiously criss-crossed alongside the lake required a certain amount of map-checking but in the end it was just a case of peddling to the next junction, stopping to puzzle over the unmarked roads, then pedaling on. I passed a couple on a recumbent tandem (first time I've seen one of those) who looked like serious coast-to-coasters, so I reckoned I was on the right road. Pulling into the town square in Painsville, on the Eastern outskirts of Cleveland, it looked like they were gearing up for a town fair. Quite the picturesque little University town, I rode my way passed marquees and stalls to Rider's Inn, an elegant looking place whose charm was rather compromised by the steely-smiled proprietor who, in my mind, rather traded on history, chintz and self-conscious quirkiness to justify high cost and low maintenance.

As you may have noted, I've yet to be won over by these 'characterful' historic Inns of North America. They originally came in to being to provide inexpensive accommodation for travelers; but it's the simple, family-run motels that have won my heart so far, carrying the torch for this essential service.

Day 21: Sunday, 22nd July. Destination: Motel Plaza, Vermilion, Ohio

2010-06-12T19:20:00.001+01:00

Today I trundled over the pitted and bumpy roads of suburban Cleveland, stopping off to visit the Cleveland Museum of Art, a rather fine early 70's building by Marcel Breuer, unfortunately (for me) currently under extensive renovation and mostly closed. However, there was one small gallery open, showing an exhibition called Icons of American Photography. Some really stunning photographs from the dust-bowl days through to classic pictures of Yosemite, amongst many others. I arrived at the Museum as I reached the first quarter stage of my TransAmerica trip, and it seemed an appropriate way to mark the event.

Since my last post, the weather's turned for the better. Three days of clear skies and sunshine, tempered by a cool breeze coming in off the lake. My daily mileage is going up as the roads get flatter (E&E&I were averaging 55m per day, but I'm doing between 75 and 80 right now). Today’s destination is Vermillion, on the very Western outskirts of Cleveland. I can report that there is nothing in Vermillion (on my route, at any rate) except for a simple, friendly motel and a place to eat, each on either side of a wide stretch of open road.

Day 22: Monday, 23rd July. Destination: Days Inn, Bowling Green, Ohio

2010-06-12T19:10:00.001+01:00

Here I am in the Public Library of the little town of Clyde, Ohio - 30 miles or so inland from Lake Erie. The lake's behind me now, and I'm heading into farming land, which means straight roads and no hills. As a couple of cyclists said to me the other day, "it's all flat from here till you get to the Rockies."

Memories of Lake Erie will be affected by the fact that I didn't really get to see too much of it, the coast road being mostly one row of houses away from the water's edge, so the most you get is glimpses between buildings and trees. But maybe it's better that way: the endless expanse might have been a bit much over four days.Talking of endless expanses, though, I have a feeling that's what's coming my way: "I'm sure it's great cycling, if you enjoy looking at fields of corn and sunflowers" as one guy said to me at the Donut shop in Huron this morning...

...Continuing on from my Clyde library blog of earlier today, Bowling Green turned out to be a University Town and the Days Inn a couple of miles out of town at the Interstate. Always a bit of a drag to have to cycle back into town after showering and changing and relaxing, I ended up cycling half-way back, passed the campus to a falafel hut I'd seen earlier. Tasty, but not amazing. ‘London Calling’ by The Clash was playing on the radio, which was cool, but when I noted this to the student behind the counter he looked at me blankly and said "Who are The Clash?" What are they teaching college kids these days?

Day 23: Tuesday, 24th July. Destination: Cyclists Lodging, City Park, Monroeville, Indiana

2010-06-12T19:00:00.001+01:00

Another long, flat day with nothing much of interest to look at. Passed through places called Napoleon and Defiance, alongside the Maumee river. Endless fields of corn and soya. Passed into Indiana at the end of the day, without sign or fanfare. Just more fields and narrow roads, one of which suddenly turned into loose gravel (not so comfortable on road wheels), occasional oncoming cars kicking up white dust from miles away.

Monroeville has made its mark on the Northern Tier for us coast-to-coasters by way of a rare and rather marvelous cyclist-only hostel in the town park. Free to use, with a laundry, kitchen, shower and a TV. What a great idea! One of the wardens, Jennifer, let me in and gave me a key, and seeing as how I was the only one there, left me to make myself at home. I lazed around, read, and watched a thunder storm pass by.

Day 24: Wednesday, 25th July. REST DAY #3: Cyclists Lodging, City Park, Monroeville, Indiana

2010-06-12T18:50:00.002+01:00

Rest day; new map. Washing clothes, eating pancakes. Slept in till 8:30am! Visited the library not to blog, but to do some email and download ACA (Adventure Cycling Association) updates: the ACA maps I'm using have all kinds of essential information such as accommodation & phone numbers on the rear but of course these get out-of-date so the free updates are quite important. As is becoming the ritual on a 'new-map' day, I sat down and planned the next section, booking motels for the next week. A quiet, lonely kind of day: I never notice being alone when I'm cycling, but on a rest day it's sort of unavoidable. Perhaps that's why so many cyclists end up taking less days off. I think I'd expected some company, this being one of the few cyclist shelters on the entire coast-to-coast route, and had been looking forward to the opportunity to trade traveler's tales. As it was, in the evening the hall was used for a town meeting: they didn't seem to mind a cyclists cot set up in the corner.

As I was heading out of town the next morning, a woman from the local paper took my photo for next week's edition. Unfortunately, they don't do an internet version, but she's going to send a copy to my home address. Fame!

MAP 04 - Monroeville, IN to Muscatine, IA

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Day 25: Thursday, 26th July. Destination: Shelton Inn, Peru, Indiana

2010-06-12T18:30:00.002+01:00

This section of map, crossing Indiana and Illinois, has been difficult to plan. Usually, the ACA route connects sufficient points of accommodation to keep the mileage even, give or take the odd day that's either too short or too long. But for some reason, this one cuts across farmland as if the game were to avoid habitation at all costs, which has lead me to plan an unprecedented five diversions over the 6 days it'll take me to reach Muscatine. Despite my best efforts, accommodation dictated that today's mileage was either 37 or 85. I chose 85, which meant an early start and a long day in the saddle.

Turning the bend out of Monroeville past the ice-cream store took me onto 30 miles of straight and narrow road, passing field after field of knee-length corn together with occasional fields of ground-hugging green stuff. Other than that the only things that changed were the sign boards for brand-name genetically-modified seeds set alongside the road. Hypnotic. But then, a sudden turn took me passed a military base of some sort and across the Salamonie Dam into a small but pretty state forest. The cool, shaded road made for a pleasant change. At this point, I headed off on Diversion No.1 to take me to Peru via Wabash. Now, endless fields on straight roads is all very well but this route of mine was an unexpected treat: Wabash turned out to be an eccentric little town not only proud to bill itself "The First Electrically Lighted City in the World," but also featured statues of elephants along the downtown sidewalks. Turns out, the statues mark the 5-day countywide jaunt of an escaped circus elephant called Modoc back in 1942. Great little café too, called Modoc's Market, serving homemade fruit smoothies.

After that, a lengthy and slightly tiring route along the wide Wabash river valley with leafy trees to provide shade and frame views. No idea why the map makers avoided this pleasant diversion. Got a bit down on arrival at my motel because it was right the way through Peru and out of town on a strip mall full of Arbys & Wendys & McDonalds & no veggie places & no beer. Until I found, tucked away and unannounced, the 'Mandarin Buffet' serving Szechuan tofu and Tsingtao beer…

Day 26: Friday, 27th July. Destination: Knights Inn, Rensselaer, Indiana

2010-06-12T18:20:00.005+01:00

Overcast, humid day, and kind of tiring. Neglected to check the map before heading off and ended up cycling 30 miles before breakfast, the unwavering straight road taking a shuffle past Fletcher Lake, a picturesque little fishing & caravan place in the middle of nowhere. A little run-down, in a comfortable-old-shoe kind of way. It even had its own little hill! Pretty hungry before arriving at Ma & Pa's Diner in Royal Centre (Diversion No.2).

Out of Royal Centre it was all straight roads and fields till another little jiggle to cross the Tippecanoe river at Buffalo, where the general store owner was the first I'd met so far to be frankly unimpressed by my journey. It rained in the afternoon, but that's not so bad as it cleared the air. Straight on to Rensselear (Diversion No.3), featuring a nice looking town square with a cute independent cinema, but my place was 3 miles out of town by the Route 65 Interstate. Shame, but in recompense the Knight's Inn assistant manageress, Leia, recommended the Mexican place (Los 3 Garcia) next door to eat and it turned out to be tip-top serving veggie tostadas with guacamole and refried beans. Back at my motel, a bunch of rednecks kept me awake talking loudly till late right outside my door. All good contextual detail, I'm sure, but not when all I wanted was to get to sleep.

Day 27: Saturday, 28th July. Destination: Watseka Motel, Watseka, Illinois

2010-06-12T18:10:00.006+01:00

So here I am in Illinois, home of Barak Obama and title of my current favourite CD, 'Come On Feel The Illinoise' by Sufjan Stevens. I've been anticipating this for some time. Will the inspiration touch me? Will it feel somehow different, more connected to the pulse (or dream) of a Bush-free alternative America? Well, let's see.

These past few days the weather's been overcast and humid. Rain's been lurking on the horizon and caught up with me yesterday afternoon. Probably not the best conditions to enjoy the experience of crossing the farmlands of Indiana. But despite that, people have been very friendly and always willing to start up a conversation. I've cycled past field after field of corn and field after field of soya. I've been chased by more farm dogs than I care to count. One thing's for sure: dogs round here love to bark and chase cyclists. So far, I've survived without any bitten ankles, but those critters sure come at you at one heck of a pace.

I'm currently taking a break from farmland in the Watseka library, Illinois (near Iroquois, just over the state line, and Diversion No.4). No obvious difference between Indiana and Illinois so far - the fields and farmlands continue. The country's basically flat, undulating with gradual ups and downs. The roads criss-cross the land and my route is mostly a series of straight lines punctuated by right-angled corners. Almost all the roads are numbered, so my map directions go something like "twelve miles straight along 900south, turn left, three miles straight along 500west, turn right, ten miles straight along 1125south..." Maybe every 20 miles or so there'll be a gas station where I can fill up on water and cookies.

Getting back to those friendly people I mentioned, at a gas station in Lake City, Ohio, I met a guy who'd lived in Aberdeen in the 1970s while working on the North Sea oil rigs. He had fond memories of cold winters in Scottish B&Bs where the heaters were coin operated. One farmer just outside Hoagland, Indiana (nr. Monroeville) told me that the green, leafy crop I'd been passing for miles was soya. He said corn and soya are nowadays being grown for ethanol, as an alternative to gasoline for cars. Apart from the obvious financial benefits, he reckoned it'd be good for America to be a little less dependant on foreign oil. As we talked, fighter jets thundered overhead from Fort Wayne reserve military base, and the landscape I'd been cycling through took on a larger perspective.

Another farmer, quite an old chap, told me that he'd never left Indiana. I got talking to him at Ma & Pa's Family Diner in Royal Center. His father died when he was 16, and he'd been working on the farm ever since. He reminded me of the actor Walter Brennan:
"I've never met someone from Scotland before. (Pause.) Where did you say you came from?"
I could've stayed drinking coffee with him all day, but those miles won't cycle themselves.

Day 28: Sunday, 29th July. Destination: Town & Country Inn, Streator, Illinois

2010-06-12T18:00:00.004+01:00

Another long day, with a return to sunshine and heat. Frustration with backroad dogs has kept me to the slightly bigger (and certainly straighter) state highways for a while. Cycle-friendly shoulders and only occasional traffic make them quite a pleasant change. Lunch at a colourful town fair in Odell, where I met up with a 21-year-old cyclist from Washington doing the coast-to-coast west to east. He was carrying a tent (as most do) and was trying to hook up with the local mayor to obtain permission to camp in the town park. We ate fries under a marquee and shared cycling stories. Just as I was leaving, I heard his name being mentioned on the fair's p.a., something along the lines of "this guy's cycling across America…" I reckoned he was going to be well looked after.

Out of town, after passing a vintage Standard Oil station on the famous Route 66, I met another couple of cyclists heading east. All said they'd had days of headwinds over the trip, and I've heard that before. I should remember that when people say "you're heading the wrong way!" Some way off-route (final Diversion, No.5) the Town & Country Inn in Streator was nothing special, despite the fancy vintage signage. The bar was dark and smelled of chlorine from the indoor pool (currently closed). There was nothing to eat on the strip mall, so I ended up at the thoroughly depressing fast-food chain Long John Silver's seafood restaurant. A food low for the journey so far.

Day 29: Monday, 30th July. Destination: Super 8 Motel, Kewanee, Illinois

2010-06-12T17:50:00.014+01:00

That rainstorm of the other day cleared away the overcast skies, and here I am in Bradford, Illinois (20m west of Wenona), cycling through my second day of very high heat. The tar's melting on the roads. I stopped to chat to a couple of cyclist yesterday and we realized that our shoes had sunk into the tar so much that we were leaving footprints. It's bearable, though, because almost miraculously as you start to cycle a cool breeze seems to come out of nowhere. And there are plenty of songbirds and butterflies to look at.

In Bradford, 18 miles outside Kewanee, I chatted to a young woman who was working at an unexpectedly hippyish health-food store. I asked her about the yellow ribbons I'd seen recently in the lawns and windows of many of the houses I'd cycled passed. She said a lot of local soldiers had just returned from Iraq, including her brother. She said it was difficult, because there were no jobs for them to come back to, and some couldn't adjust and even if they didn't think the war was achieving anything positive a lot of them ended up going back, because at least out there they felt they belonged to something. She looked sad, pretty and a little bewildered, and Bradford felt a long, long way from Washington and Baghdad.

On a more mundane topic, my motel tonight was the typically tidy and efficient (if characterless) Super 8 with a waffle-iron in the breakfast buffet and… a huge Walmart across the road. Time to stock up on Clif Bars and those fabulous hand-wash sachets for clothes! And so, tomorrow, I leave Illinois. Looking back to my note at the beginning of 28th July's entry I have to say, with regret, that the spirits of Sufjan and Obama have been illusive. Maybe they're somewhere over Chicago. Here, it's all about agriculture and while that counts for a lot, it's not the only sustenance the soul and body need.

Day 30: Tuesday, 31st July. Destination: Super 8 Motel, Muscatine, Iowa

2010-06-12T17:40:00.002+01:00

Still hot. The weather forecast says it's going to stay that way for the next week (91°F / 33°C). I'm aiming at getting up earlier in the morning, though my current 6:30am alarm seems quite early enough. Sun rises at 5:48, so in theory I could be on the road by 6:00...

Last night, at a Motel 8 in Kewanee (18m East of Cambridge), I decided it was about time to check the total length of my trip against the maps I have. You'd have thought I'd have done that before now, but I reckoned my rough estimate (based on the Northern Tier) would be close enough. Turns out that it's 375 miles shy of my real total, 4675 miles. First reaction was a slightly anxious gloom - I don't like extra miles, and I can't extend my trip - but once I'd done some hasty recalculations (with thanks to the waitress at the Kewanee Chinese restaurant who leant me her calculator), I figured that I should be fine: fact is, I’m making good progress; and in my pre-trip calculations I built in a bit of space for give and take.

MAP 05 - Muscatine, IA to Stillwater, MN

2010-06-12T17:30:00.001+01:00

Day 31: Wednesday, 1st August. REST DAY #4: Lincoln Hotel, Lowden, Iowa

2010-06-12T17:20:00.004+01:00

Yesterday afternoon I crossed the Mississippi river into Muscatine, at the end of Map 4. It really feels like I'm getting somewhere. Muscatine's famous for being the "Pearl Button Capital of the World" - well, it was, back in 1897. Back then, it was producing more than a 3rd of the world's supply of buttons, all made from freshwater clam shells. But these days it's famous for having an excellent bicycle shop, Harpers Cycling & Fitness. I had my gears re-tuned; bought a long-sleeved cycle shirt (my arms can't take much more of this sunshine, even with Factor 50); stocked up on Gü gel; and most excitingly, bought a pair of teva-style sandals with pedal cleats! As I'm sure Edward & Ewa will remember, tevas with cleats have been the Holy Grail of cycle shoe comfort for me since I first saw a pair on the feet of a cyclist called Matt back in Ticonderoga, NY. My old cycle shoes are boxed up and on their way back to England. Thanks Greg, for your help.

Now, as you'll have noticed by the shape of the new map, I've reached the NNW leg of my trip that will take me through Iowa and Minnesota up to Fargo, North Dakota. Some of it follows the Mississippi, and it'll involve a lot more ups and downs than I've become accustomed to of late. This is a landscape formed by long-gone glaciers: plenty of moraines, drumlins and eskers to traverse, and an area of 500-million-year-old dolomite to see, South of Red Wing. But for tonight I'm enjoying a semi-rest-day in Lowden, 35 miles north of Muscatine. I'm staying at a fancy B&B called the Lincoln Hotel, opened in 1915 to serve motorists using the Lincoln Highway (the 1st official coast-to-coast highway in the US). Supper tonight at the Country Club. Should make a nice change from Motel 8's and Taco Bell…

(Later) … but of course, it wasn't quite that simple. The Country Club was full of polo-shirted beer-drinking guys standing at the bar talking loudly. I sat far away in the corner keeping a low profile with my fishburger and fries, watching a bugspraying truck send clouds of white smoke into the warm dusk air of suburban Lowden, in preparation for the town's 150th anniversary bash over the next 3 days. Low profile or not, I ended up being bought several whiskies by the proprietor and having an intense conversation with a very drunk young man who was either impressed by my trip or thought I was crazy. Perhaps a bit of both, something along the lines of "Wow. That's awesome. You're totally crazy." These guys were gearing up for some serious beer drinking and hell raising. An invitation to stay and "see things I'd never seen before" not withstanding, I shook hands with all, gave thanks for the whisky, and went to bed early...

Day 32: Thursday, 2nd August. Destination: Colonial Inn, Dyersville, Iowa

2010-06-12T17:10:00.004+01:00

6am start, cycling out of town as the golden sunrise warmed the chill dew over the corn fields. Yes, it really was that pretty. The landscape has transformed, and the maps with it. A return to more familiar twists and turns, as roads follow the natural geography of river and hills. Enjoyed an early lunch at Anam Cara (Soul Friend) in Cascade, where there was healthy food and great smoothies on the menu. Most welcome. I had an APB (Acia berry, Pomegranite & Blueberry), and chatted to a cute student and her pal about stuff. Apparently, Lance Armstrong had cycled through a few weeks ago on the annual 'Ragbrai' Iowa cycle tour. The motto above the café door read "Honor the things that make your heart sing."

Of course, the news here is full of stories about the Minneapolis bridge collapsing. It seems strange to be so close to it (I'll be up there in a week's time), especially after crossing the Mississippi only a couple of days ago. I'm now in Dyersville, home to the famous(?) movie "Field Of Dreams". I decided not to visit the set, and to lurk in the air-conditioned comfort of my motel room instead, watching the news.

My evening meal, to balance last night's drama, was steak followed by homemade pie with a pint of fine local ale at Country Junction family restaurant, "where food is still fixed the old fashioned way." I want to mention this meal because it's the first time on the trip I've eaten meat. Quite a big deal considering I've been vegetarian (or pescatarian, to be accurate) for the past 20 years. Thing is, though, I became vegetarian because of ethical problems with intensive factory-farmed, growth-hormone-enhanced, BSE infected meat production. But now there's free-range, organic local produce to be had I guess my vegetarian ways are more habit than protest. And, as it said on their menu, "Like many communities around the Midwest, the focus of life is centered around agriculture. True to life on the farm, we cook from scratch everyday. From homemade pies, hand cut meats to real mashed potatoes, we do as much scratch cooking as possible because we believe it makes a difference!"

I can't help thinking that local food produced with such an attitude is somehow more ethical than sticking rigidly to my diet of imported frozen fishburgers.

Day 33: Friday, 3rd August. Destination: Harpers Café & Motel, Harpers Ferry, Iowa

2010-06-12T17:00:00.003+01:00

These past few days have been quite a contrast to my flat, hot journey across the farmlands of Indiana & Illinois. The trip North of Iowa to the point where I met up with the Mississippi was through beautiful, rolling hills. Still farmland, but more cattle and less soya. It seems to be nesting time for the birds, and (as a change from being chased by dogs) I found myself being dive-bombed by over-protective red-winged blackbirds.

Although the map showed that I was heading towards the river plain, it seemed like my route was keeping to higher land up to the very last moment. My Northbound day's cycling made an abrupt eastern turn directly towards the river at a place called Monona. It didn't seem to hold much by way of attraction for the passing traveler, and the only café I could find was a darkly shuttered burger bar wedged into the front of a dilapidated 2 storey building, where they served artificially coloured fruit smoothies. The girl behind the counter looked like being bored was simply a fact of life, and I almost felt a little ridiculous trying to prove otherwise by coming all the way from the UK to cycle across America. My half-hearted attempts to chat sunk like dinosaur bones into sediment.

Turning east out of town the first thing that happened was a slight buckle in the road knocking my right pannier off its rack, somehow twisting it round and getting it firmly wedged between the rear wheel and frame. The sudden deceleration felt just like a puncture and it took me a moment to figure out what had happened. I came to a stop directly outside a small office prompting a dog to run to the end of its chain and set up a loud barking that continued without break till I'd finally managed to extricate the pannier and unbend the rack. All this accompanied by a certain amount of swearing, some aimed at the stubborn pannier, some at the road buckle, some at the dog, and some at its owner who was nowhere to be seen. I ended up talking to the dog in an attempt to lessen the stress it was causing me. Something along the lines of "I'm here on the other side of the road, obviously not about to invade your territory, so why can't we just get along?"

And finally, the back of my knee on my right leg has started to hurt. It's quite a sharp pain, and although I have no proof I think it may be caused by my new shoes - otherwise heavenly. Perhaps the cleat set slightly differently on the peddle, or the stiffer sole altering the way my tendons work. I'm hoping it's going to settle down once my leg's adjusted to it. But ever onwards, the 13 mile eastern stretch followed a high, exposed ridge and it was hard to know what was to come.

Cycling down to the Mississippi, at last, felt like entering a secret valley: from open, rolling hills into a world of high, tree lined bluffs. First stop, Harper's Ferry, a little town by the banks of the river frequented by beer-drinking bikers and retired folks who like to sit on the porch and watch the lazy river roll by. I did a little bit of each activity, and found them both to be rewarding.

Day 34: Saturday, 4th August. Destination: Sugar Loaf Motel, Winona, Minnesota

2010-06-12T16:50:00.003+01:00

The ACA route seems hell-bent on taking me up every bluff that provides backdrop to the river plain. Official reason being to keep me away from traffic and provide occasional views. After doing the first bluff I vowed to avoid the rest: They were tiring and anyway the views were almost always obscured by trees or private residences; whereas the 'busy' highways were actually pretty quiet and what's more, provided endlessly fascinating views of the river and the habitation alongside. Still, the one view that sticks in my mind was a beautiful deer lying dead in the middle of the road, knocked over by an early-morning truck. Not the first dead animal I've seen on this trip, but the starkness of it’s richly textured colour against the hard and smooth grey tarmac made the death seem vividly heartless. What a world we live in that beauty can be so casually destroyed in the quest for efficiency and speed.

Today it just rained. Not thrilling thunder-and-lightening-rain, just steady, summer-holiday-in-the-UK rain. I should've stayed in and done a jigsaw. Worse than getting wet, my bike & I got covered in grit which my wheels managed to spray just about everywhere. Not nice for gears and bike chains, or toes. I arrived at the Sugar Loaf motel in Winona and had to wash everything, including the bike.

Day 35: Sunday, 5th August. Destination: Parkway Motel, Red Wing, Minnesota

2010-06-12T16:40:00.007+01:00

It was drizzling lightly this next morning, but the cycle to Red Wing turned out OK. It was cold, would you believe, but atmospheric. Tree-covered bluffs disappearing into grey, rain-saturated clouds, and the smell of wood smoke drifting up from a trailer park campsite down by the riverbank, between the railway and the road. The river is sometimes wide, sometimes narrow as it splits into smaller channels; sometimes muddy brown, sometimes green with algae and lilly pads; sometimes hidden by trees, sometimes opening up to a spectacular vista. But it's always there, as people go about their business fishing for walleye pike or serving up eggs'n'hash browns in one of the riverside diners, where folk talk of dilapidated bridges and what they caught the day before.

Further up the river, on the way to Red Wing, I was admiring the view and reading about the feeding habits of migrating swans on an information post (they enjoy some kind of river tuber), when a cyclist stopped for a chat. Turned out he lived in Lake City (en-route to Red Wing) where he grows raspberries. He ended up inviting me round for fresh raspberries, ice-cream and home-made raspberry liqueur. Delicious. Thanks, Greg! Red Wing is a nice, brick, river town but I didn't see too much of it because I was staying in a motel a bit out of town. Ended up going to see the new Harry Potter movie in the multiplex across the street. It was nice to hear some Scottish accents. Late-night meal at a tex-mex restaurant was a treat, too.

Day 36: Monday, 6th August. Destination: The Loome Family, Stillwater, Minnesota

2010-06-12T16:30:00.007+01:00

Next, on my route up the Mississippi, a hop across the river for a brief 24 miles or so in Wisconsin, over Diamond Bluff to a small town called Prescott, where lies the lovely Strawberry Fields café. Inside the café, one whole wall was shelved with a fabulous and rather groovy collection of LP records and another with pulp fiction book covers, so I had to stay and browse. Got talking to the owner, Mandy, who turned out to be just as groovy as her record collection. Enjoyed a fabulous bowl of oatmeal (mmm... oatmeal!) with maple syrup, and chatted about music. Could've stayed all day. Oatmeal was on the house (figuratively, not literally, I'm glad to say) - thanks M! And finally, Stillwater - end of another map...

...Back in Monroeville (day 24) at the Cyclists Lodging, I'd photocopied a hand-written note offering free accommodation to cylists in Stillwater, so I followed the sketch map up the hill and found the big blue house as described. There lived the lovely Loome family, who opened their doors to me and made me feel totally welcome. The note had been left by David Loome (currently away walking), and I spent the afternoon playing with the family cat before popping down to the library (to catch up on some blogging), and the evening chatting and eating pizza with his mother Karen and sister Cecilia, before being tucked up in a lovely, comfy bed. Thank you so much, D, K & C for such a memorable stay. Without doubt, the best evening of my trip so far. I'm now at the end of another map, and the next section has sat in front of me this afternoon, sorting out accommodation & route breakdown with Karen's help.

MAP 06a - Stillwater, MN to Dalbo, MN

2010-06-12T16:20:00.001+01:00

Map Note: There's an option of routes at this point, either via Grand Rapids or Little Falls. I'm choosing Little Falls because it cuts off quite a dog-leg, which means I leave this map at Dalbo.

Day 37: Tuesday, 7th August. Destination: Super 8, Milaca, Minnesota

2010-06-12T16:10:00.007+01:00

An early start and a long day, with the return of hot sun plus a steady uphill gradient and headwind. Nothing too arduous, but tiring over the distance. Karen had thought the suggested route a lot less attractive than a more direct one she knew, and I was glad to take her advice, but there was no getting round the fact that this was going to be a long day. Alternative accommodation listed on the map, which would have broken down the journey, were either closed or full and I couldn’t find anywhere else on the internet.

The first bit was very pleasant, following the Saint Croix river passed the pretty hamlet of Marine on St. Croix and the wooded William O’Brian state park. But then it was back out into open country winding through small dot-on-the-map towns with pretty much empty space in between, until arriving at Cambridge sometime in the afternoon. With a population of 5,594 it was quite the metropolis, with a mall and a Wallgreen’s store. I stopped there to get my photos downloaded onto a CD because my camera’s memory card was full, and while waiting wandered the aisles of the huge, nicely chilled store gazing at cookies and travel-sized toiletries (my latest obsession).

Back on the road there was still a long slog to Milaca (just past Dalbo on map 6b). Not so bad, really: I was stocked up with snacks and energy bars. As 7:30pm came around I was on the final stretch into town when some jackass in a pickup threw a bottle of pop at me while overtaking. Imagine a full bottle travelling at, let’s say, 30 miles per hour thumping you square in the back. Leaves quite a bruise. Hitting the target lead to whoops from the bottle-thrower and his mates, which gave me a furious burst of energy: I imagined myself catching up and tearing into them like Begbie from Trainspotting (except he'd have been the one throwing the bottle...). It’s amazing how adrenaline overwhelms logic. I’m sure it’s fortunate that I didn’t actually find them, and even at the time I couldn’t help thinking that that burst of energy made the last mile seem effortless. No pain no gain.

MAP 06b - Dalbo, MN to Fargo, ND

2010-06-12T16:00:00.001+01:00

Map Note: This is the Little Falls alternative route to Fargo that misses out the Grand Rapids detour.

Day 38: Wednesday, 8th August. Destination: Super 8, Little Falls, Minnesota

2010-06-12T15:50:00.004+01:00

Leaving Hiawatha Valley into the Land o'Lakes, the countryside has changed in nature to a flat, gradual incline up towards to Great Plains. One thing I noticed: the green cornfields of the Midwest have turned yellow and parched, and yet there are large areas of lush swampland full of reeds. A lot more corn, some sunflowers, and farms divided by scattered but frequent areas of woodland, composed of a pretty mixture of deciduous and pine trees.

At a bar called the Rum Shack at a crossroads 13 miles NW of Milaca, a farmer told me it hasn't rained properly for 4 months, and even if it rains now it'll be too late to save the corn. After the soaking I'd got a couple of days ago I was surprised, but it seems the weather system has sent the rainclouds over these parts without stopping to rain. In another bar a bit further up the road (Milo's Place in Morrill, 41 miles NW of Milaca), the waitress told me that the pretty silver-and-green leaved trees I'd been passing are Popple. Popple is the local name for Quaking Aspen or Trembling Aspen, according to the ever-handy internet. I arrived in Little Falls early in the afternoon, due to a nice SE wind, and had time to explore the town. The falls are long gone, replaced by a picturesque little dam in the heart of the town, creating a tree-shaded park. I lounged there for a while, watching the ducks.

I mentioned back on the 3rd my back-of-the-knee problem. I'm glad to say it's settled down. My bum still hurts periodically: that saddle never seems to become part of the man/bike duality, like the rest of the bike has. Yes, I love my bike. No backache at all after all these miles - somewhat of a first for me. The bike just likes to ride, and I'm neither bored nor frustrated with it. Looks great too: the perfect travel companion.

Day 39: Thursday, 9th August. Destination: Park Motel, Parkers Prairie, Minnesota

2010-06-12T15:40:00.008+01:00

NW headwind pretty much all day, which was tiring, but still arrived mid afternoon. Must be getting tough, or perhaps it’s just those early starts. Cute, old fashioned motel in Parker’s Prairie – the mom’n’pop kind of place I’ve grown to like. Across the road a green and shaded municipal park. I wandered around town in the late afternoon sun, and took some photos of some derelict freight carriages by the rail crossing , a shining grain silo and a typical beer saloon. The light just wanted me to keep taking pictures. I ate dinner and breakfast the next morning at the family diner across the road.

Day 40: Friday, 10th August. Destination: Pelican Motel, Pelican Rapids, Minnesota

2010-06-12T15:30:00.003+01:00

A morning’s cycle through the by now familiar scenery of peat bog & bullrushes, rolling land dotted by copses of woodland and dried-up wheat or sunflowers took me past Lakes Nelson, Fish, Jesse, George, Spitzer, Sampson, Belmont and Clitherall to the elegant town of Battle Lake. In contrast to recent homely dining experiences, I chose to lunch at Stella’s, a chic place serving delicious salads amongst other goodies. It was all dark wood and discreet lighting. Pleasant waitresses ushered me to my table, and there were magazines to browse through that weren’t all about hunting, shooting and fishing. It was lovely, and as I left I met a couple of friendly cyclists heading in. We chatted for a while and it turned out that they're doing this part of the Northern Tier east to west too, so we made plans to meet up in Fargo tomorrow. A proper introduction to them in my next blog, but for now I was left thinking how nice it would be to have travelling companionship for a while.

I headed out of town past the large, touristy Otter Tale Lake (the morning’s lakes were just puddles in comparison, but prettier for it). The road carried on another 24 miles, past some picturesque vintage tractors left to rust by the side of the road, turning occasionally but basically west, until I reached the tiny hamlet of Edwards, marked on the map by a pint symbol. No shop or café in Edwards, just a bar - a red-painted timber-clad converted church by the side of the road. The friendly lady proprietor served me cola and home-made tomato soup while telling me about her relatives from the UK. Her favourite Daniel O’Donnell CD played in the background.

A little further down the road and there I was checking in to the Pelican Motel. The owner was a really nice young guy and he & his wife had bought the place recently. I hope it’s a success for them: I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again - I like these independent mon’n’pop places. He recommended an all-you-can eat fish place for dinner, but it was too low-brow for my Battle Lake state of mind (families chowing down on deep-fried fish nuggets served in red plastic wicker baskets). I ended up at a fancy - if pretty quiet - bar & bistro on Main Street, enjoying a home-made burger and local beer. To end the day, a T-storm pulled into town and it poured down as the bistro closed up, rain sparkling in the streetlights. The owner let me hang around till it moved on.

Day 41: Saturday, 11th August. Destination: Grand Inn, Moorhead, Minnesota

2010-06-12T15:20:00.006+01:00

Of all the States I've cycled though, Minnesota was the one I had least idea of what to expect, and has been the most surprising. But what I really want to say about Minnesota is just how kind and friendly everyone has been. I'm going to miss it. Heading NW, I cycled through an area of lakes that became increasingly barren till arriving here in Fargo, my official half-way point, but more of that in the next post... for now, back to those cyclists I met up with yesterday.

So, who are they? Bill Robertson & Jim Wallace, both a bit older than myself and cycling on recumbents. They've been abandoning their wives/girlfriends for many a year to go off on epic cycle trips round America. Going a more direct route than me, they'd settled in to the hotel before I arrived - it was good to have a friendly note waiting for me at the reception. I hung out in their room chatting while Bill cleaned his bike and Jim offered me several vodka tonics, and later we went out to a Chinese buffet to celebrate my half-way. Bill's son works for the Adventure Cycle Association researching these very routes, so I'm now hooked up with a direct line in case I get lost! And more importantly, Bill gave me an alternative map across Western Montana that cuts off a huge detour, shaving off 289 miles. I'm back down to a grand total of 4386. Nice guys, and I'm hoping to meet up with them again, somewhere further down the line (they left early this morning, as I settled in to my 5th rest day).

Day 42: Sunday, 12th August. REST DAY #5: Grand Inn, Moorhead, Minnesota

2010-06-12T15:10:00.004+01:00

So here I am in Fargo, half way across the US, a little tired due to a recent couple of days of headwind combined with heat and humidity, but otherwise feeling OK. I've cycled 2,528 miles according to my cycle computer, and 2350 according to my cycle maps. It's quite possible that the difference is the result of minor detours to find food/drink/accommodation each day - I think the reading's pretty accurate. I'm taking my first full rest day since Monroeville, Indiana, and it feels good to be off the bike for a short while. It's Sunday so the library's shut, but thankfully there's a nice café with internet where I am now, drinking café latte and feeling more urban than rural for the first time in ages. But its 12o'clock and I have a date with the local bike shop (my rear pannier rack has got a bit bent and lost a nut). Later!

…After getting my bike sorted and hanging out at the slick & contemporary (if virtually empty) Plains Art Museum, I ended up back at the internet café. Finally got a handlebar mirror that works! The helmet-mounted one I bought back in the Adirondaks just didn't do it, but this is great: no more neck-twisting to check the distance of oncoming vehicles. Also, stacked up on Clif Bars and Gü as there's not much in the way of cycle shops for some time to come.

MAP 07 - Fargo, ND to Minot, ND

2010-06-12T15:00:00.000+01:00

Day 43: Monday, 13th August. Destination: Cyclists Lodging, Page, North Dakota

2010-06-12T14:50:00.003+01:00

Heading out of Fargo on my first day’s cycling in North Dakota and if the first day’s anything to go by it’s going to be flat, straight and long, with a return of the land parcel system marking a giant 1 square mile grid over the countryside. Virtually all turnings are right-angles, with tarmac side-roads only occasionally taking the place of gravel and wheat fields reaching to the horizon. On that horizon, to the SW, a rather intense-looking cloud formation was gathering, with lightening sparking the sky. The wind, coming from the SE, seemed to be blowing it my way and I started to get a little concerned because there was absolutely no shelter, anywhere.

I paused by a row of giant golden hay bails at one of those perpendicular gravel off-roads and – after a quiet moment of empty space - watched a pickup truck drive from the very horizon, past junction after junction, to eventually slow down, turn onto the off-road and stop beside me. I thought, what were the odds of that? Should I be concerned? It all felt a little like that scene in North By Northwest when Cary Grant is watching a crop-duster plane slowly approach the field where he’s waiting, in the moment before he realises that he’s the target… As it turned out, the pickup belonged to a nice young couple who, simply by coincidence, lived in a ranch down the track, and had stopped just to check that I was OK. They told me there was an official storm warning, with possible hail (!) and if caught out I should take shelter in the storm drains that run under each road crossing. I kept thinking: yes, but what about my bike?!

The only town between Fargo and Page, called Arthur, was a little over half way. There was nothing really for it but to plough on and hope to beat the storm. And that, I’m glad to say, is what happened. I got comfy in a friendly little café as the sky darkened and the rain started to pour. The TV was on the weather channel showing threatening T-storm graphics and so I decided to settle in till the all-clear. By chance, the café was part of a small indoor market which had a 2nd hand bookshop. Excellent timing, as I’d just finished the only book I’d brought with me (The Coronation of Haile Selassie by Evelyn Waugh). Trouble was, 95% of all the books were romance novels, and the remaining 4% about war. It took a while to hunt down the elusive 1% “others” and, in the end, selected The Edible Woman by Margaret Atwood, which had a cover that made it look like a trashy 70s sexcapade.

Well, the rains moved on and the sun came out and it was all steam ahead to Page, a tiny place at a junction of a highway and two railways. Accommodation in what seemed like the back office of a local real estate business. No window, but nice and clean with a big bed and a good shower. All this being the 2nd (and last) official cyclist’s lodging of the journey. A woman met me at the pub (this was organised by phone in Fargo), let me in and left me to it. I dined at the town’s diner – another nice (if half empty) family place, strolled down to the railway crossing, then off to bed early to got started on my new book.

Day 44: Tuesday, 14th August. Destination: Prairie View Lodge, Pekin, North Dakota

2010-06-12T14:40:00.017+01:00

Am I in the middle of nowhere yet? Skirting the T-storms and (so far) avoiding the worst of the headwinds - even getting some nice winds from the SE pushing me along - I'm learning the art of measuring distance when all around you is flat, and the road is straight as far as the eye can see. Cars between a half-mile and a mile away just seem to hover in space, not getting any larger or smaller as they get closer or further away. Then suddenly they whiz past or vanish into the distance. Very weird. The mind has a way of wandering when there's not much visual stimulation to latch on to. I'll start thinking about something, then something else (forgetting the previous thing), and at the end of the day have no memory of thinking about anything at all. It's a bit like scribbling in a notebook then, every so often, ripping the page out and starting a fresh one. My route is littered with discarded thoughts. All of them genius, of course! Or, if not, there's no way of telling.

Today, Page to Pekin via Colgate, Hope, Coopstown and Binford. Light NE wind with some rain in the afternoon, but OK for cycling. Sioux country, of old. Eggs in Page, pancakes in Hope, internet & library in Cooperstown were I found a place that served great veg soup with dumplings for lunch. Pekin, another town with a crossroads and a railway, and a large grain elevator looming over the town. A few trees hid the place from view, but amongst them a small square, a pub and a hunter’s lodge, where I was staying. The place was empty so I had a suite all to myself, including kitchen and dining/living room. Quite cosy, in a plaid and vinyl kind of way.

Dined out at the Peek-In Pub (get it?!). On the menu: 8 kinds of frozen pizza, all of them meat. The place was full of loud ladies who could have out-laughed Roseanne Barr at her lairiest. Not quite in the mood, so headed back to the lodge for an early night with the ‘local on the eights’. And what does that mean? Simply, local weather forecast every 10 minutes on the '8's - i.e. 8, 18, 28 etc after the hour. Weather channel turns to teletext with 70s jazz-lite soundtrack as the local weather conditions (including wind direction and speed; things I’m starting to take an interest in) scroll down the screen. Hypnotic, and – as I’ve discovered – generally pretty accurate.

Day 45: Wednesday, 15th August. Destination: Spirit Water Inn, Minnewaukan, North Dakota

2010-06-12T14:30:00.011+01:00

Before I set off on this trip, folks at work warned me to look out for creepy ‘Deliverance’-style rednecks. So far so good, but on this pleasant jaunt through the byways of rural North America, it’s worth remembering that it only takes one wrong turn…

So there I am, setting off on a bright sunny day heading towards the not-at-all ominous sounding Devils Lake. After 22 miles I see on my map there’s a little town called Warwick coming up with both café & store symbols on it – just time for a mid-morning snack! – but the town wasn’t there, just a red dirt road heading across a field to a patch of trees with perhaps some farm-type dwellings beyond. I took the dirt road, wondering if there could possibly be a café & store in such an unpromising place. It took a sharp turn behind some trees and there I was amidst a weather-beaten cluster of buildings. I pulled up outside the only possibly habitable place, a tin shed claiming to be a bar, which had no windows and a metal plate for a door with a kind of porthole in it showing nothing but darkness beyond. It had to be closed, but as this was the only place in town the least I could do was check it out. To my surprise the door opened and I stepped into a dimly-lit saloon. The bartender was a skinny young man dressed as a cowboy and chewing tobacco. A couple were sitting at the bar. As my eyes became adjusted to the gloom, I saw that the walls were covered with one dollar bills, most of them marked in red ink with initials. I took a seat at the bar and ordered a sprite and a snickers bar. I settled in and was left alone to soak up the atmosphere and let my mind wander…

…Back outside in the sunshine, a beer truck had pulled up. A cheerful delivery guy gave me the breakdown on just how many cans of beer this small place puts away each week - I don’t recall the amount but it was impressive. I realised that what had seemed strange and sinister half an hour ago had become workaday and familiar. So, no ‘Deliverance’ plot twist, but a nice shudder up the spine to remind me that, when you stop to think about it, I’m a long way from home.

But there’s more to talk about today. A road that took me into the middle of Devils Lake before coming to an abrupt halt at a T-junction. Yes, a T-junction in the middle of a lake; an all-you-can-eat buffet lunch at the Spirit Lake Casino. I hate Indian Reservation Casinos: they’re so depressing. But the doormen were really friendly and enthusiastic about my cycle trip – and let’s face it, the buffet was great; a half-submerged white painted timber house; 25 miles of flat, featureless land which left me a little dispirited; and finally the Spirit Water Inn, a place made up of a row of just-a-little-too-functional-to-be-cute self-catering chalets, all with groovy 70s lighting and timber beam pitched roofs. The good folks of Minnewauken cheered me up at the local bar’n’grill: Walleye (perch) for supper, with beers bought by local character, Mike Duty.

Day 46: Thursday, 16th August. Destination: Econo Lodge, Rugby, North Dakota

2010-06-12T14:20:00.004+01:00

All things considered, I may not be in the middle of nowhere quite yet. But I am in the Geographical Centre of North America: Rugby, North Dakota. One for the Pub Quiz enthusiasts amongst us. Doesn't look particularly central to me, but I won't argue with the U.S. Department of the Interior. And they have gone to the trouble of building a nice cairn.

Since Fargo, North Dakota has grown on me, just a bit. At first it was too flat with nothing to look at, and then (to contradict what I'd written) for the past two days I've been cycling up a seemingly continual incline into a side-wind that likes to act like a head-wind. Not fun. Plus the food hasn't been too great. But I've resigned myself to the wind, slowed my pace, and started looking around with a bit more interest. The landscape is green and gold: endless fields of grass and recently cropped wheat. A few abandoned farms, a few working farms. A few small lakes populated by ducks and surrounded by bullrushes. A few trees. And everywhere, the sound of crickets. Wildflowers grow beside the road, and hundreds of small white butterflies flutter amongst them. Today I passed an enormous, beautiful field full of cornflowers with a single huge oak tree in the centre. If I'd have painted it, you'd have thought I'd made it up.

A couple of days ago I overtook a tractor. I don't get to overtake things very often, so I wanted to mention it... It was old and red like a die-cast Dinky toy, and looked splendid. As I cycled past, I wanted to shout "nice tractor!" but I was worried the driver would think I was taking the Mickey or, even worse, challenging him to a race.

Day 47: Friday, 17th August. Destination: Days Inn, Minot, North Dakota

2010-06-12T14:10:00.003+01:00

New map next, with a return of the old format: that means I'm heading due West again after this week's long NW stretch from Fargo. Just for the record, a nice tailwind today, and one forecast for tomorrow. Not much to say about Minot, other than it rhymes with why not. As in why not visit Minot. Not the prettiest of towns, I asked the receptionist at the Days Inn Motel "If you only had one day in Minot, what would you do?"
"Get drunk."

The only other thing that happened there was my 3rd puncture, caused by a thin strip of metal somehow embedded in my room's thick pile carpet. Route watchers should note that I'm only on this map till Wolf Point, where I join the Lewis & Clark trail. But more of that anon.

MAP 08a - Minot, ND to Wolf Point, MT

2010-06-12T14:00:00.007+01:00

Map Note: This looks like a long, 590m Westward stretch, but I'm only on this map as far as Wolf Point.

Day 48: Saturday, 18th August. Destination: Sunset Motel, New Town, North Dakota

2010-06-12T13:50:00.009+01:00

The day started with a straight 17 miles along Federal Route 83 into a headwind, the dull monotony of the wide road and the passing trucks adding to my treasured memories of Minot. Turning off onto a familiar two-lane country road came as a relief, adding to which the remaining 56 miles of the day were a straight line heading due west – with a tailwind. Nothing much to look at, excepting short-cropped fields of yellow grass. Lunch was to be at a little town 1 mile off-route called Makoti but a sign at the junction informed me it was closed on Saturday. Closed? On Saturday? So, lunch was provided by the gas station, which served microwave egg muffins and soda.

New Town was a dusty place with little in the way of charm. Low, shop-front buildings with a road running through it – that’s about your lot. The owner of my motel said that things were looking up for New Town, as oil prices have brought a renewed interest in the reserves in these parts. Arrived early in the afternoon, but the library was shut (being the weekend) so I had nothing to do but wander up and then back down the main street. New Town is located close to (but not on) the banks of Lake Sakakawea - a name that meant nothing to me but is beginning to take on a resonance as the Lewis & Clark trail beckons.

Day 49: Sunday, 19th August. Destination: Super 8, Williston, North Dakota

2010-06-12T13:40:00.003+01:00

My last day in North Dakota. So how's it been? Those fields of green and gold I wrote about have, since leaving Rugby, turned to sun-bleached yellow, dry green, orange-brown, and the sky a blanket of low grey cloud, giving way to a thin strip of white on the horizon. It's been chilly in the morning, and the wind hasn't really stopped blowing, though I shouldn't really complain as it's been SE for 3 days now. There are no trees, and the ground rises and falls. Towns can be picked out at some distance by the municipal water tower and grain elevator, and there's not a lot more to them when you get close up.

Today, I cycled through 71 miles of Bad Lands, which meant more ups and downs as the road took me across riverbeds and around lakes (some of them dried out), past rocky outcrops and over rounded hills. The only restaurant on the route - one which promised 'famous, home-made Juneberry Pie' - was closed, so I dined on energy bars and a couple of bananas a Swedish couple gave me out of sympathy as we stood outside the closed cafe. I don't remember much about Williston. Another water tower, another grain elevator, another Super 8 Motel. Entering and leaving town I cycled passed large scrap yards of old trucks and engine parts just sitting out in the sun, lying amongst parched grass and scrub. Goodbye North Dakota. Montana, here we come...

Day 50: Monday, 20th August. Destination: Diamond Willow Inn, Culbertson, Montana

2010-06-12T13:30:00.001+01:00

I crossed the State Line into a headwind, with grey skies overhead. The first person I spoke to in Montana was the lovely Jennifer, waitress at the Stateline Casino. She told me a little about the "oil boom" folks round here have been enjoying: they've known the oil was here since the 80's, but it's only recently become profitable to get it out of the ground. Kids are leaving school straight into $80,000 p.a. jobs in the oil industry, and people sitting on oil land never need do a day's work in their lives. And so they come to the Casino to pour their money into the slot machines. Easy come, easy go, I guess.

The Diamond Willow Inn, located on another one-street town in the middle of nowhere, takes the prize (so far) for least-deserving-of-it's-cute-name award, where the bed sheets had that greasy unwashed look and there were dead flies on the carpet, and the owners, despite their Christian zeal (announced by hand-painted mottos all over the reception), obviously had no truck with the old adage that Cleanliness leads to Godliness. No willows or diamonds, either.

Wandering up the main street in admittedly atmospheric twilight I passed the high school football park, where guys were either hanging out or playing (couldn't quite discern which) in their bright team sweaters with those ridiculously over-padded shoulders and cage-fronted helmets. One of them flipped me the bird. For some reason I was drawn to the road bridge on the way out of town - perhaps because the road out of town has become to feel more like home to me than some of the places I've been staying at; or because it made me think of the thousands of people that must have driven past without even knowing the place existed.

Day 51: Tuesday, 21st August. Destination: Big Sky Motel, Wolf Point, Montana

2010-06-12T13:20:00.009+01:00

It's been no easy going for me for these past couple of days, struggling into a relentless headwind as I recorded my slowest daily average speed of the trip, to date: a mighty 8mph. There were long sections where I just had to get into racing position and keep my head down, watching my feet pump round and round as the road surface rolled by underneath. Dust-coloured crickets jumped out of my way and got blown onto my legs, some of them clinging on for the ride. Folks round here seem to enjoy throwing their empty beer bottles onto the shoulder of the road - where I'm sure they make a pleasing crash - adding an extra hazard on top of gusting wind and overtaking trucks. But yet...

But yet, when I turned my head sideways to take a look at the view, somewhere on the road to Culbertson, the grey had silently slipped away, revealing and almost endless blue sky reaching from one far horizon to the other. And the sky was full of little fluffy clouds, receding into the far distance. It was amazingly beautiful. Welcome to the Big Sky. And just for a while, despite the wind and the trucks, I was grinning like an idiot for the first time since arriving in North Dakota. My internal jukebox (supplying me with a rather random selection of tunes to sing along to, on various points of the trip), which had fallen silent for some time now, switched itself back on, and I found myself singing - appropriately enough - 'Big Sky' by Kate Bush (with extended drum solo) all the way to Wolf Point.

MAP 8b & 9 - Wolf Point, MT to Missoula, MT

2010-06-12T13:10:00.005+01:00

Map Note: Map 8b runs from Wolf Point to Great Falls; Map 9 from Great Falls to Missoula. Both are adapted from the ACA Lewis & Clark trail. On the advice of the ACA, I skipped Fort Peck and a 96m route without services. Instead, I went South from Wolf Point to Circle, then West to pick up the route at Jordan. At the end of Map 8b, I skipped the dog-leg to Fort Benton going straight WNW from Lewiston to Great Falls via Eddie's Corner. Map 9 is the shorter alternative given me by Bill at Moorhead on 11th Aug (mine would have taken me on a 476 mile horseshoe). These changes have brought my total map mileage back down to, almost exactly, 4,300 map miles.

Day 52: Wednesday, 22nd August 2007. Destination: Travellers Inn, Circle, Montana

2010-06-12T13:00:00.009+01:00

Last night I made it to Wolf Point, and today cut south to a place called Circle. This is a variation to my route and misses out Fort Peck, rejoining the route tomorrow 36m east of Jordan. The good things about this are a) it gets me off the busy Route 2, and b) it means a day without headwind. I arrived around lunchtime and the motel, though basic, has internet so I can get this blog up-to-date. And another good thing, the cafe next door does the best cup of tea since leaving Brighton...

The sky continues to be amazing (as it should, on the Big Sky Back Country Byway), and the only hassle was my 4th puncture of the trip, caused by a shard of brown, beer-bottle glass on the road's shoulder (refer to previous post). The other thing I wanted to mention was a moment of temptation yesterday: as I struggled against the wind into Poplar a freight train, going the same way as me, slowed down for a brief stop. It was one of those endless trains, and there were a couple of empty wagons. All I had to do was carry my bike across a strip of scrubland and I could've hoisted my bike up and ridden the rails all the way to Wolf Point... avoiding the wind and fulfilling a childhood fantasy all in one go. But I hesitated, wondering if I could still say I’d cycled across America if I got on, and the moment was lost.

This evening, as usual, I strolled into town looking for somewhere to eat. I like these moments: feeling light on my feet after a day in the saddle, wearing ‘normal’ clothes and clean after a shower. Not much in Circle except a crossroads and some single-storey buildings that wouldn’t disgrace a cowboy movie. I found only one place open, the Wooden Nickel. Empty, except for a couple enjoying their evening meal. I got chatting to the waiter who was wearing a cool work t-shirt. I’ve been looking for a new t-shirt so I asked if I could buy one: he asked the manager who told me they’d run out. Tinge of disappointment. On leaving, the manager came over and said a girl had recently quit and left her 2 work t-shirts: did I want them? That put a smile back on my face. Yes please and thank you. What makes this special is that I don’t have room to carry mementos, but essential clothing is the exception. Consider this a freshly laundered souvenir.

Day 53: Thursday, 23rd August. Destination: Fellmans Motel, Jordan, Montana

2010-06-12T12:50:00.007+01:00

Before I start, I have to mention a moment of anxiety last night when I realized that carrying TWO souvenir t-shirts broke my no mementos rule. So, I wrapped one up with an explanatory thank-you note and left it on the cafe doorstep (I was away before opening time). Fuelled by a slice of cherry pie bought the night before, today took me across yet more amazing country. It looked like the surface of the moon, but covered with dried yellow grass and riven with creeks and buttes rather than craters. Technically, the wind had turned to the SE but actually it was calm - a most welcome change.

The only strange thing was that my bike kept on behaving like it'd had a puncture. Most inexplicable. It got so bad at times I had to stop to check the tyres, not believing my own eyes which could see they were OK. Brakes OK, frame OK, chain OK, wheels OK... what could cause this outbreak of phantom puncture phenomenon (p.p.p.)? I thought it was the road surface, perhaps more gluey then usual. Or maybe pockets of negative air pressure dragging me backwards...

But anyway, Jordan is famous for one big thing: dinosaurs. The Garfield County Museum told me all about it: over half (half!) of the 30-some T-Rex skeletons found in the world are from this area. I was surprised that so few have been found, and I don't think any of them are actually complete. They had a triceratops, too. In Jordan, I was still thinking it likely that I’d bump into Bill & Jim some time soon. I strolled down to the only other motel in town to see if they’d passed through last night, or had a reservation for tomorrow. The receptionist thought she might have spoken to a couple of cyclists, which turned out to be a red herring: as became obvious later, they were taking another route altogether, heading to Great Falls via Route 2 which runs North of the Missouri River from Fort Peck (which I would have gone through if I hadn’t detoured via Circle) to Fort Benson (which was on my route as well, although I ended up missing it out). As I hope I’ve made clear somewhere else, my route (the official Lewis & Clark) took me South of the river. Their comments on my blog re Forts Peck & Benton had kept my hopes up we were going the same way. Darn these ACA maps that don't show anything off-route, or I might've figured it out.

Day 54: Friday, 24th August. Destination: Northern Hotel, Winnett, Montana

2010-06-12T12:40:00.004+01:00

A cold and dark morning: it'd rained overnight and there was still drizzle in the air. I had to wear my fleece & rain jacket till lunchtime - an unprecedented affair. Stopped at a gas station/post office/general store half way at Sand Springs (the only service stop on the route: there's not really a whole heap of places between Wolf Point and Lewistown). Still suffering from p.p.p., I decided to check air pressure. Turned out to be 50psi, rather than the preferred 85-90. The post lady switched on her air pump for me and I had those tyres as hard as nails in seconds. Certainly beats pumping away like a madman.

Spent the rest of the day thinking about dinosaurs: it's quite easy to imagine T.Rex still roaming these lands. It warmed up in the afternoon, and the air was heavy with the scent of sage. Cycled past several ranches, and down and up several more creeks. No rattlesnakes, though I am told they're here. Winnett is a small cowboy town - there was even a rodeo set for tomorrow. Ate at the Kosy Korner cafe (at the only crossroads in town) and watched the horse trucks arrive. It would have been fun to stay and watch, but the one hotel in town is booked out for tomorrow and I feel a need to keep on moving.

Day 55: Saturday, 25th August. Destination: Eddies Corner, 19m W of Lewiston, Montana

2010-06-12T12:30:00.007+01:00

What are those large green bush-type things on wooden sticks? Could they be trees? And what's that jagged blue band between the near horizon and the sky? Surely not... mountains? Yes, it's come to pass: I'm finally starting to leave the flat lands. My first hill climb since the Adirondacks took me over the Judith Mountains. Not really mountainous, thought the return of my old friend the WNW wind helped to make it somewhat more than a doddle. However, I had two slices of pie from the Kosy Korner cafe to help me over (one blueberry, one rhubarb - delicious! Plus a mini-bottle of '5-Hour Energy' - E&E will remember it as the stuff that tasted like sick). The mountain ridge is covered with a band of large pine trees, and the grass is green rather than yellow.

By the way, the p.p.p. persists, so it wasn't the air pressure (although pumping did help). Maybe I need to get new tyres? The ones I've got are by now pitted with cuts, though it's hard to imagine a cut would feel like a puncture... Passed through Lewiston (my official 3/4 of the way point) to spend the night at a gas station/truck stop/24-hour-cafe/motel in the middle of nowhere called Eddie's Corner. My room had no windows and parked trucks kept their engines running outside. The TV had only 3 stations, one showing a continual advert for a 'Time Life' compilation of classic 70s & 80s Soft Rock, compered by Air Supply ("If you love soft rock as much as we do, you're in for a treat"). I couldn't help thinking of the 3 guys I know called Eddie (OK, Edward, Eddie & Ed), all lovers of rock music (is it something about the name?). You'd have loved it, I'm sure!

Day 56: Sunday, 26th August. Destination: Super 8, Great Falls, Montana

2010-06-12T12:20:00.003+01:00

So here I am in Great Falls, enjoying a rest day (my first since Fargo, which seems like an age ago). Over 3/4 of the way, and feeling like I need to do something other than cycle. So it's off to the Lewis & Clark Interpretive Center this afternoon. The cycle from Eddie's Corner was through Judith Basin - a large area of flat land separating the Judith Mountains and the Missouri River. Had my 5th puncture, thanks to more beer bottle glass. A calm morning, but the wind picked up in the afternoon. The flat plain turned into a valley, which acted as a wind funnel. The narrow road, as it turned out, is much used by trucks so the combined effect of blustering winds and high speed 16 wheelers detracted from the otherwise unusual and pleasant landscape.

20 miles out of town, on a ferociously windy upland stretch that had me worried I couldn't keep to a straight line & I'd be hurtled into the side of a passing truck, a couple stopped and gave me an energy bar (Clif! My favourite!). 15 miles out I gave up fighting with the wind and read my book in a corner of a wheat field for 40 minutes, hoping it'd die down. It didn't. 10 miles out I stopped at the first bar I got to and drank a cool 7-Up and ate a plate of chips. Talked to a guy who makes locally brewed beer. Finally made it by 7pm. A tough 90 miles, but it's good to be here.

Day 57: Monday, 27th August. REST DAY #6: O'Haire Motel Inn, Great Falls, Montana

2010-06-12T12:10:00.001+01:00

Slept in till 7:30am! Had a leisurely breakfast! After that strenuous effort, switched motels from the somewhat anonymous Super 8 to the friendly (and less expensive) O'Haire Motel Inn, and found myself a good bike shop to sort out the mysterious p.p.p. Brin Grosfield of Knicker Biker reckoned that the front wheel bearings had got too tight and loosened them just a little. What a difference. Other than that, I'm glad to say my lovely bike is still in tip-top condition. Probably the experience of the past few days was exacerbated by contributing factors such as poor road condition, blustery head/sidewinds and general tiredness.

I spent the afternoon at the Lewis & Clark Interpretive Center, where I learned a little more about President Thomas Jefferson's Corps of Discovery. Great adventure stuff, and lots about all the Indian tribes they encountered, but little on the research they conducted. One principal goal was to follow the Missouri all the way to the Pacific. I wish! They had to struggle over the Rockies, just like all us cyclists to follow...

Day 58: Tuesday, 28th August. Destination: Bunkhouse Inn, Augusta, Montana

2010-06-12T11:50:00.007+01:00

Back on Saturday 11th August, in Fargo, you may recall that Bill gave me an alternative map across Western Montana which cut off a huge detour. Well, today's the first day on it so perhaps a little explanatory digression is in order. There are two ACA routes between Great Falls and Missoula, but only one of them is titled as such. The other is called Missoula to Clarkston - and that's the one with the alt route on it. A bit confusing. So, I headed off with the 1st version packed away, feeling not so bad about it as the route wandered its way south following the Lewis & Clark trail through some spectacular sounding scenery before bending back up to Missoula. The alt route cuts directly west, like drawing a line across the top of a letter U. I was slightly worried that the directness might come at the cost of scenery, but rolling farmland with Continental Divide on the horizon created an epic (if just a little bit daunting) backdrop.

Augusta sat at the foot of the mountains, a picturesque hunting'n'fishing town with a cowboy feel to it. The Bunkhouse Inn, a white-painted two-storey timber frame building on main street, with a porch and small, simple rooms seemed to fit the mood just right. As one lady had written in the guest book, "Hangin' out on the front deck made me want to put on fancy clothes & wave at the boys. Hmmmm…"

Day 59: Wednesday, 29th August. Destination: Blue Sky Motel, Lincoln, Montana

2010-06-12T11:40:00.004+01:00

I'm in the library in Lincoln, a pretty one-street town lined by ponderosa pine and saloon bars. My bike's leaning against the hitching post outside and hopefully no rustlers will make off with it while I'm in here. Got some huckleberries in my bag (a gift from the barmaid at the Bootlegger Bar - she felt it was about time I tried them out). To be honest, I'm tired out but glad to be here. Roger's Pass (where I crossed the Continental Divide) was beautiful - all pine trees and epic mountains, and not really so tough: 8.5 miles uphill at a fairly even gradient. It was just hot and the wind picked up and there were a lot of logging trucks grinding past.

Last night in Augusta there was a certain amount of drinking at the Western Bar. A guy called Gus Wolfe, who claimed to be a world-famous wildlife photographer, kept on buying me beer. It was hard to say no. And today I found out why there's so much beer-bottle glass on the road: A guy outside the last bar before Roger's Pass (which was closed, I'm sad to say) told me that in Montana, you'll get fined $500 for littering, but $1000 for drink driving, which can be proved by having empty bottles in the vehicle. So, if you see the police coming, it's actually an incentive to throw all you bottles out of the window...

Day 60: Thursday, 30th August. Destination: Blossom’s B&B, Missoula, Montana

2010-06-12T11:30:00.003+01:00

Lovely, calm day down the valley to Missoula, which was shrouded by an LA-type smog caused by a summer's worth of fires in the National Forests of Montana and Idaho. Destination: the national headquarters of the Adventure Cycling Association, where I'd made plans to meet up with Bill and his son Tom, whom, if you recall, works there. Jim had flown back from Great Falls a few days earlier, so I missed meeting up with him one last time. Cycling through town I got my 6th puncture just across the street from the ACA office. Cause unknown.

So anyway, we all met up; I had my polaroid photo taken with Bill to go on the wall of fame beside the front door; I fixed my puncture (getting good at that) and we all headed back to Tom's for a delicious meal made by his wife Ruth. Then, we all jumped on our bikes and cycled across town to see a ball game - Missoula Ospreys vs Great Falls White Sox. Missoula is nestled in a valley between the Continental Divide and the Rocky Mountains, and the amphitheatre of seating around the baseball diamond is itself encircled by the mountains that surround the city providing a grand backdrop. Plus, there's an osprey nesting on a tree at the edge the playing field. Though I don't claim to know much about baseball (except from what I learned reading 'Peanuts' cartoons), the game was fun to watch and there was plenty of popcorn and beer. Everytime something good happened (to the Ospreys) the tannoy system blared out "We Will Rock You", and when something bad happened (to the White Sox) it played "Another One Bites The Dust". A good evening for Queen fans.

One other thing to make a fine day complete: Bill had booked me into (and paid for) a lovely B&B just across the street from Tom's, called Blossoms. A little bit of luxury after all those motels, and once again I find myself overwhelmed by the hospitality and kindness of the good people of this nation... but it doesn't stop there... (read on in Pt.2)

Day 61: Friday, 31st August. REST DAY #7: Bel Aire Motel, Missoula, Montana

2010-06-12T11:20:00.003+01:00

A weekend off, that's what I need. The Rockies beckon but I want to enjoy them, not struggle through them. So, after a delicious breakfast at Blossoms, I booked into a budget motel and settled down to giving my bike's chain and gears a well earned clean-up, coutesy of Tom's marvellous bike garage. On the walls a variety of racing and touring bikes, a Wilco poster, a well-stocked work bench, an espresso machine - and my bike in the middle of it, mounted on a handy supporting frame making it easy to get to all those hard-to-get-to bits. I settled down with a soon-to-be very oily rag (first of two) and Tom'n'Ruth's cat to keep me company, and a couple of hours later was proudly looking at a gleamingly clean chain and rear cassette.

After a lazy afternoon, I went out in the evening to see the lovely Liz Carlisle, a country singer from Missoula on the verge of making it big, singing at the Crystal Theatre. Good to hear some live music.

Day 62: Saturday, 1st September. REST DAY #8: Bel Aire Motel, Missoula, Montana

2010-06-12T11:10:00.003+01:00

Today, I took my bike to Missoula Bicycle Works to get my gears tuned. Turned out that bike chains have a lifetime of around 2,000 miles, and mine had stretched to it's very limit: Not only did the guy recommend that I replace it, but that I replace the rear cassette, too, as the links of the chain wear down the teeth of the cassette. All my hard work of yesterday morning! For nothing! Ah well, it was kind of therapeutic, and the cat was good company. Leaving the shop with a bike gleaming like new, I reckoned it was about time I cleaned myself up a bit too, so I popped into Roosters barbershop for a haircut. Turned out to be a rather excellent place where my barber, Peter, not only gave me a great cut but an old-fashioned hot-towel shave, too. I don't think my face has been that smooth since I was a baby. Plus they offered me a cold beer, just for turning up.

And finally, off to Paula's for supper dans le jardin. Who is Paula, you might ask? It's tempting to come up with some wild story, but the truth is she's a friendly woman I sat down beside at the concert last night. She and her husband were having a dinner party for some friends, and invited me to join them. We had a lovely evening eating delicious food in their back garden. Her son, a fisherman, told us many a tale of fishing the Alaskan seas down to California, searching for barnacles and mermaids, Yarrr… Or perhaps it was squid, by moonlight…

And tomorrow, I head off into the Rockies.

MAP 10 - Missoula, MT to Baker City, OR

2010-06-12T11:00:00.000+01:00

Map Note: From Missoula to the West Coast I'm following the TransAmerica trail through Idaho and Oregon. I leave the Lewis & Clark trail as I turn South from Kooskia.

Day 63: Sunday, 2nd September. Destination: Lochsa Lodge, 13m W of Lolo Pass, Idaho

2010-06-12T10:50:00.004+01:00

So it's farewell to Montana and welcome Idaho, home to my route through the Rocky Mountains. I have to admit to a little trepidation about this stage - after all, these are big mountains, and all the way over from the East Coast people have been saying to me with foreboding "ah, but you've still got the Rockies to come...", as if you really haven't done anything till you've done them. So how was it?

Lolo Pass (5,235ft) turned out to be a lovely day's cycle up a cedar and aspen lined valley, beside a bonnie brook - Lolo Creek - that sparkled in the sunlight. The final few bends to the top gave dramatic views of the surrounding mountains, and then it was over the top (after a break at the Visitor Centre) and down a fabulous descent to the stately, clear, Lochsa river via a beautiful cedar grove to Lochsa Lodge and my very own wee log cabin for the night, in amongst the pines.

At the lodge I had supper with a fellow coast-to-coaster Mike Ling (cycling West to East), who had seen a black bear and a family of otters earlier in the day. No such thrills for me, thought I have seen a few blue jays (stellar's jay, actually, according to a roadside information sign) and several whitetail deer. That reminds me; I met another West to East cyclist, Mike Dawson, at the Lolo Hot Springs where I had lunch half way up the pass. Nice to meet up with passing travellers. Of course, it's not downhill from here on: I'll be in the heart of the mountains for the next few days, and there are still two or three big ascents to do, according to my map.

Day 64: Monday, 3rd September. Destination: Ryans Wilderness Inn, Lowell, Idaho

2010-06-12T10:40:00.003+01:00

After the Lolo Pass, I had a whole day of downhill (66 miles!) to a place called Lowell, following the Lochsa River valley. The narrow, winding road was blissfully free of trucks, thanks to the holiday weekend. No service stops, though, so I was dependant on peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches from the Lodge for sustenance, and fresh spring water from a historical ranger's station about half way. Oh, come to think of it, the ranger's wife had just made a fresh batch of chocolate-chip cookies, so I had a couple of those as well.

Ryans Widerness Inn turned out to be a nice, homely place with a row of rooms off the road overlooking the river. The Restaurant had placemats with pictures of all the US Presidents on them, many I'd never heard of. Me and the couple sitting behind me traded facts and info gleaned from the reverse side of the placemats while we waited for our food.

Day 65: Tuesday, 4th September. Destination: Gateway Inn, Grangeville, Idaho

2010-06-12T10:30:00.002+01:00

From Lowell I cycled up to Grangeville - the biggest ascent of my trip, I think, (just over 3,000ft climb from valley bottom to the top of White Bird Hill). But once again it wasn't so tough, plus I had a nice internet'n'smoothie break at Chatterbox Cafe in Stites (just West of Kooskia) where I wrote up my post about Missoula. In Grangeville there's a very cute Art Deco cinema called the Blue Fox (it's on the National Register), so I went to see The Bourne Ultimatum to enjoy some Art Deco cool, salted popcorn and fast-action thrills.

It was absolutely pouring with rain by the time I left the cinema, and night had fallen. Places to eat were all closed or closing, so I ended up at a dimly-lit and nearly empty Country Club eating fishburger and fries while the lady bartender cleaned the tables around me.

The other two things I wanted to mention from today are the friendly folks at the Gateway Inn who let me use their computer for hours while snacking on Cheerios in the breakfast/lounge area, and earlier in the day, at Kooskia, I finally left the Lewis & Clark Trail: it heads north before reaching the West coast at Astoria, Oregon, while I head south for a couple of days. I'm now officially on the TransAmerica Trail (though, actually, I've been following it since Missoula). Its funny how this symbolic parting of the ways seems to be echoed in an almost abrupt change to the landscape: from the steep-sided wilderness valley of the Lochsa River to the wide, almost suburban character of this stretch of the Clearwater River. Huts, houses and sundry other accommodation line the flat land between river and road. Of course, I know it's just an interlude - but if I'm still in the Rockies, then I'm heading towards a different kind of Rockies.

Day 66: Wednesday, 5th September. Destination: Big Iron Motel, Riggins, Idaho

2010-06-12T10:20:00.012+01:00

I started the day from Grangeville with a puncture, but after that a spectacular descent - a little over 2,500ft - straight down endless switchbacks to the Salmon River Valley. White Bird Hill should be called Bald Mountain: there are no trees on it, so you can see the road before you, unwinding endlessly and mostly without safety barriers. Thrilling might be the word; or scary.

On leaving White Bird (a small place at the bottom of the hill) after an early lunch I met another coast-to-coaster, Erin Roden (26), who's cycling from New York, NY to Newport, Oregon. Actually, she started off walking across America back in February but after developing a stress fracture in March and 2.5 months recuperation she set off again on the Appalachian Trail but on reaching Damascus, Virginia (in June) decided to continue by bike. Phew! Plus, she's carrying a tent and all kinds of stuff: kinda puts me to shame… but, anyway, there's the possibility of a bike buddy for the next few days. That'd be nice. However, she's taking it at a pretty gradual pace (around 40 miles per day, right now) and camping, so our route stages don't quite mesh. She headed off and I had another puncture. To make up for that frustration, I stopped for a delicious slice of 5-berry pie with ice-cream a little later down the dry, dusty valley, and fixed the puncture in my spare inner tube using a spare dessert bowl filled with water to detect the hole.

Passed Erin as she stopped to buy some cherries at a roadside stall, just before arriving at the Big Iron motel in Riggins for the night. This must be just about my No.1 favourite motel so far: welcomed with an ice-cool beer, given a cyclists' discount and a delicious bowl of Indonesian vegetable soup (home made), plus a whole shelf of VCRs to borrow. Thank you, Scott & Rose! I picked 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer', but didn't get round to watching it, alas. Instead I wandered through town as dusk fell (looking out for those vampires), passed parked logging trucks, deer grazing in front gardens, and cheery neon signs for motels and diners, all against the backdrop of the high, steep, and treeless valley.

Day 67: Thursday, 6th September. Destination: Hartland Inn, New Meadows, Idaho

2010-06-12T10:10:00.007+01:00

Got up early as usual these days and checked my tires. Fine and fully pumped up (thanks to the folks at the Chevron garage and their air compressor). Three-and-a-half miles out of town, another puncture. I followed Erin's advice and swapped my tires around, putting the rather less worn-down front one onto the back wheel. To do that, of course, I had to deflate the front wheel. Still, plenty of time, and I finally found the thing that'd been causing these past few punctures: a deeply imbedded thorn barely touching the inner surface of the tire, but touching it enough to do mischief. The back wheel got sorted out fine, but just as I was pumping up the front one it exploded. The valve tore from the rubber. So that was my last spare inner tube. I blame my mini-pump, though it may be my pumping technique: either way, that's the 3rd time it's happened, and you can't mend a tube with that kind of tear. I didn't trust myself to pump up my last (mended) tire, so decided to hitch back to the Chevron in Riggins, and sort it out there. Which is what happened, with thanks to a nice lady who stopped to give me a ride.

The Chevron guy walked me over to a grassy patch by the kerb and introduced me to puncture weed with it's tri-pronged goatshead thorns, a nasty little roadside plant that can pierce tires without a second's thought. Well, at least now I recognise my enemy. 10:30am headed off out of town, again. This time, I met up with Erin and we had a pleasant day's cycle to New Meadows along the now narrow, winding and forested Salmon River, where Erin pointed out columnar basalt from which the road's route has been cut. We parted ways at the campsite just outside New Meadows, my intention to press on to Council. However, it was hot and I was worried about my tyres, plus there's a bike shop and a library in New Meadows, and a nice old Motel, so I decided to cut the day short. Two new inner tubes and a rather nice new pump (plus several more Clif bars) later, and I was sitting in air-conditioned comfort at the library blogging away.

Would have been a nice end to the day but for a thick crust of tar and gravel coated (or rather, glued) onto my wheels thanks to a stretch of new road just out of town. It took me an hour of intense and stubborn labour, sitting on the back porch of the motel, to scrape it off inch by inch with my multi-tool screwdriver. I would have bought new ones - infact I'd been intending to do so - but the bike shop didn't have any my size. By the time I'd finished, it was dark and the good folks of New Meadows had all gone to bed.

Day 68: Friday, 7th September. Destination: Bucky's Cafe & Motel, Cambridge, Idaho

2010-06-12T10:00:00.002+01:00

Puncture 7.5 miles out of New Meadows... valve tear again, hopefully for the last time now I have a nice new pump. Narrow road, no shoulders and many trucks made a short day feel kind of long and tiring.

I stopped for lunch at Council, on the Weiser River, where firemen were dining and talking about a fire that'd been raging all morning. On to Cambridge which despite its academic name turned out to be another nowhere town built at a crossroads. The motel accommodation at Bucky's was tucked behind the café, and was either ramshackle or homey, depending on your state of mind. I think I went with homey, but then I'm a sucker for pine interiors and old sofas.

Day 69: Saturday, 8th September. Destination: Halfway Motel, Halfway, Oregon

2010-06-12T09:50:00.004+01:00

Today's ride took me through Hell's Canyon, along the Snake River and into Oregon. Oregon! My last State! Ate a peanut butter and chokecherry jam sandwich to celebrate, watching holidaying fishermen putter about on the river. Not quite my idea of a holiday destination: rather bleak, in fact, with tall, unforested canyon walls leading straight down to the flat, featureless Brownlee Reservoir. It's called Hell's Canyon, by the way, because it can get very hot down there. But today it was cool, to the point of chilly (at least in the morning). Summer must be coming to an end.

Cycling out of the valley took me to an unexpectedly lush uplands area, with cows grazing in meadows and a backdrop of almost alpine mountains. So, where was I? Oh, the alpine town of Halfway. I've been getting a little tired of the burger-dominated menus of these small towns, so decided to take advantage of the rather fancy local store and enjoy a picnic of bread, cheese, hummus and avocado at a table outside the motel. Erin arrived just as I was setting up, so we sat around chatting, munching and drinking motel-room coffee as darkness fell.

Day 70: Sunday, 9th September. Destination: Oregon Trail Motel, Baker City, Oregon

2010-06-12T09:40:00.004+01:00

The morning was chilly again. Glad to have my nice new fleece (bought in Missoula). Erin had her 2nd thorn-related puncture. We parted ways as I stopped in Richland for breakfast, and actually I haven't seen her since, though she was spotted eating ice cream in Baker City by the guy in the bike shop.

The road to Baker City took us from meadowland, over a Pass and up a narrow and hot creek to a rather bleak, semi-arid scrubland called Virtue Flat. Such an extreme contrast came by surprise: I'd been expecting green, but instead got dust brown and khaki scrub plants for as far as the eye could see. The thing that sticks in my mind was a beautiful prairie dog lying dead on the road. Not the first roadkill I've seen on this trip, not by a long way, but it looked so perfect and undamaged I half expected it to get up and walk away. I arrived in Baker City with the intention of taking a rest day. I found another cute art-deco cinema and went to see, umm... The Nanny Diaries. Oops. Back at the motel, switched off the alarm on my wristwatch and was asleep well before 10:00pm

MAP 11 - Baker City, OR to Eugene, OR

2010-06-12T09:30:00.001+01:00

Day 71: Monday, 10th September. REST DAY #9: Sumptor Stockade, Sumptor, Oregon

2010-06-12T09:20:00.004+01:00

As Edward & Ewa will remember, mileage, gradient and places to stay don't always fall neatly into place when sorting out the next map's itinerary. My routine has pretty much stayed the same since the beginning: at the end of each map (full-size versions of the ones in this blog) I'll take a rest day and spend a couple of hours sprawled on my motel bed with the new one laid out in front of me, noting down where I want to stay and how many miles it'll take to get there. Then, phone card and Visa in hand, I'll make reservations. Simple. Except, sometimes places are closed, or full, or only have the honeymoon suite available at $170 per night. And sometimes I didn't look at the map closely enough and there's everything in that perfectly located town except a place to stay...

...Which is what happened on my rest day in Baker City. So, rather than face a long day with three mountain passes, I cancelled my 2nd night and headed off at lunchtime up the valley 31.5 miles to a little place called Sumpter, effectively a base-camp for my next day's ascents.

The route back up into the hills took me along Powder River, and into pine forests. Sumpter turned out to be a gold mining town, dating back to the gold-rush years of the 1860s. A single street of one or two-storey timber buildings, including a bar (where I ate) and the Stockade Hostel (where I slept), and not really that much else. Picturesque, though, and I was told there's still gold in them thar hills, for those willing to dig. I had the hostel to myself - well, except for the deer roaming outside, and a pesky mosquito roaming inside.

Day 72: Tuesday, 11th September. Destination: Little Pine Inn, John Day, Oregon

2010-06-12T09:10:00.002+01:00

This morning, over breakfast, I got talking to the local prospector. He finds 3-5oz of gold per day, but has to crush a lot of rocks to retrieve it. At $650 per ounce, that's nice work - but it's a lot tougher (and less romantic) than sitting by a stream panning, as the images in the bars like to show. Still, I'm surprised not more people are doing it.

The three passes out of Sumpter once again proved to be less horrifying than the route elevation profile would have you believe. I should know better by now, but when you see a near-vertical line heading up 1000ft it's hard not to think there's going to be some pain involved. The road, in fact, wound itself pleasantly through a forest carpeted with pine needles scattered with pinecones the size of avocados. It was another still, frosty morning, with crisp sunlight and blue skies.

At the bottom of the second pass, I spied three cyclists resting and mending punctures outside the (closed) cafe/store/campground at Austin Junction (the place I'd thought had had accommodation). Hi there Jon, Don, and Mike! Turns out they're doing the TransAmerica trail from Yorktown to San Fransisco. Just as we were chatting, a voice came out of nowhere asking us if we wanted any drinks or ice-cream. Was it some kind of angel? It was so dark inside the building, at first we couldn't figure out where the voice was coming from, but a lady opened up the store for us. Mmm... huckleberry ice-cream, and cool water to refill our bottles. So we cycled over the third pass together, in the afternoon heat. They headed on to Dayville, but I stopped early at John Day (town motto: 'Every day should be a John day.' OK, not really, but it should be).

Day 73: Wednesday, 12th September. Destination: Dayville Presbyterian Church, Dayville, Oregon

2010-06-12T09:00:00.003+01:00

Today, a short ride to Dayville. Lazy start, one puncture (a thorn), and a great afternoon holed up in the town's Presbyterian Church, which doubles as a cycle hostel and has a computer room, where I'm sitting typing this, and a laundry room, where all my clothes are being washed.

Sometime in the afternoon two kids and their mum popped in to use the church's shower, and we chatted about piano playing (there was a piano in the hall) and the location of Scotland. I met them later in the evening after dinner (It was all-you-can-eat burrito & taco night at the diner). The kids were kicking a ball around outside the gas station opposite the diner and asked me to join, but I was feeling a bit tired so talked to their mum instead. The talk was of some truck that had overturned a little further along the road. We all walked back towards the church in the dusk as the kids called out to their friends. I slept on the floor of the church dais, which was kind of weird but recommended because it was carpeted and wasn't on solid ground (hence just a bit more comfortable and warm). Strange to be there on my own, and a shame to have missed out on the company of Jon, Don & Mike who stayed here last night.

Day 74: Thursday, 13th September. Destination: Oregon Hotel, Mitchell, Oregon

2010-06-12T08:50:00.004+01:00

Dodging the puncture weed I cycled out of Dayville laden down with a slice of marionberry pie in my pannier for a mid-morning snack. The road had been following the rather flat John Day river plain since coming down from the passes out of Sumpter, but seven miles out of town it turned to head straight towards the valley side. For a moment, it seemed like there was nowhere for the road to go but bump into the high cliffs of Hog Ridge, but a shift in angle revealed a split in the ridge through which the river and road entered the hidden, dramatic world of Picture Gorge.

The road wound dramatically beside the river with high, basalt cliffs to either side. The truck from last night was there, dragged off the road by it's own weight, nose down in the riverbed. As far as I understood, no-one had been hurt. The twisty road lead to the John Day Fossil Beds National Monument, totally worthy of a detour as the visitor's centre holds a remarkable collection of fossils from the post-dinosaur era. There were fossilised acorns and leaves, plus insects and all kinds of creeping and crawling things. The Centre itself is in the middle of a pretty valley surrounded by dramatic hills built out of layers of rock from which the fossils came.

Back in Picture Gorge, the road started to ascend towards the 4th-last pass of my trip, Keyes Creek (4,357ft). The drama of the Gorge receded making way for a hot plateau, and I was faced with an unexpected problem: a half-mile stretch of road in the process of being resurfaced and so down to one lane, as the other lane was being rollered. A lead truck lead convoys of traffic first heading one way and then the other. A policewoman came up to me and said, "put your bike in the back of the pick-up and we'll carry you across". My heart sank - have I cycled all this way just to be given a lift at this late stage? I begged her to let me cycle, and she relented, cautioning me that I'd have to keep up with the lead truck so as not to hold up proceedings. I told her I'd do my best. So, the problem was resolved with a tough time-trial, the smell of hot, fresh tarmac and the clatter of giant trucks adding to the tension as the car convoy slowly left me behind… I really didn't care, though: I was cycling.

I wasn't too slow: by the time the lead truck had turned round I was heading past and away up to the top of Keyes Creek Pass, before dipping down to the town of Mitchell. Or I should say, the one-horse town of Mitchell. But what a great one-horse town! The timber-floored Hotel Oregon had a bunkroom for $15 and a bathroom with an old-fashioned bath, so there I was chin-deep in suds feeling like Owen Wilson in Shanghai Noon (except without Jackie Chan in an adjacent bath and no crazy drinking games). Life doesn't get much better.

Next door, at the Little Pine Cafe, I fell in with a bunch of bikers (motorbikers, that is) who - as often is the case - turned out to be about the nicest, friendliest bunch of people you could care to meet. We spent the evening chatting and drinking beer. I ate some catfish as they ate chili, and then we sat around on the Hotel porch in the dark till around 10:00, which is just about as late as I can stay up these days. Let me introduce Joy & Doug from Illinois, Rick & Paula from Utah and Truck from... uh, I don't recall. Truckville. Thanks, folks, for the kind of evening every day on the road should end like.

Day 75: Friday, 14th September. Destination: Village Squire Motel, Redmond, Oregon

2010-06-12T08:40:00.002+01:00

Leaving Mitchell, the road headed straight back up to the 3rd-last pass of my trip, the Ochoco Pass (4,720ft). Another 2,000ft ascent, and good to do it in the cool of the morning before the afternoon head/crosswind and heat picks up (that's pretty much been the model for the past few days since entering Baker City). The rest of the day was rather flat and uneventful, other than a scrumptious slice of apple pie a la mode in Prineville served by a waitress with a nice smile and a fabulously layered 80's hair-do.

Stopped in Redmond for the night. I'd originally wanted to stay in Sisters, some 19 miles down the road, so as to shorten next day's mountain stage. But Sisters was packed due to a Jazz Festival and the annual Cycle Oregon ride. It's a shame, because Redmond's not a pretty place, encircled by a loveless one-way road system. Can't wait to leave, and even eating a tasty burrito from a funky little Mexican take-out while watching the 2nd half of a movie on TV (Scorched) in my motel room couldn't stop me from feeling just a little forlorn. It's not all drinking beer with the bikers, you know.

Day 76: Saturday, 15th September. Destination: Harbick’s Country Inn, McKenzie Bridge, Oregon

2010-06-12T08:30:00.005+01:00

Well Sisters was lovely, with a holiday/outdoors feel about it. I had a great cooked breakfast in a tourist café wishing I'd managed to stay there last night. Still, it cheered my spirits up. The route from Redmond had afforded spectacular (and slightly scary) views of the Cascades ahead, but once again the scenery was changing with big pine woods leading the way out of town. I had some apprehension about today: the 2nd last of my last 4 passes, the McKenzie (my route through the Cascades), being not only the highest (at 5,324ft) but also host to the final day of Cycle Oregon's annual ride. I was to be joined by 2,000 other cyclists over the pass - going the wrong way! I had visions of a torrent of cyclists bearing down on me as I struggled upwards. As it turned out, it was a day of cheery waving and smiling, and at the top of the pass I joined 100's of other cyclists guzzling free drinks and food, and looking at the view.

And what a view. McKenzie pass is close to Mount Washington, and even closer to Belknap Crater. The whole mountaintop area is a sea of black, solidified magma. But what's astounding is that you don't really see it coming: one second you're cycling through dense pine forest, the next, nothing but lava. The descent was fabulous: 3,500ft of steep, winding hairpins through tall pines, sunlight making it's way though the branches to dapple the shaded road. So chilly I had to put my windproof jacket on. Plenty of moments when I had to think, very quickly, "I need to break NOW!" before hurtling towards another sudden bend. Ah, it's all good.

Down the valley a bit further and here I am at McKenzie Bridge, with 500ft yet to descent before arriving in Eugene tomorrow. Only two more days of cycling left... I really don't know if I'm glad to have made it so far, or totally distraught that it's about to be over.

Day 77: Sunday, 16th September. Destination: Eugene International Hostel, Eugene, Oregon

2010-06-12T08:20:00.003+01:00

The field notes to my map had warned me that precipitation increases on crossing the Cascades, and they weren't wrong. Today was an easy-going trundle down to Eugene alongside the McKenzie river, dressed head-to-foot in rain-gear to keep out the drizzle and the cold. One point of stress first thing in the morning whilst packing up my panniers: no sign of the photo CD which has the only copy of the photos I took between Bar Harbor, Maine and Missoula, Montana. Could I have lost it? Initial panic settled down by a realisation that I wouldn’t have accidently taken it out during the day due to it being tucked far away from possibly wet rain-gear & bike tools. Therefore, it had to be at one of the Motels I’d stayed in. What’s more, I had it in Missoula, so there weren’t so many places to check up in between.

When I finally arrived at the Eugene Hostel (located a bit out of town) I had the place to myself, and so I settled down to phoning up all the places I’d stayed. Nice to hear they all remembered me, and although no CD case had turned up they all said they’d have another look and email me if it turned up. I gave my niece Sally a phone to say Happy Birthday, but she wasn’t in so I sent her an email instead. I cycled back into town to eat at the nice and studenty High St. Brewery & Café, where by coincidence they played ‘Birthday’ by The Sugarcubes – as well as a personal favourite, ‘Sheena Is A Punk Rocker’ by The Ramones. Oh Culture, how I’ve missed you. Back at the hippy hostel, the place had got a little busier. Not exactly sociable, though: long-term residents seemed to treat the place as their realm, leaving me to feel like an outsider. First time I’ve had to queue for a shower for some time, and I haven’t missed that a bit.

Finally finished The Edible Woman by Margaret Atwood, and traded it in at the hostel’s library for This Side of Paradise by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Oh, one other good thing: I got a bunk room all to myself.

MAP 12 - Eugene, OR to Florence, OR

2010-06-12T08:10:00.006+01:00

Map Note: Don't be sidetracked by that Northward dogleg to Astoria. I'm heading straight from Eugene to Florence. I do, however, follow the 101 North to Tillamook on my way to Portland.

In detail, here's my last coast-to-coast day.

Day 78: Monday, 17th September. Destination: Lighthouse Inn, Florence, Oregon

2010-06-12T08:00:00.005+01:00

Well, I've made it! 4:15pm today I trundled my bike down the slipway at Florence old-town docks & marina for the traditional wheel-dipping ceremony. Tomorrow, I'm heading up the coast a couple of miles to Heceta Beach to spend the afternoon gazing out to the Pacific Ocean...

Heading back to the start of the day, Eugene to Florence was slightly longer than I'd have chosen for my last day (78m), but there was nowhere to stay in between. So I set off early and wound my way up and over the Coastal Range - my last climb, the aptly-named Low Pass. Pleasant, rolling, pine-covered hills and a nice descent following Triangle Lake Creek down to the Siuslaw River to the coast. Another overcast day, with spots of rain, but it cleared up as I headed into town. One last puncture (does that make it 13 in total?). This time, a metal shard somewhere passed Triangle Lake.

I'd been full of mixed emotions about arriving, and spent most of the afternoon singing 'I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself’ by the White Stripes, but you'll be glad to hear that gave way to suitable grinning as I passed the 'Entering Florence' sign. But where are those bikers I met in Mitchell when I want to celebrate? I watched 'Rear Window' on TV, then went out to eat down in the picturesque fishing village / old town. There were a number of white-painted ship-lapped cafés (just like Bar Harbour, I couldn't help thinking). The one I chose turned out nice: They played 'About The Weather' by 10,000 Maniacs (another old favourite, reminding me of a summer spent in Amherst, Massachusetts and a drive down to Martha's Vineyard when I was a student), and the waitress gave me a complimentary slice of cheesecake to celebrate. Her friend had just finished the Cycle Oregon trip. Will continue celebratory grinning tomorrow, at the Ocean.

Tuesday, 18th September. REST DAY #10: Lighthouse Inn, Florence, Oregon

2010-06-12T07:50:00.004+01:00

Florence may be coastal, but it's not quite on the coast. I discovered that this afternoon, cycling the 6 miles out to the North Jetty of Heceta Beach. Coming face-to-face with the Pacific Ocean makes the finality of arriving here all the more real. So, I got covered in sand and took lots of self-timer photos of myself and the bike up to our toes and tyres in seawater. Back in the old town for lunch at Vic’s Deli, the waitress Stacey said to me “we’ve been talking out back, and we think you’re a superstar.”

Meanwhile, I had to sort out my exit route. Not so easy, as public transport it somewhat limited around here. Tomorrow morning I'm going to cycle up the coast either to Yachats (25m) or Newport (50m), from either place I can get a bus further North to Lincoln City. Then another little cycle to Pacific City, from where I can hop on another bus to Tillamook. From Tillamook there's a direct bus to Portland. All very scenic and lovely, I'm told. That should take me to Friday night. Portland, Saturday. This all means more cycling, of course. And to that end, I finally managed to get new tyres ("three-way puncture resistant!"), and gave my chain and gears a good de-grease. I guess I just don't know when to quit. OK, so here are the vital statistics:

Total map miles (source: ACA route maps): 4303
Total actual miles cycled: 4548

My bike computer, unlike me, knows very well when to quit, and seems to have broken down. According to it, I'm currently typing at 65mph. Stick around for a couple more posts: I have a week before flying home from Portland and I'm in the midst of planning a trip up the coast, which may involve a little more cycling as well as, hopefully, some bus-taking.

Wednesday, 19th September. Destination: Alsea Manor Motel, Waldport, Oregon

2010-06-12T07:40:00.005+01:00

Stunning, stunning views of the Pacific as I head North out of Florence. I'm wandering up the coast at a leisurely pace, taking in the views from the fabulously scenic pacific highway. Sort of heading straight into the wind: Every so often cyclists will whizz past going in the opposite direction. I think it’s about time I called it a day and took the bus up to Tillamook, or Cannon Beach, which I hear is beautiful. I also think it's time for a few thank you’s:

Firstly, thanks to the partners at Felce & Guy Architects where I work, who gave me the time off to do this trip (and have also just given a very generous donation to my charity); Thanks to Susan Greenwood, who's 2006 in the Guardian Newspaper (online edition) of her solo TransAmerica cycle journey was a big inspiration; Thanks to Edward & Ewa for companionship on the first leg; And finally, thank you to all the amazingly generous and friendly people I've met travelling from Maine to Oregon. It would have been so much less an experience without the kindness you showed me.

Thursday, 20th September. Destination: Anchorage Motel, Pacific City, Oregon

2010-06-12T07:30:00.009+01:00

It's getting chilly on the coast, and, despite the splendor of the Pacific, my mind is beginning to wander. I'd intended to make it up to Cannon Beach, but in the end took an early morning bus from Waldport to Newport, had time for a breakfast stop before hopping on another bus to Otis, where I rejoin the last (or first) leg of the TransAmerica Trail. The bus driver took me a bit out of town before dropping me off at the bottom of a picturesque leg over the forrested Old Scenic Highway 101.

Back down to the coast at Neskowin I lunched at an out-doorsey tourist place with a couple of cyclists doing this stretch of the Pacific Coast, before ending the day at the small crossroads town of Pacific City, hidden from view of the ocean by large sand dunes that form Nestucca Spit State Park. A friendly couple owned the Anchorage Motel and it was the end of the season for them: they'll be closing down for winter and heading to Florida in a couple of weeks' time. Still, a nice homely little place with a great Mexican restaurant next door.

Friday, 21st September. Destination: HI Portland Hostel, Portland, Oregon

2010-06-12T07:20:00.002+01:00

Cycled to Tillamook via the Three Capes Scenic Route - something that'd been recommended to me by the couple of cyclists I'd met yesterday. Nice, but I couldn't help feeling it looked a little bleak. High point was a cute little coffee shop in Oceanside, which had great views looking out over the bay. From the busy little town of Tillamook, I took a shuttle bus to Portland. A longish four hours or so spent gazing out of the window thinking how different it'd feel doing it by bike. It's amazing how fast the change from cyclist to passenger occurs after 3 months of pedaling: I'm no longer at one with the road I'm travelling on, I'm simply passing over it.

I arrived a day earlier than I'd planned with my friend Lori (I'm going to be crashing at her'n'Ted's place), so rather than turn up unannounced I booked into the Portland Hostel on NW Glisan and 18th. Amazing to be in a big city again. I wandered around the neighbourhood and had soba for lunch at a little Japanese café. Then in the evening, found a sushi place and had my favourite unagi (eel) nigiri, along with a cold beer. I know Lori, by the way, from meeting her in Prague where she came to visit one of my flatmates, Chris (I lived in Prague for a short time, a few years ago, but that's another story).

Saturday, 22nd September 2007. Location: Ted & Lori’s Place, Portland, Oregon

2010-06-12T07:10:00.013+01:00

Met Lori as planned at Union Station 10:40am. So good to see a friendly face! They live in Hollywood, a lovely suburban neighbourhood full of trees and elegant houses with lush front gardens and genteel greenery. They have a back porch great for lazing, and there are three cats (Chitty, Bang Bang and Buddy) wandering around, adding to the cosy atmosphere. It was her husband Ted's birthday and they had a lovely meal at home in the evening with his dad, brother and his brother's kids.