July 16, 2008
As I mentioned earlier, Julie and Eric/family were to meet us in West Lafayette, IN upon our arrival. And they did. We had a wonderful time with them and also with some friends and neighbors we knew while living there. We went to a great water park, visited Purdue and old friends, took family photos in front of Purdue’s main fountain, rode past the old homestead wishing we could get inside for one last look, relaxed with neighbors in their back yard, had a great dinner out with friends, and attended an Indianapolis Indians baseball game while stuffing ourselves with junk food until it hurt. It was a jam-packed two days but we enjoyed every moment. Julie and Ian left Sunday (will explain Ian’s departure later) and Eric and family left Tuesday afternoon.
The biking started again on Monday and Eric joined us for two days of riding. Karen and the kids did various kid things while he rode then joined us at the end of the ride for the rest of the evening. What a trooper Karen was to shuffle kids around while waiting to be with us at night. Those little grand kids, Kirsten and Cameron, are as cute as they come and so much fun. I miss them already. Eric did great with the ride and kept up with the others as though he had biked all the way from the west coast too. Oh yes, we also had a former student of Dan’s, Zach, who rode with us for one day. He’s a big biker and did 80 some miles as though it were nothing. Thanks for joining us.
Well, Ian left the bike trip and went home to Wisconsin with his mom because he has lots to do to prepare for his freshman year in college, like orientation, selection of classes, buying books and clothes, and much more before leaving for that important year. He also wanted to be with his high school friends again before they all scatter too so when mom Julie came, that was a good time for him to leave.
We tried to change his mind, of course, but mostly for selfish reasons. He was so darn much fun to have around. We couldn’t imagine finishing the trip without him. His subtle sense of humor just cracked us up and when he was the lead rider and well ahead of the pack, he’d hang out with me at the car waiting for them to catch up. He and his Uncle Peter kidded one another which always brought waves of laughter from the group. When he rode in the car while recovering from the flu, we’d talk about the generation thing and choice of music because he’d listen to the most god awful music imaginable…..or I would drive him nuts with my need for news. He spent hours text messaging friends and texting at night, under the covers, thinking we didn’t know. Our threatening to throw that thing away didn’t phase him a bit.
Our little foursome became close because of this bike trip and the thought of losing one during the journey was out of the question. So when he decided to leave, I must admit, we were disappointed. But when we looked at it from his perspective, we knew, in our collective hearts, he did the right thing. And you did, Ian and you need to know we have adjusted to being three. So, enjoy the rest of the summer with your friends and when we dip that front tire in the Atlantic, we’ll toast to a heck of a journey and thank you for adding to our lifelong memories of a job well done. We love you.
Take care everyone.
July 21, 2008
I love the names, Ohiopyle, Confluence, Ramcat, Harnedsville, Markleton and many more too numerous to mention. These are really small communities along a remarkable bike path that runs all the way from southern Pittsburgh, PA through parts of Maryland, and right into the heart of Washington, D.C. It’s a 335 mile bike/hike trail that is heavily used. Dan researched this trail before the trip and decided they’d ride part of it and then go off the trail and back on rural roads in order to go the shortest distance to the shores in Delaware. But that plan changed overnight once they began riding the trail.
Half of this trail consists of fine gravel that is very well groomed which is a delight to ride. The other half is not as good but bike able. And since it follows a riverbed and was the old railroad track, it is flat with an exceedingly small rise and descent. Thus it made sense to all of us that they bike this trail into D.C. and then find rural roads from there to reach the Atlantic. Taking the path meant no more traffic to fight which includes very large coal trucks that move fast through narrow, winding, mountainous rural roads. They wouldn’t have to climb mountains that go up for miles and can reach 18 degree climbs in some areas and they would no longer have to ride on roads without shoulders, where parts of the road disappears due to this truck traffic, and/or are in terrible, bumpy or stony condition. The decision to ride the trail was an easy one and it was made quickly.
As for me, I’m no longer stressed about their safety and that’s a really good thing so I am elated and relieved they made this decision. My only responsibility now is to meet them for lunch and at the end of their biking day. There’s no road along the bike path so I’m out there taking major highways until I have to meet them. I then wind my way through beautiful mountains to do so. Life is good.
Yesterday we went to Frank Lloyd Wright’s “Falling Water” house designed in 1935 for the Edgar J Kaufmann family, a very successful Pittsburgh deparment store owner. (His stores have been bought and sold over the years but are now the Macy stores that are so familiar to us). The setting of the house is over a waterfall within the Bear Run Nature Reserve and it’s well worth planning a trip around in order to visit this place. What a spectacular house. Once again, you can see how Wright integrated man with nature. Much of the horizontal spaces are cantilevered out, jutting over the falls. It’s breathtaking and you wonder what holds up those spaces. Inside, the home is just as wonderful – simple horizontal lines everywhere, terrific use of local stones incorporated into the walls, stairs and floors, basic but well-designed furniture, low ceilings, large stone and wood fireplaces everywhere, small but intimate rooms, and large spances of windows with few obstructions because of the view. He certainly was a genius and far ahead of his time. Oh yes, he loved stairs, simple and short ones and they are everywhere in the house. To see this was definitely a highlight of this trip.
There is so much more to report on like all the wonderful people we are meeting along the way. I now feel comfortable stopping people on the street, walking into any store, filling station, tavern, or restaurant to ask directions or to find out about roads, places to stay, etc. Everyone is so helpful and when they find out we’re going across the U.S. on bikes, they become curious and ask lots of questions. What a great country we live in and 99% of the people are terrific. This trip has reinforced that for me.
It’s now Monday. Last night it rained hard for a short period of time. Today, the guys ride the part of the trail that’s not well groomed so it could be muddy in part due to the rain. We hope not but they’ll soon find out. They changed their tire size to accommodate a soft surface so it’s on to the bike shop to pick up the bikes.
Anyway, have a great Monday.
July 21, 2008
It’s happening fast now, states clicking-off like fireworks.
Indiana; Sweet rememberances of the 27 years we spent there, nothing changed, yet nothing is the same. Our entire family was able to be together for 24 hours in West Lafayette. Nostalgic, defining and strange to experience the state-of-the-family now and simultaneously my mind could see them in their youth. How I love them all. How proud I am of them all. As Jean wrote, we lost the “3” as in Three Generations. It was hard to see Ian get sick in Illinois and then decide it best to return home. We miss him. However, try to imagine what I felt like having both my sons riding with me for two fabulous days! One of my friends from Indiana, Zach (an excellent rider), joined in for a day and the four of us, raced, sprinted, hammered into Ohio. Competitive Spirit is alive and well between the boys and had my brother Rob been there, well….Â
Ohio; I think I know now why many cross-country riders take the northern part of Ohio. It’s flatter. Half way across this amazingly terrain-diverse state our central route got very “hilly”. “Hilly” (as in Ohio hills) is defined as abrupt grades of 10% or more but not lasting more than 500 yards followed by an immediate similar decent and followed by another climb and descent etc. etc. This was eastern Ohio and carried to ridiculous extremes in Pennsylvania (later). I can remember Peter and I noticed “hills” near Mt. Vernon, which was not on the original route but construction, traffic and bad shoulders pushed us to look for alternate. This is not uncommon in the east. Here, I will reassert the fact that secondary roads do not share the same logistical parameters to get you from one point to another as do the main roads. Among other things, secondary roads go in straight lines (whenever possible) and do not “give a hang” about hills. An example if this happened east of Mt. Vernon. While coming down a hill I looked up to see the next challenge. Honest, this sucker was so steep it looked like a wall. A blacktop wall. I said in an earlier post that my Garmin GPS bike computer was toast and in for repairs (it’s back now). This device would have told me exactly what the % grade was (not that you care.. but this is my story). Anyway, I’ve climbed 16-18% in Door County and I will swear this was 20-22%!! Short, yes maybe 150 yds and when at the top??? Turn sharp right and PLUNGE 150 yds at 40 mph and then.. yep!
Pennsylvania; We have heard about the mountains and secondary roads of this state. By this point of the ride Peter and I are also; in shape, reasonably fearless, confident of handling a bicycle in most situations and unintimidated by mere danger. There is also a new mental framework: purposeful, hard-core, dig-in, get nasty and get-it-done. Jean, however, does not quite see all things like this. So, we are on Route 40 (Pen DOT Bicycle Route S ) towards Washington PA. Welcome to the East; as in old, populated, poor roads, bad shoulders, drivers with bad attitudes (as in “get off the road, A..H…!”). Things were getting ugly; that is until yesterday. The Great Allegehny Passage Rail Trail has been JUST the right thing at the right time. A real breath of fresh-air has put this trio of voyagers in a renewed sense of joy and spirit of discovery. First, Jean no longer CAN follow us and must meet us at certain junctures. This is good for her as she does not have to worry about us being flattened on the next corner AND she can go and do whatever she wants until lunch and after that, dinner. Peter and I are riding 1-2% grades with no traffic, nice surface, park-tourist environment, shade, beautiful streams, country etc. etc. What’s not to like? NOTHING. We are loving it all the way to Washington D.C. So that’s a change of route from the stated plan to go north of D.C. and come down to the Atlantic through Delaware. We are working on a new route to be announced later. So that’s it for tonite from Cumberland MD. It’s been a blast!
July 23, 2008
Tuesday, after a rainy start today we stopped the ride at Harper’s Ferry, a mere 43 miles and tonight we both feel like we “cheated” because the ride was so short. It was exhilarating to ride the road again. The towns and hills were beautiful after the flat trails from the past two days. Monday took it’s toll as we rode 73 miles on the C&O Canal Trail from Cumberland to Big Pool. The majority of the ride was on a towpath alongside the old canal. We had heard that this part of the trip would be rougher than the Allegheny Passage with its larger gravel, rocks, roots, sticks, ruts and mud-puddles. This trail is maintained by a different organization. Get the picture? So, at the end of the ride on Sunday, we stopped at the bike shop in Cumberland MD and had larger tires put on the bikes. Until now, we were riding on very narrow, hard road/race tires (23’s / 120psi). Not to get too “techie”, these tires ride fast but one trade-off is you get vibrated to death on rough roads. On the road, the 23’s are responsive and quick to do anything including flipping you over the handle bars on a rut. “Squirrely” is the term most often used.. it’s like riding a race horse or, if you’re riding fatter tires.. a plow horse. So the Allegheny was all the “rough” we thought we could take from a constant all day surface. We went up to “fatter” tires (28’s / 90psi). What a great idea! Rain the night before made the trail goo in some places and it took 15 minutes to get that “mountain bike look”. Ian, we thought of you. You would have loved it! We were “smok’n” as much as the trail would allow us and still concentrate while dodging sticks, rocks, puddles etc. You must “scan” from 30 to 8 feet in front of you constantly to pick your path, make adjustments. There is so much debris on the trail that you will hit a lot so you must make fast decisions as to what is bark or a log or something you can run over without being “launched”. For example, I hit two snakes before I identified them as not being sticks. It’s interesting but lose your concentration and it could easily be serious injury. Serious injury, out there with no direct way out and… “hmmm”.
This is compounded by “Da-Da, dink,dink,dink”. Until today, the term has been used only by Peter and me and not in the presence of Jean, which, could easily elevate her anxiety level while she is traveling around in some of these remote, off-beat areas. Today, however, we are pretty much back to “civilization” as we are to be in D.C. tomorrow and we can talk about it openly. Frankly, some of these mountain, backwoods, swampland dwellings and inhabitants can make one feel a little uneasy. No one particular area of the country has a monopoly on poverty nor the answer to affordable quality housing. However, given the roads and trails we have traveled for the past 6 weeks (seemingly more the past week), we have seen some pretty tragic residential environments. We could only recall the movie Deliverance and the theme song, “Dueling Banjo’s”; Da-Da, dink,dink, dink. So from time to time, while riding past a rough environment across the country one of us would mutter; Da-Da, dink, dink, dink. On the Canal Trail, there were a lot of “Da….. “
July 24, 2008
On Monday, Dan and Peter ended their ride for the day in Big Pool, Maryland, an extremely small community with about 8 houses and no storefronts. As Dan said in his recent blog, the trail this time was full of mud puddles, large and twisted sticks/branches, small and large rocks, roots of trees, and even live snakes. Upon arrival in the trails parking lot, I could tell they had a hard day for they were really sweaty, dirty, and thirsty, hungry, and hot, and they had an overall unpleasant smell about them.  In other words, they stunk. And so did their bikes. They needed to get themselves and their bikes to a ‘hose you down’ car wash. And I really didn’t want their odors creeping into the Bubmobile either but what choice did I have? (So sorry, Rob). Later, the decision to ride again on rural roads was most welcomed. I was happy.
Throughout this trip, there have been references made about the movie “Deliverance.” (Made in the 80’s, I think, and one of the first really frightening movies I had ever seen). We laughed and joked about it, knowing we’d be going through the Appalachian Mountains similar to the setting of the movie. Well, let me tell you, various scenes of that movie recently flashed before my eyes when I found myself driving into a deep, dark, thick forest, on a road one car wide, muddy, with a drop off on one side, no structures around, very desolate, and with the air both steamy and extremely humid; just a most frightening setting you can imagine a single woman to be in (a sexist statement, I know). I was taking a short cut through a national forest to a major highway and couldn’t believe this was an actual road. When my imagination got the better of me (here’s where Deliverance came in), I found a place to turn around and headed back to a lesser desolate road and drove some 20 miles out of my way to a place where I knew connected with the highway. This time I really thought I’d never see my loved ones again!
Driving in the mountains, on back roads, is not my favorite thing to do anyway. Dan and Peter have already termed this part of the trip ‘Jean’s panic driving mode.’ The twisting and turning in the mountains confuses me more than usual (nothing perpendicular) and many of the small towns are unhealthy economically. Often, the people are quite impoverished too.
Like yesterday, I mistakenly drove unto a major highway before I realized what I had done and to get back to where the guys were, I had to take the next exit off and make my way back. An easy thing to do in the right circumstances. However, the exit I took brought me down into one of these impoverished towns and the on-ramp was closed due to road construction. Keep in mind I was still in a very hilly/mountainous area where the town is about one road wide with high hills on one side and nothing, it seemed, on the other. I drove through but couldn’t find help. It was a very unpleasant and uncomfortable place to be in. But I decided I had no choice but to park the car and walk until I found signs of life. And so I did.Â
I noticed a couple with their kids sitting in a carport that was kind of attached to their house. Their yard and the entire carport was littered with cars, cans, toys and other stuff too numerous to mention and they were sitting among all this junk just trying to keep cool, I think. I admit, I approached them with some trepidation (no, a lot) and even though the man couldn’t see well and had a stump for a leg which was covered with really dirty gauze and his wife only nodded throughout our conversation and said nothing, and the two little kids were staring at me and were quite unkempt, it turned out he was very kind and most helpful and did get me back to where I needed to go. Once again, my fears were unfounded and I learned the lesson, yet again, not to judge others by how they look or how they live their lives.
But the further east we go, the less mountains to deal with so I am happy to be their driver again. But it’s experiences like this that has made this journey a fascinating one and these particular memories, in particular, will last forever. Strangely, I cherish them.
July 26, 2008
Speed. Speed is a relative term. On a bike an average speed for the day of 15 mph is pretty good, 17 is great and 19-20 is race quality. The “Tour” riders might average 27 mph. So how fast we can make a bike go compared to, well, each other and others? First, this is not a race but a family journey. HOWEVER, anytime two or more people are traveling the same direction, there is a very slight tendancy to WHIP THE DUDE! As we approach the end of the ride there is little question that speed, in this family, is simply a matter of chronological age. First is Ian (18), then Peter (42), then me (70). It’s not even close. However, endurance might be a different matter. Ian had some problems by the end of a day whereas his Uncle Pete just kept pounding away. Peter is without question the “Le Tour d’Bubs Champion”. Moreover, he loves bicycle racing and follows it studiously. Whenever we had a nights lodging without the VS Channel (covering “le Tour d’France”) he would be in a snit. He knows all the teams, riders, gear.. the whole smear. He subscribes to bicycle racing magazines. He wears bike racing jerseys. Get the picture? He is a powerful, consistant and steady rider and I rode his axle (drafted him) for 2,000 miles. Drafting only helps when there is a headwind or calm. Also, everyone must climb their own hills but without drafting the lad, this old boy could be a week behind.
Ironically, over this ride we have met very few serious bicyclists going our way (the stranded sisters in Oregon do not count). We have met some of them on the trails in Pennsylvania and some in Maryland but we have yet to be overtaken by anyone. Without question there are scores who can, we just have yet to meet one. We have had a couple who have tried. Like the one guy out of West Newton riding a hybrid. I saw him at the begining; a young, thin, quiet type prepping his bike near us. About a half mile up the trail I looked behind me and there he was 25 yds back. Hmmm. So Peter picked-it-up a “click”. Another quarter mile and he was maybe 50 yards back. So pick it up another click and we never saw him again. I thought maybe he met a friend at a parking lot, Peter said; “We blew-him-up”. The best one though, was later the same day coming to the end in Cumberland MD. We were on the outskirts of the city, on the Trail, when totally out of nowhere this guy riding a hybrid comes up next to me. He’s probably 50 something dressed kind of weird with sneakers and his bike seat is set too low. His legs looked as if he had spent time on a bike but little else made sense. He made some pleasant remark as he passed us both. Pete is not going to let this go unanswered, I can tell. So I snuggle up behind Peter and wait for his move. Sure enough, an open stretch and we blew by and keep on it but we are running out of trail fast as the City Center is right in front of us with traffic and pedestrians. This local knows all this and smoothly whips out in a street leaving us to brake hard and fend-off the tourists. That was fun!
There is one exception, this does not include Peter’s friend, Brian, who rode Oregon with us. Brian was in a world of speed unfamiliar to us, at least at the time. We’re in a bit better shape now, so who knows? Come on back, Brian!
July 28, 2008
Today, Monday July 28, 2008 at approximately 3:30 EST; Peter, Jean and I assembled on Assateague Beach, Maryland, walked to the ocean and dipped the front wheel of the bikes in the Atlantic. Emotions were there too as we did not know what to feel after starting the journey some  51 days ago. I know we’ll all write more later. Tonite we are tired and the bed looks real good. So for now, we have done what we set out to do and it’s real sweet.
August 3, 2008
As the regular blog readers know well by now, the ride officially ended a week ago Monday, with a final 70-mile jaunt across the eastern shore of Maryland and a bit of southern Delaware. The final day took us to a beautiful state park in Maryland, called the Assateague, famous for its lovely beaches and wild horses. While the ride was about as pancake-flat as a ride can be, for some reason my body was having a rough go of it, a strange occurrence given that right now I am, probably, in the best shape of my life. As a result, my father rode point for much of the day, which was to me a happy occurrence and a just reward for a man who, at 70 years of age, has done something that can only be described as phenomenal. As we rode mile after mile it was a real joy for me to sit on my dad’s wheel and enjoy drafting off of him, rather than the other way around. I was very proud of him as we rode the last few miles, past the fields and the trees and the increasing signs that the seashore was close by — the sandy soil, the fresh breeze, the inevitable increase in claptrap tourism. Our final stop before the beach was at the Assateague national seashore visitor station, a brief respite ostensibly to figure out where my mother had disappeared to in the van. In reality I think it was an attempt by both of us to savor the last moments of the ride and, in some poignant manner, prevent it from finishing. It’s likely that we’ll never do something like this again, not together anyway, something that at that moment needed no articulation.
Both my father and I were happy that the end had come, as the grind of the previous 45 days had taken its inevitable toll on us and on my mother. But at the same time the last day had a sad quality to it, as all of us knew that something special was coming to an end. I remarked to my parents that the three of us hadn’t spent this much time together since I was living at home in high school, whereupon my mother said that even then we didn’t have this much time because all of us were working. It was then that I realized that I probably hadn’t spent this kind of time with my parents since I was a toddler, a thought that just about brought me to my knees.
I must say that the final mile was bittersweet, the culmination of many years of planning and six weeks of doing. The distance from the visitor station to the beach took us over a bridge spanning the distance between the mainland and barrier island. Fittingly, the bridge was outfitted with a gorgeous, separated bike/ped bridge, perhaps the nicest single piece of infrastructure we encountered in the entire country. The final procession to the beach and the water was a mirror image of the same procession in Oregon, back on June 8, on the eve of the first big day over the coastal range. As we did to the Pacific, my father and I lifted our bikes onto our shoulders and trudged through the heavy sand down to the water’s edge, past a line of gawking sunbathers who, as they did at the beach in Oregon, weren’t sure exactly what it was that we were doing. Only one gent figured it out, a middle-aged man who came over and excitedly shook our hands as he confirmed his suspicion that we were completing the journey of a lifetime.
Dad and I then proceeded to perform the ritual of the American cross-country tour, the dip of our front wheels in the Atlantic, the symbolic complement to the rear-wheel-in-the-Pacific dip we had performed many weeks before. After all three of us posed for photos, my father popped a small bottle of champagne, which he had purchased not ten miles up the road at our last liquid-replenishment stop. We toasted to each other, then to Ian, and finally to all who had come along for a part of the journey. Finally, my dad and I — still clad in full cycling outfits — bodysurfed the waves of the Atlantic. This was perhaps the single most joyful experience of the entire ride. The Atlantic’s water was cool and salty and inviting, the waves large enough to push the body around but small enough to be manageable. I could have stayed in the water for the entire day, and I know my dad felt the same.
We returned to my apartment that same night. After a few days’ rest, my parents left on Friday, a bit more than 48 hours ago as of this writing. All of us had to get back to our real lives, me to my dissertation, them to their neglected house and friends and varied pursuits. As they pulled away in the van, I knew that yet another milestone had been reached in my life, one that, to be frank, was not entirely pleasant. True, we had done something that I will never forget and that will make for many good stories down through the years. We had seen America in a way that few have a chance to do. We had spent much good time with one another. Yet such a thing will never occur again in my lifetime, the chance to do something so unusual and intense and lengthy and to do all of it with my parents, and parts of it with other family and friends. Life, as my father used to say when discussing the temporary nature of his installation art, consists of a series of impermanent experiences. These experiences are summed into an existence. They are embodied in individuals’ memories or in a few cases documented, partially, in the written word or some kind of visual recording. But the sad truth is that nothing is permanent, much as we try to make it so.
I haven’t written in quite some time, as things were somewhat chaotic during both the last week of the trip as well as upon my return to D.C. However, my plan is to rectify this problem with a bit of writing-in-hindsight reports, with this entry as the first. The last week of riding in particular yielded some very interesting experiences — the steep, unyielding hills of eastern Ohio and western Pennsylvania, the danger of the coal trucks of this region, the near-miracle that was the Great Allegheny Passage Trail, the ride over the Eastern Continental Divide (which my father insists is an oxymoron), the majesty of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Falling Water, the beautiful chaos of the C&O Canal Trail, the strange and moody Paw Paw Tunnel, my mother’s increasing apprehension about a Deliverance-style encounter, lunch at Antietam Creek, and our return to the big city.
Until then!
August 6, 2008
We are now home and it feels great to be here; to sleep in our own bed, to cook our own meals and in our own kitchen, to walk in our own yard, and to relax in our own furniture and in our own way. I must confess, though, being here is not without mixed feelings.
I know I’ll never experience anything quite like this journey again. How unique it was to be able to travel this way across the United States; to bike the most secondary of rural roads, to drive through the smallest of rural towns, to engage with all kinds of people from all walks of life, and to experience the wide variety of geological masterpieces and terrain this country has to offer. There are places we saw and things we did that will never be replicated. To think I’ll be driving on primary major roads again to get me where I need to go saddens me. These roads, in many ways, have taken those unique experiences from us.
But the thing that made this journey so special for me was the three men I kept company with 24/7. What a great group of guys. They had a terrific sense of humor which kept me laughing much of the time, even when the stress level rose to “oh dear, now what do we do?” Someone always seemed to break through with appropriate humor. They kidded each other and also with me. Certain words were bantered about like mumser, and schlepping, and butt butter, and sissy spandex, and cattywumpus, and these words were used over and over again throughout the trip.
Each worked hard and rode some days until they couldn’t turn the pedals anymore. I especially remember the cold, rainy weather in Oregon, where they ended the day full of mud, tired and wondering what they’d gotten themselves into. I can see them climb the highest of mountains, hurting because of the height and thin air. Or when they rode the flats through intense heat and high winds. All this while I sat in a comfortable, air-conditioned van outfitted with a Sirius radio. I wasn’t sure whether I should feel sorry for them, be embarrassed because I wasn’t out there suffering too, or tell myself this was the condition of my job. I confess, I chose the latter.
Our grandson, Ian, was such a delight to have along. Being 17, then 18 years, helped keep the energy of the trip on a whole other level.  His humor, his use of electronic gadgets, his music, and his teenage personality delighted us and gave us all fodder to use with and against him. All in fun, you understand. He could ride like the wind and often found himself way out in front only to be reminded to stay close for safety reasons. And he looked terrific in his spandex outfit with many looks from young gals observing us along the way. We missed him when he left the ride but we felt his presence when dipping into the Atlantic. A job well done, Ian
Then there’s our son Peter, whom we were constantly with for two months. We haven’t spent this much consistent time with him since he was a preschooler. What a treat that was. He was as serious and sure of this ride as anyone and was determined to finish. He was the out-front guy, the one his dad drafted. Dan would always say what a great rider he had become and what a great pace-setter.
Peter has a very dry sense of humor. He would kid, conjole, and tell funny stories that broke us up. He had nicknames for the most unexpected and mundane things. But surrounding this humor was a serious side as well and when he felt passionate about something, he let us know. These convictions always brought about interesting conversations and sometimes, long nights. We knew he gave up a lot of time that would have been spent working on his dissertation. But he stuck with the trip and we appreciated that sacrifice. I might have copped out altogether had I that kind of responsibility. Thanks dear Peter for putting up with us for this long and the very best to you, always.
And then there’s hubby Dan. The organizer, the leader of the pack, the motivator, the determined one. He worked long and hard hours for 2 years on this trip. I swear he knew every road, every crevice, every mountain, and every town we were going to ride on or going through. He contacted bike clubs, state transportation departments, and individuals to get their opinions on roads and trails. We had more maps than AAA and all organized according to the daily trek of the ride. And then, during the trip and in the evening, he’d double check his maps and charts and software and have us ready to go the next day with a definite destination in mind. We were dependent on him for the roads to take and without him and this knowledge, we would still be wandering around the U.S. trying to get to the Atlantic.
Another area of expertise was nutrition. Dan studied this like he did the roads. He bought books on nutrition for bikers, he consulted with two nutritionists (both extended family members), he talked with other bikers, and he read labels on foods and beverages to get the best for the trip. In fact, he bought such a huge box of energy bars that 90% of them are still uneaten. They all ate so well that no one lost weight during the first half of the trip. (Two out of the three wanted to lose something!) It wasn’t until they recognized this fact that they decided to eat less and normal foods. They ate this way for the rest of the trip. This helped and they had as much energy as before. And they lost some weight and ended up looking great in those outfits!
Dan was the motivator too. He’d be the first one up in the morning, without fail, and the cheerleader, always reminding us to get out on the roads before it got too hot. I can remember many mornings when we all wished he’d lay off, get lost, go eat breakfast, do something so that we could stay in bed and sleep. But not so. He was determined to ride and held his ground on that point. Of course, we’re glad he did or we wouldn’t be home yet!
For me, it was great to see my husband be this involved with his son and grandson. It was a bond that grew richer with every mile. And the memories they share will remain a lifetime. I was so proud of him as a rider too. He never once wanted to quit or not ride on any given day. And he rode all those miles without having to stop because he couldn’t do it. When he stopped to rest it was to eat, refresh his drink, or relax and not because he couldn’t pedal anymore.
I feel so fortunate to have been their support driver. I confess, I had trepidations in the beginning not knowing what I was in for. Could I deal with three men? Could they deal with me? Would I get lost, dent the van, not feed them properly, get bored, miss golf (yes, I did), and miss home. I can honestly say, all these concerns went unfounded (except driving in the Appalachians). I loved every minute of being with them. They treated me like one of the guys to the point I had to remind them that I really wasn’t one of them. It was a busy time but delightful with experiences I will cherish forever.
Someone asked me if I’d do this again. I knew the answer right off. Without hesitating, I said son Peter and I had a conversation about this exact same thing. As a result, Peter promised me that if he ever plans on doing something this outrageous again, like sailing solo around the world, he would not tell his dad about the plan. Guess that answered her question.
Love you guys
Jean, Mom, Grammy
