San Diego 9 March

John and I are beginning our second coast to coast bicycle ride tomorrow morning, 10 March.  We plan to finish on 30 April. We are riding with (cringe) Bubba's Pampered Pedalers from San Diego to St. Augustine, Florida. There are 35 riders and 12 staff. It is a tent ride (mostly) with on-site cooking (mostly). Bubba's staff sets up the tents and breaks them down again-- we will have a cot, an air mattress, a chair, a towel but sadly no toilet.

At the introductory session we met Crash, Flash, Clutch, Sunshine, Snowflake, WEB, NBC, Bebe, Gogo, Gigi, Gaga (me), many others temporarily forgotten, and of course, Bubba! By Bubba's decree everyone must have a nickname sooner or later-- I offered my "grandma" name in a preemptive strike hoping to avoid something worse. One guy is called "Batteries" because his first and last names begin with "A". Another is called NBC because his last name is Peacock!

Bubba was a policeman for 28 years and is very safety conscious but we weren't required to have a doctor's okay for the trip, and didn't need to sign a vow not to do various bad things (on our 2010 trip we had to promise never to drink while riding and never to make rude gestures toward drivers, among a long list of other no-nos). He also never mentioned listening to music and while I don't make a habit of it, I like to think that one earphone discreetly hidden in my right ear is a handy Plan B if the miles of desert start to get me down. Speaking of which I have discovered that I now hear absolutely nothing in my left ear. Strange how these things sneak up on one.

We had an amazingly good trip out here thanks to an upgrade to first class and a lovely flight attendant (gay, male, very funny) who instinctively knew that things go better with gin. We got a personal tour around San Diego with our friend fron the ABB ride, Phillip White who lives here, took a couple of great bike rides and spent an afternoon at the San Diego Zoo. Tomorrow we leave San Diego on a short but somewhat uphill ride to the ominously named town of Alpine, California.

Days 1 & 2: San Diego to Boulevard, California

Two days of riding are now behind us-- I was so exhausted last night that I conked out right after dinner but there was no wifi at the campground and limited facilities for getting all the phones, garmins, cameras, iTouchs, ipads, and etc. charged,  so I didnt even try to do a new post.  Yesterday was an incredibly tough day what with lots of traffic getting out of San Diego and some absolutely interminable climbs to get us from sea level to 3000 feet.  Today was supposed to be worse but I didn't find it so---I have a new bike computer that tells me the degree of the grade so this year I have been obsessing about grade rather than mileage-- most of the climb yesterday was 5 - 8 % with one bit going up to 18%-- I walked!  Walked again very briefly this morning when it got very steep again but then my computer ran out of power so I just climbed and climbed and climbed some more without knowing how steep it was.

Now, as last night, we are at a campground on an Indian reservation.  Last night we ate at a casino buffet-- my most hated kind of dinner-- all you can eat but fortunately I didn't feel like eating much.  Tonight the staff is cooking here at the campground.  The good bits?  Usually a very good shoulder, often marked as a bike path-- some stretches badly cracked but still wide enough.  The weather has been brilliant-- very cold at night and now at 5 pm  but very pleasant for riding.  Very few dead animals on the road-- one bird, one snake in two days, only two lost and orphaned gloves, one yesterday, one today.  Motel was seedy and campgrounds very sketchy-- our tents chock-a-block but plenty of people snoring so one need not feel like a pariah.  Went out to the portapotty four times last night but at this place you must turn the brass knob to the left, punch in three numbers and turn the knob to the right so I am giving up straight away and heading for the woods.  The scenery?  Pretty good and sometimes spectacular in a very non-New England way-- lots of hills with lots of rocks and lots of sandy stone.  Daffodils are in bloom, trees in bud, and lots of other flowers including huge swaths of purple ground phlox.

Day 3 - Calexico California

Picture is of the border fence between California and Mexico.  Border patrol may be the biggest industry around here-- yesterday we passed a Border Patrol station where hundreds of vehicles were parked (I guess nobody tries to sneak in on Sunday) and today about every other thing that passed in either direction was BP, not to mention the several trucks parked out in the desert.  At one of our SAG stops we were all peeing behind little bushes while men with binoculars perched up on the ridge-- hopefully looking in the Mexico direction.

As a skilled complainer with years of practice I have the ability to switch almost instantly from whining about the endless climbing to bitching about the endless flat and my skills were put to the test today.  We started out with a climb (yes, back up the hill we rode down at the end of yesterday's ride) then had a nice few miles on "Historic Old Route 80" to a town called  Jacumba.  There we got  to Interstate 8 and had an incredible ten mile downhill-- not the terrifying kind but down, down, down, through an unearthly landscape of tumbled rocks.  There, halfway through the ride, ended our fun.  We were in a "town" called Ocotillo where we had lunch-- (Fountain Drinks - Motorcycle Parts), then into the Yuha Desert for many miles.  Totally uninhabited--it must be federal land-- I wondered why there was nothing dead on the road and finally realized that there is nothing alive off the road except Border Patrol..  Eventually we passed through the desert and into flat agricultural county with irrigation and lots of onions-- it is easy to identify them because of the odor.    Shoulder good, headwind bad, scenery pretty strange-- I got through thirty miles of it with the help of my iTunes--  nobody running this ride seems to know or care if we use earphones and there are no staff riders to monitor our behavior.

 Tonight we are sleeping in a church-- literally in the sanctuary with mattresses lining the aisles.  Our showers were in the minister's home-- three blocks away with two showers for 46 people but since I missed mine yesterday I was determined to get one today and succeeded.  I hope Bubba is giving this church a lot of money!    I had my first fall today-- as always because I was clipped in.  Started to think I had missed the church (I had) and while I was thinking about turning around I slowed so much that I tipped over right into the street-- very embarassing  but no injury.  Unlike one of the Bubba's staff...Sunshine fell off the truck this afternoon and broke her arm in two places.    

 

Day 4 - Goodbye California, Hello Arizona

San Diego to St. Augustine-- so easy to say, so hard to ride!  I keep telling myself that it is the journey that matters, not the destination, that one should savor the experience... smell the roses, as they say.  But where are the roses??? Not to be found anywhere today as you can see from the picture.  We rode through about fifty miles of this and another ten miles of the worst of city thoroughfares-- 16th Avenue in Yuma, Arizona.  Fortunately I am now clean, resting comfortably outside of a Dos Equis and for some reason cheerful about the whole thing.

Today we rode for about 24 miles on Route 98 in California, then a dozen miles on Interstate 8-- the shoulders were great and we buzzed along nicely.  Then it was off the highway and onto "Center of the World Road", a four mile stretch that I thought was the worst road I had ever bicycled-- then two more miles on I8 and off again onto a five mile stretch that was much worse than the first one.  John's water bottle actually bounced out (although he did not realize it at the time).  Turns out that California permits cyclists on the interstate where there is no alternate route and forces them off whenever possible.  Sadly the alternate routes are not maintained-- they give you the idea of what the country will look like when there are no more humans-- or perhaps like the roads around Chernobyl in a documentary that John and I watched.  Very strange.

But speaking of strange...we had lunch at the Center of the World in Felicity, California (population 280) a place that has been officially designated as the C of the W.  They have a piece of the original spiral stairs from the Eiffel Tower, a pyramid that covers the official Center and an ongoing project to carve the history of the world in granite.  The project is designed never to be completed-- they have finished the histories of California and Arizona but plan to do all the states and foreign countries-- they have the history of aviation and for some reason the history of the French Foreign Legion-- all quite beautifully done in polished red granite.  We paid $5 for the tour but I can only assume that there is some real money behind the project as well as some one with a passion for the plan...it is super engineered to outlast the human race, for e.g.  We got to put our foot on the "Center", make a wish, and got a certificate proving that we were there.

Day 5: Yuma to Dateland

Slept in a Parks and Recreation facility in Yuma and although we were in a huge room lined with our mattresses  it was remarkably pleasant.  You can see that John was very comfortable.  We had a taco dinner that was a big hit but more on that later.  After dinner the local historian came and gave a very interesting slide show about the history of Yuma.  In the morning it became known that several people were ill-- John had had a terrible night throwing up and etc.  He wanted to ride despite feeling bad but got a slow start so I spent the first several miles (horrible road, heavy traffic) in a state of some anxiety about him.  He finally caught up and we had the only nice miles of the trip-- through the "salad bowl" of the U.S.  Ninety % of all lettuce grown in the country is grown in Yuma-- lots of other veggies as well-- Unfortunately that was only twelve miles of the seventy some I rode--and John was so weak and miserable that he had to SAG starting at mile 24.  So I was really on my own through fifty miles of uninspiring country.  I managed it with the help of my iTouch and John Irving's "Prayer for Owen Meany" -- it kept me going for a long time until we had to get on Interstate 8 and I decided that I should quit listening to the book and start listening for trucks that threatened to run me off the road.  Finally we arrived at "Dateland" which is really just a highway interchange where they sell "world famous" date shakes.  Our campground was sandwiched between the Interstate and a heavily used freight train line but such is our exhaustion that we slept very well.

These guys were cutting iceberg lettuce and taking off the outer leaves with a machete.  The heads were tossed onto the conveyor belt where a woman came along and put them into plastic bags, then into cartons.  The whole huge machine was slowly moving along the field.

Day 6: Dateland to Gila Bend

This is the only picture I took today!   But it was a reasonable day all things considered.  Considering that for obscure and poorly understood reasons we are cycling many miles through the hot, dry, dusty, and basically very boring Arizona desert.  Last night's sunset was pretty but other than that I have yet to get the beautiful part of this landscape.

We have all gone from dreading the interstate to hoping that we get to ride on it.  On the frontage roads we bump and jounce around unmercifully-- on the interstate we have a wide and smooth passage that would seem like a lovely bike lane if it weren't for the 75 mile an hour speed limit and the scores of huge trucks passing by.  Fortunately we had only 53 miles to ride and there were none of Bubba's surprise extra miles-- we had about five extras yesterday.  John is feeling better and rode all the way today-- I amused myself by watching for the astonishing number of nuts, bolts, screws, nails, tacks, D rings, S hooks and etc, that end up on the shoulder of the interstate---today I even saw a wrench.  Could not listen to Owen Meany because the Interstate is too noisy and the frontage roads are too bumpy.  In Gila Bend we found our first Dairy Queen and really, does life get any better than that?

Day 6: A few bits and pieces

"Sunshine" the woman who fell off the truck fractured her arm in two places.  Fortunately there was a hospital in Calexico and even more fortunately she had a brother living in San Diego who was able to come and get her.  She is planning to meet us at the end in Florida.

John's nickname was "No Girth"-- don't ask and no-one uses it.  In fact, the nickname thing has pretty much gone out the window-- it just doesn't work with a group this big.  Bubba tried to christen Scott Bean as "Pork'n" , then "Refried" but neither took hold and Scott is just Scott.  He is greatly relieved.

Our "Minister of Liquid Refreshment"  (DHB for Downhill Bob) is stuck somewhere on the road so has not yet joined the trip.  Whoever is substituting for him is no connoisseur of beer and wine.  The first option was Bud Lite (you are right Steve, almost no-one would drink it) and two  boxes of wine "Sweet Chardonnay" and "Sweet Merlot" (whatever they are!).  In the past couple of days we have had Dos Equis, however, and that is well received.

Day 7: Gila Bend to Casa Grande

Our ride today was 78 miles and for about 18 of those miles everything came together to give us a nice ride.  The temperature was comfortable, the road was smooth, the traffic was light, the shoulder was generous and the Sonoran Desert was reasonably scenic.  Once those miles were over, the elements began to fall away to make for a sixty mile ride that had no redeeming features.  Bad, bad roads, feed lots, high traffic, no scenery, heat, dust and etc.  I foolishly remarked to John that they only thing to make it worse would be a flat tire and guess what?  Before too long I had one!  The idea of changing the tire beside a dirty busy highway was unappealing but we did it and afterwards realized that changing the tire was as good as a rest.  I didn't take a single picture all day so the one above is of our cook "Krash".  Scary looking at first but a really sweet guy and a good cook.  Our campground was the usual dusty desert R.V. centric hell hole but the desert evenings are very pleasant and we had a comfortable evening chatting under our pavilion with "adult beverages".  Thanks Paul and Marsha Trowbridge for the visit and for the goodies.  Much appreciated.

Day 8: Casa Grande to Catalina

A friend wrote to me today saying that she and her husband were enjoying my blog but it didn't make them want to be here!  You can say that again...today John and I did not want to be here either.  Yesterday was  very tough and we were relieved to learn today's ride was only sixty miles.  Things went badly very early on, however, when my air mattress gave out sometime in the middle of the night.  I went off to pee, came back and sat on the ground holding back tears and suddenly remembered the old trick of two people sleeping head to foot on a single bed.  So John sleepily moved over and we both had a decent night's sleep.

Breakfast over, we took off on our ride-- I got the earliest start of the trip, about 7:30 and thought I should be able to make camp in about five hours or less.  It was not to be-- as one of my co-riders just said, "we went from hell to the other side of hell" and with a fierce headwind it was a ride more ghastly than any that have come before.  So bad, in fact, that failing to find food and water at the proper intervals, neither John nor I was able to complete the ride.  It took about six hours to get to a SAG stop at  mile 41 and at that point I was  done for.  I took a ride in the van, as did several others, and now we are all happily ensconced in the first nice campground of the trip.  Catalina State Park is very pretty, tent oriented, has a good shower and bathrooms and best of all we have a rest day here.  Sadly, rain and low temperatures are predicted.

Day 9: Rest Day in Catalina

Always new experiences to be had...this one involves sitting in the bathroom with my computer doodads, wifi hotspot and etc. to do my blog.  Last night whenever I woke I was mystified to feel grit on my pillow and blanket but I never explored the problem too deeply.  This morning we woke to violent winds buffeting the tent and everything inside it completely covered with fine sand.  We thought it was just us, having failed to close the outer door up tight-- we usually leave it open for ventilation.  Later it turned out that the wind was strong enough and the grit fine enough that it got into all of the tents.  Even worse, it soon began to pelt rain.  I finally got the  energy to stagger out and found that we were being shuttled off site for breakfast.  The wind and rain were so violent that they couldn't keep the stoves lit and the plates and etc. were being blown away.  So, off we went to the "Sunny Side-up" (ha ha) for breakfast.  Fortunately most of us see the funny crazy side of this experience and keep laughing.  One couple has failed to see any humor at all and has gone off to a hotel, another guy has decided to go home to Texas and maybe rejoin us in a couple of weeks (but I bet he won't do it!) John is back in our tent which has so far remained dry-- a few of the others, less luckily sited, are sucking up water from the ground and the occupants have had to pack up and bring all their stuff up here to the bathoom.  What a day!  The great thing, of course, is that we don't have to ride and there is a movie complex not so far away so perhaps they will take us down there this afternoon.

Day 10: Catalina to Somewhere in Arizona

The first picture is of the dirt that blew in and collected on my sheet in the night.  It was not only on the sheet, of course but permeated into every nook and cranny of every bag, piece of clothing, and etc.  Very weird.  While I was sitting there contemplating inner tent chaos I looked at the gym bag given to us at the beginning of the ride-- it said "San Diego to St. Augustine - the Pampered Way".  I could not help a semi-hysterical cackle-- one of the many times I have broken down in giggles at the ridiculous nature of this ride.

The other picture, in which I don't look terrifically cheerful, is me setting off in 40 degree weather wearing nearly every top I had.  The weather was very fickle-- sometimes it looked like it would clear-- a few minutes later it would rain.  We went through five hail storms during the ride and by lucky timing John and I were in a nice Italian restaurant on the outskirts of Tucson when the worst one happened.  Despite the weather, today was a really nice ride-- I think the best so far.   We rode from somewhere northwest of Tucson to somewhere southeast of Tucson-- only forty miles in all.  There were ups, downs, curves, mountains, vistas, cacti, attractive adobe housing complexes-- in general things of interest.

The cooking on this trip is not the gourmet experience we were promised-- our cook does well but he has no stove (it was left behind in Florida due to the vehicle problem I may have mentioned before) so he is doing everything in giant slow cookers and it is not a success.  John and I have decided to make more eating stops-- we were lucky today as we made our way around Tucson that there were lots of "food choices" as Bubba puts it.  We stopped three times to eat and get warm and the miles in between stops were painless.

Day 11: The ride to Tombstone

Finally a glorious, glorious day of riding. We went south on Route 83 over the Santa Cruz mountain range, then east on Route 82 over something called the San Pedro Riparian.  There was nearly 4000 feet of climbing but reasonably comfortable grades (3-7%) and although it was quite cold, the sun was shining.  For the first time we could appreciate the beauty of Arizona.    

The ride was 73 miles and ended up in an RV park just outside Tombstone.  Sadly, I quickly realized that our accommodations, often very sketchy on this trip, were the worst thus far.  Because Bubba let his trip get so big (it was originally planned for 15 riders) he has been dashing around madly trying to rework the logistics for the 35 riders he actually has.  In this place we were supposed to stay in small cabins but there are not enough of them so he put the overflow into an empty double wide and a non-operating pizza restaurant.  We got the pizza place and it was ghastly.  Smelled terrible, , very crowded with the number of mattresses in there,  old machinery and cooking things everywhere. Exhausted from my ride I looked around and collapsed into a puddle of weeping misery.  All of the people who had been put in the building were fuming-- some went to a hotel (since the first night in Catalina we have lost several people every night to hotels) one couple insisted that their tent be set up outside, and John went to look for a light bulb for the bathroom.   In this quest he learned that there was no electricity and no heat in the building and was offered a real room above the "office".  He reappeared, said"get your mattress and your suitcase quick" and we rushed off to lay claim to the new space.  So we spent the night with light, heat, a bathroom, a place to charge everything.  Pure luxury.

Possibly in an effort to distract his riders from their temporary home, Bubba decked us out with cowboy hats, bandannas and plastic sheriff stars and got the Tombstone Trolley to take us into town.  There we watched a "gunfight" -- really 30 minutes of comic skits which were somewhat amusing although we were all very cold on metal bleachers.  Then it was off to "Big Nose Kate's Saloon" where we had pizza and listened to a singer who was so good, singing mostly Willie Nelson songs, that we thought for some time he was lip synching.  Finally we were loaded back on the trolley and taken for a "ghost tour" but I was so exhausted that I spent most of it asleep.

Days 12 & 13: to Rodeo, New Mexico

My picture is of the horrid corner where we were supposed to sleep and where I had my meltdown.   We are in now Rodeo, New Mexico, two days ride away from when I last posted.  Yesterday we rode from Tombstone to Bisbee-- the shortest ride of our whole trip (about 25 miles) but a long hard climb up into Bisbee. For me it was a combination bike/hike.   Bisbee is a fascinating town, the site of a now defunct copper mine.  It is extremely hilly with tiny houses clinging to the hillsides  and a massive open pit, entirely fenced off since 1974.  At that time the town was largely abandoned and was referred to as a "ghost town" which I think is a misnomer since there were still a few people there and things like water and electricity  available.  Real estate prices dropped precipitously, however, and according to the locals the "hippies" from California moved in-- many just squatted and others actually purchased houses.  A lousy shack could be had for $1000 and a really nice house for $5000 or $6000.  Bisbee is now a thriving and very attractive tourist town, a place we would actually like to return to.  We had dinner on our own and probably the best meal we will have this summer.  Really marvelous and because John and I are celebrating our 32nd anniversary we felt we deserved a treat.

We froze again last night but not as badly as the night in Tucson where ice formed on our tent and we moved in the middle of the night to the computer room in the RV park where we were staying.  This morning we headed off on a 78 mile ride to Rodeo, New Mexico. One of the best riding days of my life.  It was Route 80 the whole way, a state road, but after we went through Douglas Arizona it was more like a  bike lane shared only with the Border Patrol.  The road surface was great, there was a lot of downhill, it was scenic and best of all a really great tailwind.  We rode all 78 miles in about a little more than five hours-- we were spinning along at a great rate and it seemed like every time I looked another mile post went by.  We are hoping for a repeat tomorrow when we have our longest day of the trip-- 94 miles to Columbus, New Mexico where we have a rest day.  Rodeo is a very small and nondescript town.  Some buildings along the highway with dirt "streets" on the south side and a few sketchy houses.  We are having dinner at the Rodeo Tavern and it is time to eat.

Day 14: Rodeo to Columbus, New Mexico

This picture is of the "drag road" that the Border Patrol maintains along much of the regular highway.  They drag it with heavy truck tires so they can see tracks where smugglers cross.  After dinner in Rodeo last night we had two guest speakers.  One of them was "Captain Rick" of the BP who gave a fascinating talk about their work.  He was intelligent, articulate and humane-- in my estimation the kind of guy who goes plugging along doing a thankless job while politicians and the populace make naive and preposterous pronouncements about how things should be done differently.  I am especially sensitive about this because in Catalina we had a guest speaker I haven't previously mentioned--"Cowboy Joe" who was supposed to be a humorist but turned out to be an especially egregious example of a wingnut who gave a sexist, racist and highly offensive "speech".

The picture below is of a "street" in Rodeo.

Our other speaker in Rodeo was a young woman who is doing research work on Big Horn Sheep, studying lamb mortality.   Also very interesting.  Bubba learned of our 32nd wedding anniversary and called us up for applause and a bottle of wine.

Our ride yesterday was 97 miles (not the advertised 94) and  much more challenging than the ride to Rodeo.    We did not have a really favorable wind and the scenery was much of a muchness.  The road was good, however, and there was very little traffic-- the ride took eight hours.  We are now in Columbus-- a more desolate place than I have ever seen.  Our housing is in a spanking new elementary school-- certainly the nicest building in town and once again we are sleeping in a gym.  We have the day off.

Day 15: Rest Day in Columbus, New Mexico

Like someone imprisoned I am learning survival skills.  When we entered the gym at the Columbus School I quickly realized that if I shifted a few of the not yet taken mattresses, John and I could have our own plug.  What bliss!  Being able to charge our electronics right in our own little corner of the world.

Columbus is a strange place.  It is just two miles from a Mexican town called Palomas.  The school where we are staying is the only large employer and it is a really big school.  One wonders why such a big elementary school for such a dinky town.  More on that later....

 Columbus is the site of Pancho Villa's raid into the U.S. in 1916 and Pancho appears to be their claim to fame.  In July 2011 Columbus had what they call "The Second Raid"; the FBI capture of the mayor, the police chief and several other town leaders, who were accused and eventually convicted of smuggling guns to the Mexican cartel.  This left Nicole, a young woman who was town clerk, appointed as the new mayor.  Bubba invited her over to talk about Columbus.  Turns out she is also an EMT.  There is an arrangement with Palomas that Columbus will provide emergency services.  Since the only clinic in Palomas is sometimes shuttered by the cartel, women delivering babies call the Columbus ambulance.  In 5 years Nicole has delivered 23 babies and she is only one of several doing this.  Each of these babies is automatically an American citizen and must be educated in the U.S.  Thus goes the school bus, every morning, down to the "portal" and picks up the kids for school in Columbus. There is apparently some disgruntlement about this because the Mexicans pay no taxes for the maintenance of the school but Columbus citizens don't have much of a platform to complain since their town officials blotted their copybook with the smuggling thing.

About half of our group went over to Palomas for lunch at "The Pink Store.  While Columbus is dreary and appears largely deserted, Palomas is a very happening place.  Just one long party, at least to the casual tourist.  It was there I learned that margaritas are like t**s on a woman:  "One is not enough and three is too many". The Pink Store is a combo shop and restaurant and the minute you enter you are offered a free margarita.  There is lots of beautiful Mexican pottery, leather, jewelry, booze, clothing, etc.  We had a really nice lunch there and I am glad that John and I took advantage of the side trip because we are not likely to be any where near Mexico again.

Days 16 & 17: In and out of El Paso

Leaving El Paso

Still cogitating on the complicated relationship between the border towns in the U.S. and Mexico, I left Columbus yesterday morning and rode sixty miles without seeing a building or tree and almost no traffic.  Eventually we reached Sunland, a New Mexico suburb of El Paso and our primary destination; a Dairy Queen.  Our delight in chocolate milkshakes was slightly dampened by finding that John had a flat tire (caused by a goathead thorn)  but he changed it and off we went on a rather unpromising bike lane.  Not a couple of miles later he had another flat-- this one was more of a disaster because it was a back tire, we could not identify the cause, and we were broiling under a merciless sun alongside a very busy highway.  Nothing for it but to change that one also and we were under way again.

Getting into cities on a bicycle is always hard-- it tends to happen late in the day when one is hot and tired and there is rush hour traffic.  This was one of the worst-- bad roads where we had to merge and make difficult left turns and it was all dust and dirt and glass and the bigger scene was cement plants and gravel quarries  Finally we crossed over the Rio not so Grande, took our pictures at the Texas border (where the words "Home of George W. Bush" on the welcome sign had been painted over) and battled up a steep hill  to the hotel (yes! hotel).  I was very bent out of shape on arrival but the hotel was quite nice.  We then were carted off to my most unfavorite restaurant, the "Golden Corral".  This is a buffet offering countless options and all you can eat.  I enter determined to exercise restraint and depart feeling ready to explode from over eating-- some things never change.

This morning after a good night's sleep we battled our way out of El Paso-- a process much more pleasant than our entry because it was cool and we were rested.  Bubba routed us on residential streets for some time, then we rode right through downtown El Paso.  We eventually got on Delta Drive and rode that to the "North Loop".  It was a good twenty miles before we were out into the country.   For the last some miles and for the next several days we will be riding on Texas Route 20.  It was hot but with a good breeze and our 56 mile ride to Fort Hancock very pleasant overall.

Day 18: A little desert goes a long way

Sierra Blanca Texas

For those of you who have hoped that things would get better, I must say that today was not the day that it happened.  For a 75 mile ride I left Fort Hancock in a blissful state of contentment-- nice and cool, great road, no traffic and reasonably attractive Texas farm land.  Twenty miles later the ride hit a bump and sent me into a fresh new hell.  It began with a short stint on I-10 on a shoulder that was fully grooved.  For more than two miles we struggled along beside hundreds of trucks and a legal speed limit of 80 miles per hour.

The next direction was to carry the bikes over a short graveled section and onto a frontage road that had suddenly materialized out of nowhere.  Little did I know that I was beginning a gradual but ten mile long climb on a rough road.  Bubba, with his philosophy that "it is all good" prefers to gloss over the parts that someone might think are not so good, so the climb was briefly mentioned at the meeting last night but the details were left very vague.  My own preference is to know the worst ahead of time so that I can be mentally prepared-- in any case, the road was there and I had to ride it.  Aggravated, annoyed and aggrieved, I toiled on with the help of my iTouch and "A Prayer for Owen Meany". Eventually we reached Sierra Blanca, a town in complete dishevelment, where we had lunch-- I am existing almost entirely on cheese sandwiches and cheese enchiladas-- vegetarianism on a bike ride is nothing like what it is in Northport Maine.

I was wrong, by the way, when I said we would be on Route 20 for some days-- it is Route 90 that we get on tomorrow and will ride for the next four days.  More frontage road after lunch and eventually back onto I-10 proper (supposedly the last time we will be riding on an interstate) and eventually a nice long downhill-- marred only by the close proximity of two lanes packed with huge trailer trucks.  Our immediate destination was a Dairy Queen on the outskirts of Van Horne.  Simultaneously with reaching the DQ, I realized that it was closed and that I had a flat tire.  A double whammy.  Thinking John was not far behind me, I began to push the bike.  Since he didn't show up I finally called and learned that he had also had a flat and that in his case the whole tire was ruined.  Fortunately our mechanic came along with a new tire and got John back on the road.  In the meantime since I was only 1.5 miles from camp I took a ride rather than asking someone to change my flat in the heat and dirt of the roadside.  We are now in the shade in a KOA and John has spent some time patching tubes and getting us road worthy again.  Tomorrow we ride another 75 miles to Marfa.

Day 19: Some good news, some bad news

How we are pampered today

The good news about today?  Nice clouds, a DQ at the end and I made the 74 mile ride without a SAG.  The bad news?   Scenery: not so great.  Road surface: mostly terrible.  Speed limit:  75 mph on a two lane road.  Horrific accidents: one big truck, picture below.  Winds:  not favorable.  Riding today felt like rowing a small boat across an open ocean.  Only John Irving kept me going (and the thought of the DQ).  The only settlement was at a town called "Valentine" where the high school travel club catered a small lunch for us as a fundraiser.  Last year their school had 78 students in grades K-12 and graduated 2 students.  This year there are 5 seniors.  I was put off by a pretty girl who proudly told us that her father bought her a car...a Hummer!  This in yet another town that looks post-apocalytic.    

Day 20: Losing It

Ghost Bike Near Marfa Texas

This is the second ghost bike we have seen on the trip-- when we passed the first we were in a car being shuttled to breakfast so I could not get a picture.  A ghost bike is a memorial to a person who has been killed in a bicycle accident.  It is a reminder to us all that caution is warranted.

I started this day determined to be more positive in my outlook and more mindful of what a marvelous experience we are having and for the first 26 miles I was successful.  The desert is cool and serene in the morning and soon, riding through an area called Paisano Pass, it was beautiful as well.  We made good time to Alpine.  Our first Alpine was in California and was truly situated in high elevations.  Alpine, Texas must have been named to in an attempt to evoke feelings of coolth and beauty but the town has neither.  Having a university, however, the town was more alive looking than most we have been through and had several food options.  Unfortunately we were there long before lunch and food did not entice so I hurried on.  Sadly, my positive mental attitude drained away quickly with each passing mile as the scenery was worse than tedious, the road surface went bad and the winds were cranky and random.

Our ride was short, however, and before long we arrived in Marathon where we found a nice cafe and two waitresses generous with the lemonade pitcher and I thought I was reasonably calm.  I have not previously mentioned that John and I have been banished to the "snore section" and those who know me know also that John is not to blame.  I am hugely offended by this and feel like a pariah dog who has been kicked to the outskirts of the village in disdain.  I have tried to keep it in perspective, however, and succeeded until today when we came into camp and discovered that our tent had been erected in the "dog walk" area and that everywhere about the tent lay copious amounts of dog waste.  I went off like a firecracker, screaming at the staff, using the f word numerous times, hurling my helmet and gloves to the ground and rushing off into the desert to die.  John and our very nice massage man, Ken, finally found me half asleep on the ground and persuaded me to return to camp.  So Amanda, when you said that you and  Babs were following my blog with concern for my safety and sanity, you were right on the mark!

Day 21: Big Bend Park (and more on Day 20)

This is me having waded across the Rio Grande to stand in Mexico.  Turns out that the penalty for doing this is $5000 fine or a year in jail or both!   But nobody seemed to be paying any attention.  Bubba hired two vans and took many of us down to Big Bend.  We rode more than 250  miles in the vans but the trip was well worth it as John and I will almost certainly avoid Texas in the future and Big Bend is pretty spectacular.  The cactus are just starting to bloom as there has been rain the past two days and the rock formations are marvelous.

We are now in "goathead" territory and these little thorns are certainly a plague.  They are the tiny thorned seeds of the tumbleweed and we are finding them in our beds, in our shoes, on the floor of the tent and everywhere.  I walked my bike into the camp yesterday but should have carried it as I got a flat just rolling it along.  Apparently we will have three more days of this before the problem lessens.  Despite this, we are in one of the nicer camps thus far.  There is even a small outhouse in the tent area that turns out to have a flush toilet.  I am now sitting at a picnic table using my headlamp to type and attracting lots of bugs so won't go on.   Except to say that tomorrow's trip promises to be harrowing with very high temps in the nineties.  Only 54 miles however.

More on "losing it" :  The dog area is marked on maps of the campground but there are no signs denoting the boundaries.  The boys who set up the tents are young, sweet and very boyish.  They have 30 or so tents to do and the winds were howling yesterday.  I am sure they never noticed the loads of desiccated piles lying about.  Only fussy old Dereka would worry about such niceties.

Day 22: Marathon to Sanderson, Texas

We had been warned that today would be very tough and I spent some time getting myself mentally prepared.  Hit the road at 8:30 but with all the sturm und drang I had neglected to charge my Garmin so I had no idea of time, speed, distance, etc.  Since there is nothing between Marathon and Sanderson I didn't worry about getting lost, just settled down to enjoy the early morning miles when the desert is at its best.  There was little scenery, and nothing of particular interest...in fact I took no pictures, but before I knew it I had reached the first SAG at about 20 miles.

Left there, still waiting for the ride to turn bad, and found myself sailing along with little effort on a gradual downhill, feeling great and just knowing that the miles were adding up fast.  With some amazement I soon reached the second SAG at mile 43.  When was the misery going to begin?  It was getting a bit hot so I poured water through my helmet and down my back and meeting up with John we started off together.  By this point there was only ten miles left but the riding was still easy and mostly downhill.  I could see a ridge ahead and braced myself for the climb.  It turned out that the road twisted and wound its way through a gap that magically appeared as we sailed along and very quickly I could see a town ahead.  It seemed impossible that we could have ridden 54 miles so quickly...was it a desert mirage?  a Potemkin village?  No, it was Sanderson, our home for the night.

So much for where worrying gets one.

Days 23 & 24: Sanderson to Bracketville

Comments and emails from my friends and readers suggest that my portrayal of this ride has been on the negative side.  We did have the one nice day riding to Sanderson and it looked like we might have turned a corner.  So not the case!  Yesterday was, I thought, the worst riding day of my life-- 81 miles of misery with high temperatures, very bad headwinds, heavy traffic, bad road surface, lots of hills, hideous landscape and, perhaps the worst of all, the seeming death of my iPod.  Turns out that it got a bit wet when I was being "misted" at a SAG stop but recovered function once it had time to dry out.  Desperately searching for positive things about the ride, I will say that neither John nor I had a flat, and the road cuts were very interesting geologically.

My riding time for the day was 9.5 hours and I was so late getting in and the wiring and wi-fi situation was so sketchy that I abandoned all thoughts of the blog and just sat and drank beer.  We were at Seminole Canyon State Park, just east of the Pecos River, and it was nice in that weird desert way-- particularly at sundown.  We had a decent night sleep and woke refreshed and ready for another ride.  We left at 7:30 and rode about 12 miles before we were again riding into a headwind-- soon worse than the day before.  I feel that I can deal with heat and hills but not headwinds-- especially not two days in a row.  The route crossed a very long bridge over the Amistad Reservoir west of Del Rio and the wind blew so hard on the bridge that I was barely able to maintain 5mph working as hard as I could.  I struggled on for 40 miles but when I reached the lunch spot in Del Rio I knew that I was done.  Several other people also sagged today but John decided to keep riding.  I feel like a failure when I sag but John said the ride was extremely difficult and I probably made a good choice.

One of the better bathrooms we have encounted-- better than the roadside, that is...

We are Fort Clark Spring in Bracketville, an old Army fort that was closed in 1942.  It is now a retirement home for military personnel, an rv park, a tent ground and a motel.  The distance between this place and where we were last night is only 76 miles but the landscape has changed markedly.  The Fort has lots of trees and real grass and things in general are much less desolate and dusty than we have been used to.

Geologic layers in road cut West Texas

Days 25 and 26: to Kerrville, Texas. Halfway!

Boot Fence - Near Hunt Texas

Two days of much better riding!  We left Fort Clark Spring in threatening windy weather but random small storms missed us entirely.  Rather than a sea of brown on either side of the road, we were seeing a sea of mesquite.  The cross winds didn't really trouble us and we wheeled along nicely to a largish town called Uvalde.  There we finally left Texas Route 90-- thanks be!  It was a horrible road...two lanes, 75 mph speed limit, heavy truck traffic and chip seal surface.  Have I bitched about all this before?  Perhaps so.  In any case, after four days of it we were delighted to turn north on Route 83.  Sadly the wind was from the north but while annoying it was not crippling and soon we found ourselves in the renowned "Texas Hill Country" and very nice it was!  We are in luck with the wild flowers-- there are several different kinds and they fill whole fields like a carpet.

We stayed last night at a place called "River Bend" where we had actual cabins with actual beds, a private bath and a nice porch to look out on a pond and trees.  Sadly no wifi and no phone reception (no matter who your provider) so for once the "Pamper Zone" was not full of riders on smart phones and iPads.  We even had a decent dinner and breakfast.

Today was the real treat, however.  We had a splendid ride through a landscape that could have been in New England (except for lots of prickly pear cactus).  Quite hilly but in a good way-- reasonably short climbs (nearly 3000 feet total, however) and nice downhill runs.  For the first 25 miles we were still going north on Route 83, then turned east again on Route 39...a really lovely ride.  The land on either side of the road was taken up with huge fenced ranches-- at least one of them a place to hunt for "trophy" animals.  Eventually we began to follow the Guadalupe River, crossing and recrossing it, a few times on bridges but mostly just on paved fords or "dips".  It was lovely to see a river with water in it-- everything but the Pecos has been dry as a bone.

My bitch today is with the route sheets which have consistently been wrong and were very much wrong today-- since they have been wrong so often I should be used to it but I guess with such a beautiful ride, the route sheets are the only way left to exercise my complaining nature.   I hadn't paid much attention to the sheet but when I arrived at the 37.3 SAG, other riders were complaining.  Fool that I am, I asked how far it was to lunch.  "Downhill Bob" the staff person at the SAG said it was 7 miles.  So off I rode, still without looking at the sheet, and in 7 miles began to look for the lunch stop.  Eventually I checked and saw that the lunch was supposed to be 50.8.  In other words 13.5 miles from the SAG.  At 50.8, however, there was nada.  I rode and rode thinking I had somehow missed it-- but eventually John texted me and said it wasn't until 55.2!  Very annoying when you are hot and tired!  Needless to say, I am not the only one fussing about this but I will try to accept it with a more laid back attitude.

One of many intricate ranch gates

Bluebonnets (which are actually like little lupines)

Day 28: Kerrville to Blanco, Texas

Turkey Vultures West of Blanco

The ride today was idyllic.  It was very, very hot but as long as one didn't stop riding, there was enough air movement to give relief.  For the first time ever on this trip I nearly ran out of water but WEB, one of our SAG drivers, came along in time and we were able to fill up.  Texas Hill Country is pastoral, green and leafy.  We were mostly on local "farm roads" with light traffic.  Altogether a splendid ride.  We are now in a nice state park in Blanco.

I have hope that this ride will continue to improve if only because there are many more roads available.  The roads we used for the first half of the trip were essentially the only roads.  Today I realized that a small New England county probably has several times the paved mileage that one finds in a huge county in the west.

Strange and funny things:

At a scenic overlook there was a very neatly edited sign that read:

"Don't push or shove or pee over cliff.  Campers and swimmers below"

Jet Plane in a Barnyard

"Throne Hinge"

This was a long line of toilets in a field.  A lot of work to be so idiotic.

Days 29 & 30: Blanco, Lockhart, La Grange, Texas

I have had some recent misadventures with blogging.  Yesterday I wrote a very long whiny post replete with bad attitudes-- so bad that I decided not to publish it.  Here is the short version:  food (lack of), environment (wrecking of), Texas state parks (bad design of) and Texas politics (idiocy of).  Today, with cheerful attitude restored, I wrote another long piece and then accidentally deleted it.  So here am I, after an excellent Easter Dinner (Eggplant Parmesan for me) giving it another go.

After a few days of riding in the wonderful Texas Hill Country, we are now in a slightly flatter but still lovely part of central Texas.  The west Texas towns like Sierra Blanca were so dreadful that I was prepared to declare the entire state a wasteland but there is actually a lot to like about the small towns we have ridden through more recently.  Comfort, Wimberly, Lockhart, LaGrange-- all nice old towns with carefully restored and maintained historic districts, lots going on, shady streets and lovely courthouses (Texas is famous for courthouses, I have learned).  We have been on better and worse roads but today was almost entirely back roads with light traffic.  We have finally seen real Texas longhorn cattle. The wildflowers continue to be spectacular.  But best of all, and entirely by chance, I had the opportunity today to tour the Texas Quilt Museum.

The ride was only 60 miles and when we reached LaGrange John suggested that we ride around the center of town.  Everything was closed up tight because of Easter Sunday but very quickly we stumbled upon the TQM.  Amazingly it was open, so smelly and sweaty as we were, in we went.  Did I mention that it has been really HOT!  Despite our condition, we were graciously welcomed by the museum ladies-- one of whom was Carrie ?, the founder of the museum and one of the main organizers of the Houston Quilt Show.  It is a fabulous museum with perhaps fifty very stunning and high quality quilts.  When I told her where I was from, Carrie mentioned that she knew of both Dianne Hire and Sarah Ann Smith-- two of our renowned Maine quilters.

A ninety mile ride tomorrow-- then a rest day.

Days 31 &32: La Grange to Mexican Hill Ranch

Chicken Ranch Dance Hall

The Chicken Ranch (Best Little Whorehouse in Texas) operated outside of La Grange from 1844 to 1973.  Near the end it was put under surveillance by law enforcement and they counted 484 people entering within a period of two days.  This nondescript roadside dance hall, not connected in any way but proximity, is the only reminder.

Our ride yesterday was about 90 miles, from La Grange to Richards, Texas.  The first 22 miles was utter bliss with the best of all SAG in a small town called Carmine.  A local man had bumped into Bubba on previous rides and was inspired to make fresh coffee at the town park.  This inspired "Deb" another local, to provide pastries, granola and "Happy Belly Green Smoothies". The mayor of Carmine, a man with a zither business was also there to greet us.  The smoothies looked rather scary but I tried one and it was great-- spinach, mango, almonds, celery, ginger, orange, mint and coconut water.

This pleasant interlude was rudely followed by a ghastly six mile ride on a four lane divided highway-- a wide shoulder but very rough and I was kept busy dodging broken glass, truck tire debris and the crushed carcasses of snakes, turtles and armadillos.  Fortunately it was so short and we were soon back on a beautiful country road.

Bubba provided lunch in Independence, at the original site of Baylor University and the ride continued on-- temperatures were reasonable, winds likewise and in a bit less than nine hours I was at the Mexican Hill Ranch in Richards where we are spending a rest day.

The picture above is at the MHR-- a bike hostel located on the route, 1829 miles from San Diego and 1220 miles from St. Augustine.  Ernie and his wife Doris run a ranch with a hostel business on the side and have been gracious hosts for our rest day.  Today several of the other cyclists and I went to "Washington on the Brazos" a museum about the Texas Revolution, the Republic of Texas and eventual U.S. Statehood.  The museum was very well done and since I knew absolutely nothing about Sam Houston, Santa Anna, Davy Crockett, the Alamo, San Jacinto and etc.  I learned a great deal.

Day 33: Richards to Coldspring, Texas

Lake Conrad, near New Waverley, Texas

Today John and I decided that there are no live armadillos in Texas.  The state just has a factory to manufacture carcasses and spreads them around Texas on the roads.  Not quite the same with javalinas... we saw three live ones and two dead, so we believe that they still exist.  

Our ride today was very short-- supposedly 44 miles although we have learned to add a few Bubba miles every day.  Today added up to about 48 rather than the 44 promised but who is counting?  People voluntarily riding coast to coast should not be obsessing about every extra mile-- but most of us do.  The beginning of the ride was lovely-- through the Sam Houston National Forest.  The rest was on a busier road but not awful.  We are now in yet another RV park-- we are all beginning to understand the limitations of the RV park for tenters...the RVs all have their own toilets and they aren't really expecting 45 tenters.  So, once again we have two showers-- one for men, one for women, and once again they have limited hot water which is always gone by the time I arrive.  At Mexican Hill I just gave up and took a bird bath with a wet cold washcloth.  That meant, however, that I hadn't had a shower since Sunday in La Grange.  This is Wednesday and I have ridden many hot sweaty miles.  Fortunately Bubba has felt our pain and offered the shower in his RV so I am again, temporarily, clean.  

Not much else to report-- we are in the land of the fire ants, today we crossed our first "bayou" and we have come into the land of red dirt.  We will be home in Maine three weeks from yesterday.  

Days 34 & 35: So long, Texas! Howdy Louisiana!

Today, after nineteen days of riding in Texas, we crossed the Sabine River into Louisiana.  Even better we have the great pleasure of being in a hotel!  A shower and toilet just for us two!  How could I ever have thought camping made any sense at all?

Our RV park last night was one of the worst ever.  Within a stone's throw of a busy four lane highway, hot, buggy and crowded.  The clincher happened at about 8:00 pm when a municipal vehicle rumbled through the park spewing a great cloud of choking, gagging mosquito spray!  This, apparently, is common practice in these parts and given the high number of bugs that managed to get into our tent anyway, I shudder to think how bad it would be without the toxic sprays....

Our ride this morning began with 30 miles on the same loathsome road that roared by our tents last night.  It was Route 96 north, and had a decent shoulder although lined with trash and animal remains.  Fortunately there was a slight tailwind and the miles passed quickly.  Our route then turned east and was slightly better although the winds less helpful.

You will see from the picture that I am now having knee trouble.  The first twinges came last week when we left Kerrville but I was able to ignore them for several days.  Yesterday the pain was more troublesome so we stopped at a CVS and got a knee brace.  It still hurts some but I was able to keep riding. We are now in De Witter, Louisiana. Tomorrow is a very long ride to Opelousas.

Days 35 & 36: De Ridder, Opelousas, Jackson

Yesterday the 91 mile ride from De Ridder to Opelousas was long and difficult with strong crosswinds and headwinds most of the way.  It might have been nice if we had had energy to look around much because we were riding through crayfish ponds and rice fields but we were so exhausted that we could only think of the miles.  I had left De Ridder ahead of John and stressing about the miles didn't even get off my bike at the first two SAGS.  That meant that I had to ride sixty miles without food or drink but finally met up with John in a restaurant in Mamou, Louisiana where we shared a Big Mamou" sandwich and some gumbo.  We were incredibly happy to get to a Comfort Inn in Opelousas and had a great night's rest.

Today was a wonderfully eventful and interesting ride-- the kind of ride I have been hoping for although it has had a bad ending.  We started with a 20 mile ride on a rather bad highway to the beginning of the Achafalya Swamp.  Because there was a very long and narrow bridge with no shoulder at all, Bubba decided to SAG all of us for 7.4 miles.  This was not a smooth operation but eventually we were all on the other side of the swamp and biked off again.  The crosswind was very annoying but we knew we were turning north in 12 miles (on LA Route 1) and at the point the wind was at our back.  We flew along and soon we were beside "False River", an oxbow that was once the main course of the Mississippi River-- cut off in 1722 by heavy rains.  This was a lovely ride with beautiful homes on both sides of the long narrow "lake".

Eventually we ended up on Route 10 east, heading toward the Mississippi.  The shoulder was great and with the wind at my back I was wheeling along merrily when suddenly I lost my focus and found myself in the weeds.  Having my hands in the center of the handlebars I was unable to brake and lurched along crazily through the tall grass, still hardly slowing at all.  Eventually, however, I thought I could turn slightly and regain the road.  In the attempt I hit the edge of the road and went flying down-- so much so that a passing truck stopped to see if I had survived.  Through great good luck I was shaken but not a bit hurt and was soon able to get back up and begin riding again.  This is actually the second time I have fallen spectacularly enough to make passing traffic stop-- I didn't mention the first time because I was stopped and taking a picture at the time and it was really nothing.  John happened to see my crazy ride through the weeds in his rear view mirror and had some bad moments waiting for me to gather my wits about me.

So, off we went again and soon, for the second time in two years, John and I bicycled across the Mississippi River.  This time it was on a new bridge-- the Audubon Bridge, just opened in 2010.  A beautiful bridge and certainly a memorable bicycling moment.

Our destination was "Perry's Bicycle Hostel" at mile 68.something.  I was horrified at first to find that there was only one shower for ALL OF US (45 people) but we set up a very sociable waiting line for the shower with beer and chat.  The shower was outdoors, with no dressing room and I saw a cute male butt and imagine that glimpses of my far less cute butt were to be had, but there was warm water and eventually we were all clean.

In the meantime Perry's son-in-law and two friends were doing a massive crayfish "boil"-- 250 pounds of them!  They had huge pots, huge propane tanks and burners and told me that they do boils every weekend.  They throw corn, heads of garlic, potatoes, lemons, onions and spices in with the crayfish and then spread the whole heap on long tables.  Riders and staff were picking for hours-- there is only a small amount of meat per crayfish-- you can eat scores of them and not feel full.

A bit squeamish  about all this pulling off of crayfish heads, I ate only a few that John picked for me (as well as some of the corn, potatoes and a whole head of boiled garlic ) and joined a few riders who had chosen to drink "mudslides" and listen to Cajun music on a sound system that was set up-- we all had a wonderful time and got sufficiently tipsy to dance.  Suddenly, however, at about 7:00 our hostess, Perry, began shouting at us saying that this was her home, not a public campground, and that we had to be quiet.  Her husband was trying to calm her but to no avail.   We were all instantly obedient and the music was turned off but apparently having such a large group here took her out of her comfort level.  Our information board listed toilet availability (very limited and apparently at least one in her private area) but in her anger she flounced over and erased all the toilet info, so we have no where to go  but in the trees.

I retreated to the tent to get away from the conflict but John reconnoitered  returned and reported that instead of staying here tomorrow for a planned rest day we are packing up and going to a motel!  Yikes!

Days 37 & 38: St. Francisville to Franklinton

Bait Shack in Louisiana:  Note deer looking out windows

There has been lots of talk and speculation about what happened at Perry's Bicycle Hostel night before last.  It seems clear in retrospect that Perry (a woman) was unprepared for the invasion of Bubba and his entourage.  Consider this:  We have a huge Penske truck to carry the luggage and tents.  We have a smaller Penske truck for the food and cooking equipment.  We have a sixteen passenger van towing a loaded trailer.  We have a Dodge Caravan operating as a SAG vehicle and mechanic's transport.  We have another SUV  towing a trailer.  We have Ken and Jean (massage and laundry) also towing a trailer.  We have Bubba's huge "Avalanche" truck towing an R.V.  We are 33 riders and 11 staff with 31 bicycles (two tandems).  When we descend on a location we make a big impact and lots of noise, particularly in blowing up some 40 air mattresses.  Perry operates a "warm shower" spot.  This means that she is on the Adventure Cycling maps as a place where a cyclist can get a shower and a place to tent in return for a gratuity.  She had one outdoor shower, one outdoor sink and one toilet in an outbuilding.  Most cyclists come in small groups and maintain a low profile.  Our group does anything but.  From the things people have said, Perry was overwhelmed as soon as cyclists and vehicles began to arrive, and snapped, for no apparent reason, at about 6:30.  

While Perry did not explicitly "throw us out", her behavior, particularly with regard to eliminating our toilet options, suggested that she wanted to see us gone.  One source suggests that Bubba got us out of there in order to preserve his options for future years but I can't imagine that he would ever take a group there again or that she would ever agree to host his riders.  In any case, since Bubba had planned a rest day at Perry's and since the day turned out to be rainy, it was a great thing to spend our time in a very comfortable Best Western instead. 

As instructed, we got up in the morning, packed up, and rode to Oakley Plantation.  Oakley is of  particular historic value because John James Audubon went there in 1821 and did 22 of his famous bird paintings during his stay.  He was hired as a tutor for a daughter of the house, with afternoons free for his nature studies and paintings.  The arrangement was not a huge success it seems, because he stayed only a few months, but it put Oakley on the map.  The plantation stayed in the family from 1799 until 1947 when it was sold to the state and because of that most of the furnishings are original.  It had been little modernized (no electricity for example) so did not require extensive renovation.  The tour guide was great and the house and grounds were gorgeous.  Unfortunately our walk around the grounds was cut short by rain and we still had five miles to ride to the motel.  

The cost for our luxurious night at the BW (yes, there is always a cost!) is that to get there we rode about 10 miles in the wrong direction-- in other words WEST!  That brought the mileage today up to 85 miles-- and while I was happy to make the trade in theory, the extra ten miles weighed heavily at the end of the ride.  Our route today was really great-- good roads and pastoral landscape.  The flaw (does there always have to be a flaw?), is that it rained heavily for the last forty miles. By the time John and I got here we were soaked right through to our innards.  We are now in a Baptist Church in Franklinton and what a church it is.  Although most sections of it are locked off to us, we can see that it stretches out for acres.  Our part is a gymnasium and attached locker rooms, plus common room and cooking area.  


Tomorrow we cross the line into Mississippi.