It is Sunday, and I am in Ann Arbor and taking a full day off, having arrived last night at 8:30 pm. It was a 90 mile day.
The first order of business is an apology. I pass info by cell phone to my wife, who relays it to my son, Gregg (sometimes I talk to Gregg directly). As you know, when A tells B who tells C and then tries to recreate the details in writing, a lot of "facts" get garbled. I know Gregg has apologized in advance for such mistakes, and reiterated that he feels bad if he made egregious mistakes, so I won't waste time and space being anal about them. Maybe some day I'll set the record straight on a bunch of them, but later on, who'll care? With one general exception: mischaracterizations.
I have met so many helpful generous people who have gone out of their way for me, and some with an astonishing amount of grace, as well, such as Mary Gearan, wife of the President of Hobart College, who plopped me down at her dinner table when she had dinner guests, and even was thoughtful enough to hand me a plastic baggy of goodies (desserts) to take to the room when I left. (By the way, I did not go to a dorm room but to the brand new condo-like housing for (special?) alumni. I sure felt special and their daughter took photos of me with Dr. Gearan!
While I do not diminish the Gearans' generosity in the least, perhaps the most giving persons were Charlotte, from Richford, and her soon-to-be-niece, Lisa. It was getting dark, and cold, when a car stopped opposite to me to check on me. They had passed, then came back. It was a young couple. The man remembered his brother's bike trip the previous summer when so many people were helpful and friendly to him ... he was paying it forward, though he didn't phrase it that way. I told him I had been told there was a motel just ahead, in Marathon. He said Marathon wasn't ahead of me but behind me, on a different route! (The people who sent me looking for the motel forgot to tell me to turn north back aways.) This driver went ahead and damned if he didn't return in 15 minutes. He handed me a Gatorade, saying the woman in the Quikway fast food place at the gas station ahead had given it to him for me. He'd asked her about a motel and she said not for 20 miles. So he told her an old man would be coming in soon, and he was going to take a drink to me. She wouldn't take money for the drink. When I got there, I was so cold I couldn't stop shaking. My toes were numb. Charlotte had to carry my hot cocoa to the table for me because my hands were shaking so much. By and by, I had a sandwich, another hot cocoa, and an ice cream bar (an ice cream a day is my big treat on this trip). Charlotte would only take money for the ice cream bar. I had asked about the police, but the nearest station was 5 miles away and I wasn't going to ride in the dark. Charlotte's niece, Lisa, had been sitting in a booth waiting for her boyfriend to take her home ... he was working very late. Lisa is about 7 months pregnant. We had all agreed I would camp in a nearby town park, on the pavilion, when Lisa offered to let me stay with her and her boyfriend, Henry, age 46, if he agreed. So we waited, until 11 pm, as it turned out. Henry agreed. We put my bike and trailer in a storage shed at the gas station and went to their place. It was indeed an extremely humble place, much cluttered, but there was a bed, electricity and running water ... plus a momma cat and kitten ... very beautiful and friendly. Lisa and Henry took me back to the gas station in the morning. These were people of extremely modest circumstances, but the outreach was as handsome as anyone else's, maybe the more so!
Equally as generous and welcome was Nicolas Ortiz, on day 1. I'd gotten a flat late in the day (a staple through tire and tube) and was sitting beside the road changing the tube. A car pulled over just past me, then a cop car just before me, lights flashing. I thought he'd stopped a speeder, but no: the cop had gotten a call that a biker was in trouble, and Nicolas, in the car, had stopped, being a good Samaritan. I messed up putting in the new tube and it was getting dark fast. I thought I'd camp out and they both said the black bears were too dangerous in this area. So Nicolas offered to take me and all my things up the road to the town of Sussex, where there is a bike shop, and within 100 feet of it, a motel. He had a little Ford Echo, but it swallowed my bag, and almost the trailer, but we tied the trunk lid down with the bungee cord from the trailer set-up. The bike, with the front wheel removed, fit in the back seat. He drives 110 miles a day, commuting to Newark, and this little car looked new yet had 225,00 miles on it. We talked en route. Nicolas is from Colombia and I mentioned that my son's ex-wife was from there and that Gregg had visited several cities there. Then Nicolas said: "Why pay for a motel? Stay with me." So I met his wife, Angela, and their teenaged son. They served me an ad hoc dinner and an ice-cold beer, and I had a good sleep on their couch. Nicolas leaves for work at 6 am and dropped me off at the bike store. We unloaded all my gear then discovered the shop was closed on Tuesdays! So he dropped me off further down the road opposite a Wal-Mart where he had bought a bike for his son once. Unfortunately, they only sell, not service bikes. Nicolas gave me his home telephone number and his cell phone, in case, and for me to let him know how it goes.
I decided to hitch 25 miles back to the last known bike shop location, holding up the wheel and tube along with the hitching thumb, and someone stopped within 5 minutes. When he asked the problem, her said he could take care of that ... that he's a biker ... that he lived 3 minutes from there, so we went to his place, and voila! ... job done. Except: either the valve was defective or he screwed up, because 1 hour later, the tire was flat. The next bike shop determined that the air leaked out slowly and at some point, pressed the valve back into the tube so that the tube got slit evenly on either side of the valve. I was at a gas station (across the street from where I had this flat) checking out bike shops in the yellow pages, and none were close. I chose 1 when the station owner said that Route 206 was 5 or 6 miles down the road. When I called them, I got a message that they open at 11 am (a half hour away), so I chose them. A young man was having a small thing checked on his car and offered to drive me. Justin had just finished his 2nd tour in Iraq, in a tanker group, and was with his lovely wife, Lindsay. It turned out that 206 was a little further, but that the shop was another 15 miles on 206. Justin took me all the way! The shop also discovered 2 anomalies with the wheel, neither of which caused this flat, but could, in the future, so they repaired them. And I bought 3 more spare tubes, this time of the best quality, made by Continental, at 50% more money. I needed 3 hitches to get back: the 1st man was about 75 years and an ex-biker. The second was a cop, who could only take me to his town line; and the 3rd had also biked.
It was noon by the time I got under way. Thank you, Nicolas (and Angela). You are very good people, indeed!
I was walking up the very steep hill to the top of High Mountain, the highest spot in NJ, and Justin overtook me. He had been to an interview in Oakland and was coming back to his in-laws place in Pt. Jervis, which I was going to pass through. I had a lovely 4.5 mile downhill, except that I had to constantly brake to hold my speed to 25 mph, else the trailer makes the bike squiggly (I did hit 30 when the road had a super-smooth surface and no debris on it). In fact, my hands and forearms ached after pulling on the brakes so much.
In Pt. Jervis, I stopped to rest on the grass at a tiny park in front of a short but very steep hill and was there maybe 15 minutes when Justin came by. Justin did not recognize the route I had described earlier because I used route numbers and he knew street names. He told me of a bypass, along the Delaware River shore, to avoid the big hill, and said I would pass right by where his mother-in-law lived. I said I’d stop by for a cold beer if I saw them, but I never did see them.
If I got it straight, Lindsay and Justin went to high school together but hadn’t dated until after HS. When he enrolled for the military, they married.
Eventually, Justin wants to get a college degree and become a SWAT member. Yuckk. I wonder if Iraq did that to him. I hope he mellows into a more conventional police role.
He and Lindsay are great people!!
Saturday, 7/7, was the fullest day of riding yet ... on the road for 11.5 hours (including breaks). The legs never tired, but I did start to run out of basic energy and took several breaks later on the day. Somehow, even after dinner with my brother and sister-in-law (Jess and Anitra) and lots of conversation, and a late shower, I was not sleepy and made notes in my little diary book, then read until maybe 1 am.
Interesting things yesterday: one fellow passed me in his car, then pulled off the road and waited for me to bike up to him and waved me over. Bernie was wearing a red tee shirt emblazoned with "French Laundry Coffee," not something you see every day. Bernie is a biker and wanted to see if I needed anything since he had some expertise. When he said he did not have a cold beer in the car, well, there wasn't anything I needed, except maybe cold water. I thanked him for his concern, warmly, and moved on. Less than a mile up the road, there was Bernie, with 2 water bottles (ice and water) and he gave me a gel pack (energy booster goo) and 2 energy bars. I am not fond of gel packs but I wound up eating this one, albeit with lots of iced soda to get the taste out of my mouth, They are icky. And later I ate the power bar too ... less icky but pretty sweet.
At another point, a woman stopped beside me and offered me a refreshing swim in her pool. No come-on. Her teenaged son was in the passenger seat. Had I been unable to make to Ann Arbor last night, I’d have taken her up on it. I got the feeling I’d have had a free dinner and place to sleep.
Still later, another woman had stopped ahead of me and was walking back, as though to get to a nearby mailbox. Except she approached me holding out a hand that held a pear. She said I looked like I needed refreshment (I did!) but I had to decline: it is the one fruit I do not like. She seemed hurt, saying she nothing else in her car to offer. I told her she was sweet to stop but that I was OK, had water, etc. Nice looking woman, too. I guess I really looked bushed. There were maybe another 12 miles to go. Fortunately, the last few were downhill!! Yeah, I won one.
Future entries, by Gregg, will be episodic in nature, diary-like happenings. When I next post, it will probably be essays, and maybe some entries by category, such as: Be Careful What You Wish For; Observations (these are all over the map – pardon the pun); Exotic Cars Seen; Everything You Never Wanted to Know About Roads; Sun Poisoning (at least, that’s what my mom called it); and more.
Bob