July 31: Rest Day (Exploring Chicago)

July 30: Rensellaer, IN to Homewood, IL

To my legions of faithful readers...

Sincere apologies for not keeping up with the blog writing. Turns out the tour is a full-time job all by itself! But I'm keeping careful notes, will try to play catch-up bit by bit and will email everyone when the blog is a wrap and Spielberg begins filming.

Thanks very much for all your calls and encouragement!

July 29: Rest Day in Rensellaer, IN (Escaping Gross Weather)

July 28: Fletcher, IN to Rensellaer, IN

July 27: Andrews, IN to Fletcher, IN

July 26: Monroeville, IN to Andrews, IN

July 25: Grand Rapids, OH to Monroeville, IN

July 24: Fremont, OH to Grand Rapids, OH

July 23: Huron, OH to Fremont, OH

July 22: Warrensville Heights, OH to Huron, OH

July 21: Rest Day (Exploring Cleveland)

July 20: Newbury, OH to Warrensville Heights, OH

July 19: Columbiana, OH to Newbury, OH

July 18: Hookstown, PA to Columbiana, OH

July 17: Pittsburgh, PA to Hookstown, PA

July 16: Rest Day in Pittsburgh, PA

July 15: Adelaide, PA to Pittsburgh, PA

July 14: Rockwood, PA to Adelaide, PA (48 miles)

July 13: Cumberland, MD to Rockwood, PA (43 miles)

July 12: Hancock, MD to Cumberland, MD

July 11: Chambersburg, PA to Hancock, MD

July 10: Another Involuntary Rest Day in Chambersburg

July 9: McConnellsburg, PA Back East to Chambersburg, PA (Rest Day)

Today I got a lift back to Chambersburg, PA (20 miles EAST) since my bike experienced multisystem failure on the way up a Pennsylvanian mountain. Details will follow..

July 8: Caledonia, PA to McConnellsburg, PA

July 7: York, PA to Caledonia, PA

July 6: Birdsboro, PA to York, PA

July 5: Philadelphia, PA to Birdsboro, PA (56 miles)

This morning, I had a fighting chance at an uncharacteristically early start for my next stop, Birdsboro, PA.  Sadly, I lost a lot of time dealing with mechanical issues.  

Jason had very kindly directed me to a few bike shops nearby in Philly where someone with a good bike brain could fix my shifting problem. (For the past couple of days I've had difficulty shifting into my lowermost chain ring, making Pennsylvania's hills decidedly knee-unfriendly).

I stopped into Mexibikes because they open earliest (8 am!) and are very well-reviewed online. Within the hour, I was back at Jason's house, my shifting issue resolved quickly and free-of-charge.  

After Jay, Melissa and their girls left home to begin their own busy day, I stayed back and finished packing my panniers.  On the way out, I decided to top up the air in my rear tire and, always eager to create truly textbook examples of irony, instead punctured the inner tube and gave myself a flat.  Then, after I'd re-mounted the rear wheel, I found its brake was rubbing pretty egregiously against the rim and had to make further, slow adjustments.  I solved this problem for the time being, but it would return to haunt me later that day. 



A glance back at Philly before leaving



Not long after I hit the road, pizza began to sing its sweet siren song and I stopped for a two-slice lunch on the way out of Philly.  For this cyclist and ex-dietitian, this was truly a rookie mistake since I'm well aware pizza gives me "brain fog."  It took almost two hours for the mental mist to lift and with the combination of mid-day heat, my questionable dietary choice and limited sleep (10-11 hours over the past two nights) I seriously considered finding a park along the way and bedding down for a brief nap.

But I persevered.  By early afternoon I was still only about 20 miles into the day's ride.  The sun was beating down quite hard and my Camelback had begun storing warm, very bland tea instead of water.  

On Old Lancaster Road leaving Philly a guy noted my reclined pose and actually yelled, "Lazy!" as he drove past.  I had to laugh, since he had no way of knowing where this trip had started.

By 3 p.m. I reached Valley Forge State Park.  Over thousands of acres in this place, General Washington and his army encamped during the third of an eight-year struggle against the British for America's independence.  I learned that Valley Forge isn't remembered today as the site of any major military battles but rather as a testament to the courage and determination of Washington and his men as they enduredsevere hardship during their six-month (mostly winter) encampment.

I entered the park at the site of Washington's Headquarters.  The tour guide informed me that 80% of the home's structure (not the furnishings) are original to the period.  There's a clock inside, which isn't original to this house but which dates back to 1730.  He told me that Washington had his generals synchronize their watches to that clock.


Washington's office and one really old clock

Washington's Headquarters

The Father of our Country was kind of a slob.

As one might imagine, in these headquarters Washington accomplished all of his war planning.  His chief strategy was to prevail against the British in what amounted to a war of attrition.  The site emphasizes Washington's managerial skill, his mastery at overcoming logistical problems which daily threatened to bring down the Revolution.  From here, Washington and up to 25 members of his dedicated staff brought multi-tasking to incredible new heights, "issuing general orders, analyzing intelligence, maintaining peace with civilians...debriefing American spies and managing prisoner transfers."

Even while he was embroiled in the war effort, it also fell to Washington (who would not become President for another twelve years) to handle the fledgling nation's business while the increasingly weak Continental Congress took refuge in Central Pennsylvania.

It's humbling when I remember I have a hard time just getting on the road before 10 o'clock. 

Next to Washington's HQ, there's a train station which apparently still carries freight from Reading, PA.  The Reading Company built the rail line in 1842, linking Philly with vast coal fields up river.  After 1893, Valley Forge State Park became a popular tourist destination and almost all visitors traveled here by train.

Valley Forge train station

After spending about an hour at Valley Forge, my legs and brain felt a lot more like normal.  I made swift progress toward my destination despite the fact that my rear brake renewed its rubbing against the wheel in earnest about 20 miles before day's end.  Around dinnertime, my Warmshowers host for the night, Greg Marshall, provided impeccable directions by phone to his home in Birdsboro. 

Greg and Kathy Marshall don't exactly live in the center of town.  This brings to mind a truism I've noted since beginning this trip:

Whatever my day's destination, the last two to three miles of that ride will be up a long, honkin' steep hill. 

And as I struggled up the relentless incline of Cocalico Road, which snaked a couple of miles through deep woods to the rock path leading to the Marshalls' home, I must admit to thinking, "I'm just not going to find this house, and they'll never find my body." 

But I did ultimately make it, closer to sunset than I care to admit, and I knew immediately upon meeting Greg and Kathy that the day's labors had ended well.  No sooner had I arrived than I met their behemoth white Lab, Bernie, and Kathy (an OR nurse) welcomed me with a smile, cold beer, a spicy appetizer and a wonderful meatless lasagna, prepared with vegetables fresh from their garden.

Greg completed the original BikeCentennial cross-country ride in 1976 as a young lad about to start college.  He dreams of repeating the experience exactly fifty years later, once he retires from self-employment in environmental consulting. 

Kathy, Greg and I talked for hours about our various biking adventures and shared many other aspects of our lives.  I felt uniquely at home wth the Marshalls and blessed to enjoy this warm companionship. 

Greg and Bernie

The little "welcome" sign was a nice touch.

  

July 4: Rest Day (Philadelphia, PA)

For 36 blessed hours in the home of Jason and Melissa Rubin in Center City, Philly, I was no longer Sal Attanasio, bike tourist extraordinaire, feared by men and adored by women and small domesticated animals.  I biked no miles, shot no photos and consumed exactly zero calories of LukOil gas station food.  Instead, I was just Uncle Sal, grateful guest and playmate to the Rubins' cute-as-bugs'-ears daughters, Anya and Chelsea.  For this oh, so brief time I enjoyed a sliver of what most people call "normal life."




The Rubinettes: Chelsea and Anya


My day started bright and early a little after seven when Chelsea climbed into my bed and fed me slices of miniature wooden pizzas topped with plastic pepperoni, tomatoes and potato chips--freshly "baked" in a tiny child's oven. After a more substantial breakfast of (actual, edible) blueberry pancakes with Ma and Pa Rubin, I spent hours on Jay's laptop obsessively recapping bike tour day 1 and struggling to upload camera and Web photos for the edification of my vast blog audience.

In the early afternoon I took a break from digital dorkery to meet Jay and Melissa at a cookout in the home of their friends Dan and Missy.  Dan's a really interesting guy; at roughly my age he's a skilled skateboarder and makes a living selling items on Ebay. I also met Brian, who works in grant development at the Jewish Federation, and his wife Jessica.  In the company of these new friends I replenished muscle glycogen with grilled veggie burgers, fresh fruit and angel food cake. The sight of Jason, my friend of twenty-plus years, splashing around shirtless in a kiddie pool was quite the aid to digestion.    

After lunch, I joined everyone's kids in a few tense rounds of hide-and-seek in Dan and Missy's spacious townhouse.  Then I kicked back and read pretty much every last childrens' book in the place--roughly the word count of the first three Harry Potter novels--to Anya and Chelsea.

Heartfelt thanks to Jay and Melissa for opening their home to this sweaty, stinky cyclist and making my stopover in Philly so memorable.

July 3: Doylestown to Philadelphia, PA (52 miles)

As one of my veritable legion of blog followers helpfully pointed out (see Comments), since Ken drove me last night from Lambertville to my Warmshower host in Doylestown, I would technically have been "cheating" to continue to my tour west from Doylestown.

I suppose rules are rules.

For that reason, and also to check out the towns I'd missed at the Jersey/Pennsylvania border, upon leaving Bob Ruddy's home around 8:30 this Sunday morn, I biked roughly ten miles northeast back through New Hope, PA, and then a fraction of a mile to the intersection in Lambertville where Ken rescued me.

The fact that this side trip might satisfy the nitpickiest of my readers was not all that made this side trip deeply rewarding.  It also gave me a chance to see the charming town of New Hope and, best of all, to meet the members of First Baptist Church, literally steps down the road in Lambertville, NJ. 

After crossing the bridge on Route 179 into New Hope...

Bridge into New Hope, PA

 ...I continued less than a mile and noticed from the placard outside that services at First Baptist Church were just beginning, so I went inside.

The service wasn't held in the cavernous sanctuary on street level, but in the church basement.  I would later learn this was because the roof of the church, erected in 1868, needs $200,000 in repairs.  With only 25 members, I deduced that the congregants don't have $8,000 apiece to kick in.   

This morning there were fourteen  in attendance, myself included. The service started with a few hymns, after which congregant Rita stood up and sang "On Eagle's Wings."

Pastor Ray Force's sermon centered on Romans 7:14-25, in which the apostle Paul acknowledged struggling with sin in his body despite being "a slave to God's law" in his mind.  All Christians share his struggle and are a work in progress. Ray used the metaphor of his childhood drum set, which didn't begin to fulfill its intended function and make good music until he had first produced hours and hours of cacophony. Likewise, we all need to be properly "tuned" to perform in a manner God intends for us.

After the sermon and a communion service, there was a wonderful fellowship lunch, during which I met Ray, his wife, Cathy, and the rest of the congregation.  Everyone was exceedingly welcoming and inquisitive about my nascent bike tour.  I mentioned that I was on my way to Philly and, since I'd been anticipating a short biking day, was a bit concerned when all agreed it was "at least an hour by car."

During lunch I learned that Ray is an avid ham radio operator who once communicated with a man as far afield as Johannesburg, South Africa.  These days, his signal extends as far as the American mid-west.  Ray said it would be much further if only his wife would let him attach a 27-foot antenna to their house.

I also talked at considerable length with Jackie and John Sneddon, whose family own Sneddon's Luncheonette just steps down Route 179 (name Bridge Street in Lambertville).  If I hadn't just eaten, I would surely have stopped by and sent considerable business their way.

I was disappointed to learn that First Baptist will soon leave this venerable old church and that it'll ultimately be converted to retail space. 

At noon, I left my new friends at FBC, who indulged me while I snapped a few pictures. 

Ray and Cathy Force

Last night, Bob Ruddy very helpfully mapped out a graceful, southwesterly arc for me to travel to Philly.  But he had no way to know I'd decide on-the-spot to first detour northeast into New Hope.  As a result, my journey into the city was an ad-hoc, mirror image of what we'd intended, a more heavily-trafficked arc down Route 232 through Bucks Country (Wrightstown) and Upper and Lower Southampton, to Route 532, approaching Philly on the opposite (eastern) side, parallel to the Delaware River.   I was a bit taken aback by the hilliness of the terrain on these routes, only 25 miles or so from the pancake flatness of Center City.

 

It felt very good indeed to finally arrive at the home of Jason and Melissa Rubin around 6 p.m. 

July 2: Bayonne, NJ to Doylestown, PA (84 miles)

Or, "The Importance of Being Early"

Another late start this morning.  I left my sister's place just before 11:00 and with no small reluctance rode north, back the way I'd come the night before, toward US 1/9 Truck into Newark.  (How many cross-country cyclists do you think ride through Newark intentionally?) My goal was to hook up with Adventure Cycling's Atlantic Coast route in Watchung, New Jersey, and Newark--the sebaceous sweat gland of our great nation--appeared unavoidable.

View from US 1/9 Truck



Newark: The 20th Most Dangerous City in America

Riding Route 22 West toward Watchung was mostly untraumatic except for a few brief minutes in the beginning during which I wondered if the good folks at Mapquest had steered me onto a major highway.  But before long the road settled down into a well-paved, fully legal two-laner with an ample shoulder.

Around 2 p.m., I turned off Route 22 to follow a vague sign indicating a right turn on the road ahead would lead to Watchung.  I soon learned I was on Summit Road in the town of Mountainside, New Jersey.  In retrospect, I'd say I was provided quite enough hints.  I started up the very first steep incline of my trip, which must have been about a 10% grade.  Even in my lowest gear I struggled to turn pedals and felt every ounce of the thirty pounds in my panniers, barely achieving walking speed up the hill.  Upon cresting the hill and racing down the other side, I was pretty bummed to find that Summit Road didn't connect me in any obvious way to the AC route, or even to Watchung, so I ditched the paper, fired up my GPS and corrected course. 



Park in Watchung, New Jersey

 I spent the rest of that day riding in stop-start mode, following AC's route with varying degrees of success.  By three o'clock, with only five and a half hours of daylight, I estimated I still had 45-50 miles to travel to reach my CouchSurfing destination for the night in Doylestown, PA.  And in fact, time was looking tighter still since the AC maps would only take me as far as New Hope, PA (about 10 miles east of Doylestown), beyond which I would have to improvise.

I was beginning to sincerely regret my late start that morning.

By 6 pm I was still making painfully slow progress on the AC route, having to stop more frequently to confirm directions.  When I noticed on the map that Route 202 South, a divided four-lane highway I'd just crossed, passes right through New Hope, PA, I decided to chuck the obscure country roads in favor of a more heavily-trafficked, but infinitely simpler, route.  I pulled into the extremely wide shoulder and rode that bike like I stole it, racing the sunset the last twenty miles or so toward New Hope.

Since there was no chance I'd make it to Doylestown in daylight, I phoned Ken Sharples, a CouchSurfing member in New Hope with whom I'd made contact before the trip. He and his wife had a house full of guests, but he kindly offered to meet me in town and drive me to Doylestown despite the very late hour.  

Bob Ruddy, my host in Doylestown, was also exceedingly gracious about putting me up for the night despite my arrival in darkness and, more regrettably still, my hours-long loss of phone contact. Ken, Bob, his wife Julie and I sat on the porch of their beautiful home sipping cold beers and sharing biking stories.

The Ruddy's, my first ever CouchSurfing hosts, treated me like family though in reality I was a near-total stranger who had screwed things up pretty badly. The experience of being so thoroughly welcomed into their home was deeply humbling.

  

July 1: Oceanside, NY to Bayonne, NJ (66 miles)

The Traditional Atlantic Ocean Rear Wheel Dip (Long Beach, NY)

With enough free time and a bit of training, almost anyone can bike across the United States.   I'm starting to realize the process is actually about 80% mental.  You definitely have to get past some reasonable fears: of not finding a place to sleep, getting lost, automobile "mishaps," busted spokes and shady characters.  And packing well and planning ahead certainly helps, but I think the key is just to take the trip one day at a time.

So when I awoke the morning of July 1st, the day of my cross-country departure, I was careful to quiet the voice inside which asked me what I might encounter on the road in the great northwest in September.  Instead, I told myself, "Today I feel like biking to Bayonne, New Jersey." 

Still, I knew this first day presented unique challenges.  You don't need to be Magellan to know the route between Oceanside and my sister's place in Bayonne is mainly urban, with several bridges to cross, only some of which welcome bikes.  Knowing this, and the list of bike-friendly bridges at my disposal, I knew I'd have to break one of cherished laws of travel and ride pretty ridiculously out of the way.

I love my sister this much.

So, just before noon, in cool, sunny summer weather we Marylanders only dream of, my bike ride to Bayonne (a.k.a. my Trans-American tour) started in the lowermost right corner of this map.  Oceanside and Long Beach--where I performed the traditional Atlantic Ocean rear tire dip; see photo above--are just east of the thin green horizontal strip in the corner. 

Now, if I were a crow flying to Jersey, I’d almost certainly take off bearing west from that thin green strip, fly past JFK Airport, glide northwest into Brooklyn over the Shore Parkway, over the Verranzano Narrows Bridge into Staten Island, then descend quickly in a northerly direction over the bridge into Bayonne (unmarked, near Route 440 on the map).  In all, I'd have covered forty miles at most. 

But I’m not a crow and am beholden to The Man where bridges are concerned.  Bikes are allowed to cross the bridge into Bayonne, which would have deposited me just three miles from the end of my day's ride.  But they’re strictly verboten on the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge into Staten Island (i.e., my most convenient route to the Bayonne Bridge).  So no luck there.

I was also unwilling, especially on the first day of my Trans-American bike tour, to “cheat” by loading my bike onto a ferry and cruising into Staten Island.   

So I really had just one option.  I skipped Staten Island altogether, rode into Brooklyn over the Marine Park Bridge and picked up the bike path alongside Flatbush avenue, then fought my way through Brooklyn and over the Brooklyn Bridge into Battery Park (southern tip of Manhattan). 

Please note that even before the point at which I'd crossed the bridge into Brooklyn, I was already biking out of my way, north of Bayonne and my comfy couch for the night.  What I failed to appreciate that day was how soon, and to what extent, I was taking the "scenic route."

Upon arriving in Manhattan, I rode the length of the island on the Hudson River Greenway to the George Washington Bridge.  You wouldn't know by the bike and pedestrian traffic that the HRG is the most heavily used bikeway in the U.S. (thanks, Wikipedia).  It's a beautiful ride, roughly twelve miles, with the Jersey skyline and the Hudson your constant companions to the west. 

Because it’s about twelve miles from Battery Park to the GW, I assumed that once I crossed the bridge into Jersey it would just be another twelve miles south to Bayonne and a hot meal.  Yeah, about twelve ....or twice that many.  Whichever.

Eventually you realize your crow has flown 66 miles.

Looking back, it strikes me how different the various parts of this one day were.

*Oceanside, NY through Far Rockaway (i.e., the little green strip on the map)...was a beautiful, flat ride on boardwalks past sunbathers basking in God's creation.  Along the way I met Mel Bennison, an active sixty-something who works for Homeland Security and who expressed a genuine interest in my trip and bike touring generally.

*Brooklyn...started  out promising on a bike path alongside Flatbush avenue.  But at the northernmost tip of Marine Park, where trail gave way to sidewalks and ugly urban storefronts, it devolved into a frenetic hellscape of swerving cars, honking horns and surging pedestrians.  Brooklynites also seemed to take special joy in mocking my recumbent bike; one gentleman in a black SUV honked his horn repeatedly until he first got my attention, and then behind the glass performed a pitch-perfect pantomime of ridicule, with head thrown back, pointing and knee slapping.

*Manhattan...was my biggest concern beforehand due to traffic but instead presented a wonderful, picturesque, waterfront ride on a path nearly untouched by cars. 

*New Jersey...would have been thoroughly enjoyable to race through had I not begun by that time to struggle with directions and the gradual realization that my destination was still far away.  Nonetheless, I felt very strong by day’s end and rolled up to Lisa’s apartment around 8:30.

Thanks very much, Lisa, for the tofu lasagna, the companionship and the excellent hospitality!  

Brooklyn Bridge

Hudson Greenway, Manhattan

NYC Skyline from Jersey




 

Bike Tour F.A.Q.

Q: So...cross-country bike tour. Um, are you insane?

A: Little bit, yeah.

Q. Seriously, though. Why do you want to do this?

A: It's been a longstanding dream of mine to bike across the U.S. To be honest, I wasn't sure whether this might be more fun to plan than to execute, and--since I'm only one day into it--I'm still not sure. But I know I crave adventure through travel, and when I was laid off from my job in late April, I suddenly found myself with means, motive and opportunity to realize my dream. I spent the next two months poring over maps, interviewing petsitters (to care for my obese, behaviorally-challenged cat), devouring online touring journals and training, training, training for a July 1st departure.

Q: What route will you travel?

A: Given the time of year, a southern route seemed unthinkable. The trip is challenging enough without enduring desert temps in New Mexico, Arizona and Utah. The Northern Tier states are quite a bit milder.

Next, the issue of direction. Some swear that traveling east-to-west subjects riders to ungodly, unrelenting headwinds. I'm not a meteorologist and have read passionate arguments on both sides. Ultimately I was persuaded to ride east-to-west because I love the idea of leaving the familiar for the unfamiliar and enjoying progressively more beautiful scenery. Also, if I'm going to tackle the Rockies on a recumbent bike, I'd rather do so with a few months of riding under my belt than during week three.

On a significantly dorkier note, I always conceived the trip to start in Oceanside, New York and end in Oceanside, California. Big fan of symmetry, me. I used to live with my father in the former town, where I first discovered cycling and where Dad biked for pure, uncomplicated recreation until the very end of his life. Setting out from Oceanside seemed a fitting, loving nod to him.

Two small wrinkles in this plan. First, cross-country bike trips typically run from sea to shining sea, and there's actually no ocean to be found in the town of Oceanside--much as I learned it's impossible to repair a demolished car in Mechanicsburg, PA. (For this trip I was content to start in Oceanside, NY and do the traditional rear-tire-dip-in-the-Atlantic in Long Beach, just 3-4 miles south.)

Second wrinkle: the eastern Oceanside is significantly more northerly than the western one, which, for a northern-tier route, would add several hundred miles to an already ambitious trip. Fortunately, I soon discovered that Oceanside, OREGON is not only true to its name (immediately ocean-adjacent) but also much closer, thus honoring both my drive for symmetry and pain avoidance.

Q: You mentioned you're riding a recumbent bike. What sort of odd human-powered conveyance is this?

Simply put, recumbent bikes put the rider in a laid-back, reclining position. The main advantage is comfort, since these bikes distribute weight over a larger area than traditional upright bikes, which over long distances are a pain in the butt, lower back, hands and neck and are especially unkind to males. I love that I can ride a recumbent bike for hours with no orthopedic complaints, and have embraced the exceedingly high Dork Factor.

See my profile view for a picture of my Vision R40 bike.

Q: So this is the meaning of your blog title?

A: When naming my blog, I consulted my longtime friend and superior wordsmith, Chris Edom. True to form, he produced this pun, which references my riding style. "As I Lay Dying," a 1930 novel written by the American author Williams Faulkner, is "consistently ranked among the best novels of 20th century literature." It's also the name of a metalcore band based in San Diego.

Chris obviously had the latter in mind. I mean, those guys rock.

Q: Where will you sleep at night? How will you honor basic rules of hygiene?

A: In the pursuit of economy and fun, I'll mostly camp (at times with access to hot water and electricity) and depend on the kindness of strangers through couchsurfing.com and warmshowers.com. The aforementioned websites connect travelers with places to stay in fellow travelers' homes in exchange for a promise to host other travelers as needed. It's a great way to meet new people and to network and an amazing resource I wish I had discovered 17 countries ago.

I hope this provides a reasonable thumbnail sketch of my cross-country bike tour. All questions and comments are welcome!