cycling | Jeremiah Watt Cycling around God's Creation

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Blog57-RTW gear review

GEAR REVIEW FOR AROUND THE WORLD CYCLING

Jeremiah Watt, an RTW adventure cyclist, says like almost everyone who tackles a long and epic adventure such as around the world by bicycle, will end with an opinion on gear and the needs for a cyclist as he travels. I am then no different than many who have come before me, except that my opinion on gear and camp life nessessities may differ. So, lets get started as Jeremiah lays out his thoughts, the pros and cons of gear, planning, blogging etc.

Informative blogs, as travellers I think its imperative that we read and follow as many as possible. They educate, inform and prepare a would be traveller as too what we may have for expectations with regard to such things as food, money/currency questions, routes, accessories. As far as Jeremiah is concerned, and his opinion, read as many as you can find, that deal with the adventure and route you intend to take.

Smart phones, I dont care who makes them, or what version that you may have……they just ain’t that smart when you are stuck in the middle of Mongolia and no signal……or even no GOOGLE mapping feature. I love mine, and dont want to be without it, but dont place your life in an online mapping service, have some basic paper road maps with you. And do not depend on the translation apps for anything other than single word translations. You could find that trying to translate an entire sentence may have you accidentaly placed in front of a fireing squad LOL. I carried a Samsung S4 phone.

Tablet or small laptop. I chose a 10″ Samsung Galaxy2 tablet and found it perfectly capable for my needs and my many images. Besides all that, I could charge my tablet thru my Shimano front dyno-hub. I found this to be particularily useful.

Cameras, my son carried two Go-pro units and we really liked the video and image quality that we got from the units. These items also returned home with my son when he flew back from Bucharest. Jeremiah, carried his Samsung S4 phone for panoramas, which is does beautiful with. And for digital cameras, he carried a Canon SX50 HS camera. I really like this type camera, its easy to use, plenty of range on the lense, and does not kill batteries quickly. All plusses when traveling. I had downloaded 2 different apps for handling the editing of images as I traveled. Jeremiah uses Pixlr Express for the bulk of the editing, really like this app. I also have Photoshop Touch on my tablet, this is a powerful app, make no mistake, but it is just so much slower than the Pixlr software. All totalled, I filled 3 of the class 10 x 64gig cards, and 2 class 10 cards of 32 gig capacity. Thats alot of images folks, and almost no video was shot on these cards. For storage, we added an external micro SD card of 128gig capacity.

Bike, that Jeremiah rode was a Surly Long Haul Trucker. This has proven to be a bullet-proof all steel frame with nary a failure nor weakness. I love, love, love this bike says Jeremiah.

Racks, I know that the cycling world loves Tubus brand racks and most likely for good reason. With that said, on our 2 bikes, we ran Surly Brand expedition racks both front and back. Put all bolts in with a drop of blue Loc-Tite. Never lost nor broke a bolt, no failures what-so-ever. One thing I really liked about the Surly racks was the racks had a good top base to support added bags and crap that we cyslists tend to carry, Tubus racks to not have this luxury.

Stove, my choice of stove was loved and hated. All due to fuel issues. I had an Esbit brand alchohol fuel stove, from Ukraine and on west it was not much problem finding fuel. It cleaned up well, cooked just fine, was light and efficient for us as we travelled. Once we arrived in USA, it was a piece of cake to travel and use this little stove. The real problem lay within Russia, Mongolia and China…..you will pull your hair out finding fuel in any of these countries and find yourself wishing for a different stove, as we did. Have to be honest here, that had we been using canister fuels, in some pllaces that also would have been a problem. We carried a multi-fuel stove for a while, but got tired of its leaks and everything smelling like fuel in short order along with the ports being plugged up and constant cleaning..maybe, there is no perfect stove?

Seats, at home I ride a Fizik seat and really like it. But on all day tours, I ride a Brooks-B17. This seat is not only comfortable but looks like a million dollars after its broke in. I think it takes close to 1000 miles to actually have the seat breakin and conform JMO.

Wheels/Rims, Jeremiah chose 26″ wheels after much discussion and advice on blogs. But in retrospect I would say that the 27″ are by far more available in those places such as morthern China, Mongolia and eastern Russia. There were actually several places where we could not find any 26″ wheels, but had choices of several 27″ wheels and tires. My rims, front and backwere Ryno-Lite double walled, with a 40 spoke count, 4 cross pattern x 12ga. spokes front. On the rear wheel I used the same rim brand, but 48 spoke count x 4 cross pattern. Back hub was a Phil Wood hub, fantastic hub. Front hub is a Shimano Dyno hub and it worked flawlessly the whole trip. ( NOTE, my son rode with me on the same bike setup, same wheels and same rims for 4 months. We set his bike up with a Son28 hub, and where always dissappointed. Very miserable wiring connections at the hub itself, always broke loose from brush and or vibration. I have too say, that we sent them 2 emails regarding problems we had been having with this hub, and never heard a word back from them) Would never place this hub ahead of my Shimano dyno hub.

Tyres/Tires, depending on where you grow up and how it is spelled. Make no mistake about it, if you choose anything other than a Schwalbe brand tire, you are asking for more trouble while touring. Schwalbe brand tires, in my case Marathon Plus version x 1.75 width they proved to be invincible. We met several other long distance tourers and most ran the same tire as what we placed on our bikes. For our choice in tubes, we just ran condoms with a valve stem. The lightest tubes around. We added tire liners inside the Schwalbe tires.

Patch kits, this may sound rather harsh, but you cant take chances on being in the middle of no-where and need a patch kit. So, chose Rema Tip-Top Touring patch kits. You can be assured that the glue is fresh, and patches stick. I equipped my sons bike with Patch kits from Parks Brothers and NONE of the glue was useable PERIOD, bought at 2 different stores and several months apart.

Frame pump, floor pump????. Jeremiah admits that he must be the only idiot who cannot depend on blowing up a tire to full pressure, or without wrecking the valve stem during the process when using the ultra-lite frame style pumps. With that confession made, Jeremiah has never been left sitting on the side of the road cussing at the broken stem on his last danged inner tube iether…..because I always carry a full floor pump. Yes, they are heavier and bulky for sure. When I left, I had a Lenzyne Traveller floor pump……a gorgeous unit and not at all heavy, a perfect full sized travel floor pump. But the constant bump and jar of Chinese and Mongolian roads completely messed the pump up, beyond use. To Lenzyne’s credit, I sent them an email telling them of the state of the pump and they replaced it with a very apologetic letter. The only problem was that the replacement was sent to my home in california, a matter that I dont hold against them, I like the fact they stood behind the product. We replaced this pump with a $1.29 cent floor pump at the black market in Bayan Olgii, Mongolia……it worked flawlessly and was super light. Had this pump till it was taken away from me in Portugal at the Airport when flying home.

Solar charging system. As stated, we had Dyno hubs on both bikes to charge such things as our phones and tablet as we rode. In addition to this charging method, we had a Goal Zero Sherpa battery pack unit along with the Goal Zero 20 panel array. However, this proved to be lacking for rugged use, no matter how we tried to take the harshness and rigors of travel out of the equation. By mid way thru Mongolia, both the panel and the battery units failed completely and were sent home. To the Company’s credit, they fully replaced both units and were very apologetic about it all, but again, the replacements were sent to my house in California.

Tents. For my expedition I chose the REI Quarter Dome tent, which is an ample 2 man tent with a gear shed on both sides, allowing 2 loaded tourers to keep everything out of the rain except for the bikes themselves. My son and I done this on several occassions in blowing sand as well as heavy rain. I really like this tent says Jeremiah, it has a larger floor plan than most 2 man tents, good sized gear sheds leave room for gear or cooking under during pouring rain. The tent proved to be strong and durable for my use. In my opinion, the only fault found with this tent, is its poor wind resistance ability during wind events, in this scenario, it is very poor, and the camper MUST find refuge for the tent or suffer the consequences. Even a little wind will flatten this tent.

Convertors, whether E-Werks brand which is fully adjustable to any/everybattery……or a very simple Sinewave version for half the price or less. We had both and tested both. I will take the consistant simplicity of the Sinewave version hands down says Jeremiah. The other version, while technically a more intuitive and thought out convertor, it proved over and over again to be farless able to place as much charge in any battery as did my Sinewave convertor. Besides that, the user has do pull batteries, do some calculations, turn three times to the left followed by one turn to the right while at the same time sticking his tongue out and you come up with an Amp and Joule setting, of which you need to make both settings correctly……..yes, correct, it comes with 3 feet of chord on it for good reason, that way you can throw it further out into the ditch and never feel like you should go looking for it. Stick with the Sinewave unit and wear a smile.

Sleeping mats, Jeremiah uses a 30″width Luxury Traveller by Thermo-rest and loved it. Not a single issue except that they begin to stink after a while on a long journey. So, I began a habit of giving it a serious scrubbing every couple months, and this helped alot. No holes, no patches, no leaky valves haunted me as I travelled.

Panniers, it goes without saying that the top of the line bags/panniers are those made by Ortlieb. They are not cheap, because they are well made and function everyday in the harshest conditions, dont try to scrimp and save on bags. Just call Wayne at the Tour Store an online provider of Orlieb brand product and you will be set for years.

Sleeping bags, now I had a Moutain Hardware bag, a mummy style, zipper sided and rated to minus 15. The bag proved capable in the temps that I camped in during this trip, and so for that I am happy. BUT, the bag design has one serious flaw that will cause a Pastor to cuss, and a sailor to blush when he hears it. The problem, is the stinkin zipper flap which stops wind blowing thru the zipper when zipped up. The fabric tape used is too short in length for one thing, and also way to flimsy. So as a result, the damn zipper is ALWAYS STUCK. Middle of the night, pitch black, this will really test your patience. By Romania, some 4 months into the trip, Jeremiah had had enough of this hassle. I took out my tiny scizzors, and just hacked the damned little protective flaps off of both sides of the zipper. While not a complete cure, it did help in the bags performance for the rest of the trip.

RTW advice, dont over plan the trip. By doing so, it leaves no room for God to work and reveal himself. Dont over pack clothes, keep it very basic with layers, you can always buy an extra piece of warmer clothing as you go. I for instance rode in 1 pair of Pearl Izumi bib shorts for the entire trip, I think the Pearl brand is the most rugged brand of cycling clothing on the market today. I also think its designed to fit Americans, we tend to be a little larger and carry more wieght than most Europeans or asians for instance.

Blog56-blessed,finished, and glad to be home

Jeremiah Watt, and his very dependable (RTW) round the world steed, Shirly Surly which is a rim brake, 26″wheeled Long Haul Trucker steel framed bicycle, have officially concluded thier adventure. The cycle tour came to its final conclusion on Wednesday the 25th of March….just 3 days after Jeremiahs 59th birthday. Just want to say a very large thankyou to many family and friends who have Prayed for me, thanks. Several Pastor friends, my hometown pastor, Mike Markley from here in Coalinga, who has lead the saints on several pray for the “spandex cowboy” sessions. And to my adopted Pastor from the Holland, he has been praying for blessings on both Pine and I since we met him and his wife at Voronetz in Romania, thankyou. And to my preaching cowboy Pastor Ted and Linda Wiese for thier constant prayers.To several business associates from here in USA, China and Taiwan, Canada and Russia. To all of them I say thankyou for your patience and tolerance with my being out of the office so much…..like danged near a year…..thanks.

Most especially, I want to acknowledge my wife and my thanks to her for all she puts up with from me. Thankyou Colleen, I love you and cherish your council and your unending affection. Deserved or not, you never hold back and give me 100%. If ever I fall short on strength or conviction on my biblical walk, you are right there, like guideposts on my roadway. I have 2 beautiful children because of her genetics…..apparently none of mine show up…..mystery.

Jeremiahs last blog post had him taking a deserved day off and sitting in a motel room in Barstow. With the blog entry and images finished up, Jeremiah walked next door and had americanized Chinese food. Hit the sack pretty early and got up about 5.15am. He and Shirley were rolling in the pre-dawn hours of what would be breezy day all the way west towards Tehachapi. Not much can be said about the stretch between Barstow and Mojave, except maybe YUP, done that piece before. Had a meal in Mojave and took sort of a backroad out of this wind farm encroached town, a road that winds its way up over the mountains then drops into the valley that holds Tehachapi. The wind was howling and finding a spot to set up my wind challenged tent was very problematic. Done my best, but by 4 am, I knew that I had a problem and it needed to be dealt with. So I crawled out of the abode, and grasping the crossing of poles at the top of the tent, I reached down with my freehand and dislodged the closest corner guy-rope…..at some 90 miles an hour the tent kited out to the ropes end, burning my hand upon its exit…..hit the end of its tether and flipped totally inside out bending poles and spraying tent stakes like a lawn sprinkler. Cowboys……gotta love thier mentality…..its instant blood boil….followed by a “comeer you SOB….an I’ll show you”. I hauled the tent back by the one tiny chord that I stiil held fast……total darkness and groping for orientation…….got a fabric corner and pulled it to my face to figure things out……oooops, there goes the danged ballcap Jim-Bob, cock your head a little and turn just slightly said my mental elevation control panel……and I listened and executed to near perfection. A snapping sound, followed by that crisp noise a sail makes when it engulfs a full load of aire……followed by now complete blindness as the tent sprang from its final tent peg mooring and reversed its current fold to capture me entirely as it changed its course in the prevailing wind.

Rip stop nylon, coated zippers, seamed tent peg pockets and fly screen were stuck to my legs and face as if by glue….no part could be lifted away without some other piece of fabric filling the void……Jeremiah is running short of breath, and visual acuity is now zero as the flapping fabric envelopes my head. My mental emergency responce unit came into play and issued a dire oxygen awarness warning and a dissorientation buzzer sounded which ley me know my internal gyroscope was now malfunctioning due to a lack of oxygen and a blotted out horizon line…….TURN IMMEDIATLY TO THE RIGHT JEREMIAH was the advice…..which I did like an automaton, and the tent sprang from my body like a leopard from a tree branch. A sharp jerk at arms length, and a burning palm was my gift for allowing the tent to once again flip inside out and capture a full sail of wind. The mental preservation unit once again kicked in with advice which is totally computer driven…….bout as usefull as advice about work from a teenager or almost anything from Al Gore for that matter. Shutup I said, what do you know about camping anyways I heard my reply, as it tried in vain to warn me……..I stomped my left foot down in the middle of the billowing tent and grasped a corner and whatever bent poles I could find. Wrapped any loosed fabric left over, around my arm and proceeded to stuff it into an empty pannier. Not really caring, nor looking for that matter, just getting it contained and constrained was my goal. The sun had not even begun it’s match over the eastern horizon, camp was packed, the bike was ready to roll. Nothing to do know but get started.

About 8 miles separated me from Tehachapi, which meant that the previous day I had logged some 83 or so miles into a stiff head wind…not bad for an old fart. Rolled of the top of the ridge and down into Tehachapi, stood for a moment wondering what to do next. I was supposed too call my friend Matt Sheridan, and my intention was to do just that if it had been a normal day……but here I am at 5.45……..and I would be waiting till when……? Done what every cyclist with a yearning to get home would do, I rolled right out to the 4 lane known as 58, and sailed downhill into Bakersfield. Rode on thru most of town then stopped for a cup of coffee and breakfast. made a left hand turn onto 7th Standard road and was now headed for the west side of the San Joaquin valley. By about 3.30pm, I was on the west side but totally unsure of my tent situation and was pondering what to do…….a truck rolled up and offered me a lift. Gladly I said, and caught a ride almost 40 miles north to Hwy41 junction and the closest motel to where I was. Inside the room, I figured out the state of my tent and hit the hay. About 77 miles covered that day while on the bike.

The following day, I would ride from Hwy 41 on up to Jayne Ave which is abot 12 miles from Coalinga. Sitting at a Shell Station, I called my wife and got the bad news……….I was not allowed to come home till the following morning after 10am. For about 4 hours I read Tom Clancy’s novel, Executive Actions while sitting out front of the store. Sometime along about 5pm, my Pastor and my other good friend Larkin snuck up on me as I sat reading and surprised the heck out of me as I sat. They had a plan of taking me out to supper, which sure sounded nice, but, I declined since I had made plans to cook my last meal in my tent. It made me feel bad, sorry guys, but I was defermined to close this expecition out like an adventure expedition.

My morning began at 7 and I pedaled into Coalinga to have coffee. Called the wife and let her know that I was coming home….ready or not so too speak. Headed up the canyon and stopped to visit with nieghbours as I rode. First I met the ranch owner where I live, Ted Denhartog. From tnere I went to pray with my Pastor and Miss Mary at the church before I headed up the canyon. About that sametime, our friend “Uncle Leonard” came along to say hello and wish me well. Next up was my mailman and a friend, Daniel. Rode on aways to Alcalde Ranches and visited with Natasha and Chance, checked out her greyhounds and the new barn they have been putting up since I left. Just a ways further up I got to say hello to the Warthan Canyon beeman, Don. Within maybe 3 miles of home, I met Sharon, my former secretary and her husband Norv, along with our now retired phone man Jim, and his copilot Mr. Ramsey. It was a magnificent morning up Warythan Canyon, as cattle of all colors dotted the sides of those sunwashed hills. Granite spires and wildflowers thrown in as if by a painters hand, adding interest and color. It was aneasy ride, drawn as if by a string or maybe magnetic power towards first my mailbox then just a mile and a half further my house. The road from the mailbox to the house had been painted with thenames of all the countries that Pine and I had ridden thru on this odyssey. At the gate, I was met by 2 of Teds( ranch owner ) grand-daughters and they on bicycles, escorting me into the last 150 yard stretch too the house, the shop, my yard, waiting friends and employees, Colleen, Pine and the dogs and cats that make our home, our home. So thankfull to all of you and especially to my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ for guiding and ushering me thru on this journey one road and one hill after another.

Special thanks to;
Colleen Watt my wife, what can I say but that she is truly the glue that binds my home and business together.
Pine Watt for sharing the first 4 months of the journey thru the hardest section, and for keeping me going. Its you that made it happen.
Nevada Watt, my daughter for her constant support and encouragement.
Ted & Tracy Denhartog, the owners of the ranch where we get to live, its paradise, thanks
Hyun Ku Kim, of China for his support and friendship, his fantastic sendoff party, many thanks.
Jack Ann of South Korea, for his constant prayers while we were traveling and for praying over us when sending us off.
Sunny Yan, of China for his support and prayers as we traveled
Vladimir, Gaia and Roman Kolchetkov of Russia for thier welcome into thier home and fine meals and encouragement.
Yves, Miriam and Erin Lesire of France for welco ing me into thier home and thier warm hospitality.
Georges and Natalie Braile also of France, thier constant friendship and continued support, thanks.
Pierre Duinat my Basque friend, a warm home and many meals.
Orzuri Urrutia, a great gal from the Basque region, who allowed me the use of her mailbox at desparate times.
Ryan, Tracy and Chloe, who welcomed a biker back to America, fed him and allowed him to play with Chloe’s toys.
Niel Watt, my brother, who took a chance on riding with me in Europe as well as New Mexico, many thanks.
Lee, Kendra, Rayce and Kollins Griggs, who provided a welcome home to me during a stormy section thru New Mexico
Darby & Dalette Adams, for thier friendship over many years and consistant support and encouragement.
Niel and Debra Overton for thier long lasting friendship and support.
Deahl Rooks for his many years of friendship and consistant encouragement.
Pastor Mike Markley and wife Jeana for constant prayers and the rousing of the faithful saints to do the same, thanks.
Pastor Hindrik van Diijken of Holland, for continued prayers and encouragement to prevail in the name of Christ that he may be glorified.
Valentin Daniel Olariu, for his friendship and gift of Portugese wine to enjoy over Christmas Holidays
Weaver Leather, to the entire staff for allowing me to be missing from action for almost a full year, many thanks

Blog55-like a homing pidgeon

Late in the day, sepia tone, desert heat is just begging.

Jeremiah Watt, and Shirley Surly his Long Haul Trucker bicycle, are being drawn like a homing pidgeon on there Round The World cycling journey, thru deserts, over mountain passes and along sweltering ribbons of blacktop……all in an effort to bring this epic adventure to its conclusion. For Jeremiah to be drawn as if by a homing beacon means less visiting with folks as he travels, less images of the passing countryside and fewer meals from passing restaurants as he makes his way west backhome to California. “I sure wouldn’t want to be much later in the year riding these stretches because California is making its first real effort to warm up for the summer, and the heat reflected off the roads will wear you down and sap your strength. I have begun to carry a total of 7 liters of water tnru the day as well as an extra liter of GATORADE as a treat to inspire me to ride on just a few more miles so that I can have a sip……the ol’dangling carrot routine still works”. I trust in the promise of Isaiah 40:31, But for those who hope in the Lord will renew thier strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not grow faint…….I am on the ragged edge in several places during this leg.

The powerful draw of home, family, friends and yes even my daily work routine. Is somewhat of a dangerous mental distraction at times. I find that my mind dwells upon it and all that it holds instore for me, leaving me riding in a bit of a “haze at the moment”. I dont ride with music nor any thing of the sort, all because I dont want a momentary distraction to leave me in trouble there on the road. Thats all fine and dandy, its easy to remove external objects of distraction……but when your brain begins to wander and day dream thats a far more difficult obstacle to overcome. So, I Prayed for one thing, somethjng I am not great at but certainly do it knowing its my connection to the Big Fella who gave me the World to ride around. And secondly, I began sketching in my mind new items to produce within my little hardware company called Horse Shoe Brand Tools. I would build entire groups of saddle hardware products, then make simple sketches at night when I stopped so that I could jog my memory once I got back home. This proved to be very useful for me and left my mind with the ability to concentrate on the here and now of passing traffic. Much of which was danged close at times.

Left out of Springerville on a cool morning with clouds that threatened rain as a gift for me somewhere along the way. To the south of Springerville lies the taller mountains and the local ski areas, these hills were also the moorings for the dark grey flotsam that would stalk me all day like an MI6 agent. Riding north by NW out of town, leaving civilization in the comfort of its small town streets, with food for 2 solid days, water enough to make camp as I wished, Jeremiah and Shirley Surley plodded thier way over one long mesa climb after another. We climbed so much that we broke into stands and pine tress and bright blue sky, leaving cloud and rain behind us. The infamous Mogollon Rim ( pronounced – Muggy – yon Rim) by the locals, its crimson red rock facade rippled and folded like a Vaudeville theater curtain over my right shoulder. The scent of freshening Pine filled the air, all sort of Day 6 creatures filled the air above and ground around me. Could a ride get any prettier than thru this stretch of north eastern Arizona, I think not really. And just 75 miles north of me, on Interstate 40, I know there are car loads of tourists asking each other……..”OMG, how much longer does this go on” as they blaze thru the sandy scenery along that faster but far less sceneic route.

About halfway between Heber and Payson, Jeremiah would find a quiet spot among lofty Pines, upon a deep bed of crimson pine needles on which to lay down his tent. A fine supper was cooked, baked and stuffed cuttlefish, with a serving of black squid ink rice, brazed fresh vegetables and a loaf of unsalted crusty Italian bread to sop up the juieces, a glass of Chablis which paired perfectly with the evenings squid…….at least thats what I kept telling myself as I shoveled down another meal of cous-cous steamed in red hot Rotel and drank my new favorite, Cucumber Gatorade. I topped a fine meal of with Earl Grey Tea and 2 of my niece Kendra’s cookies. That girl has a future with Dorpers, fresh olive oil, her silverwork and her cookies could replace Mrs. FIELDS. She is in line to be the youngest women in New Mexico to have her own Corporate Hang Glider.

The next day would see a change in the roads and the traffic both. It was a Saturday, so very many cars out of the Phoenix basin, out for a weekend drive. The road narrows alot as you get closer to Payson and as I would find out later that day, it gets far worse after Payson all the way to the junction of 260 over to Camp Verde. But, allow me mot to get ahead of myself. As the roads narrow, the shoulder drops away completely, diminishing to just loose black sand/gravel. I have found that URBANE DRIVERS, like to watch the wilderness thru tinted windows while sitting in thier 68 degree climate controlled driving chambers and a new PINE SCENTED atomizer mounted on the dash of the new SUV. Each pudgy kid sipping from a personal 64oz drink, wearing the latest Rebok atheletic wear, but as of yet unsweated in……a maybe never will be. They just love to clean the cars mirrors on passing cyclists, as they debate if the bird seen overhead thru the moonroof is an eagle or a duck……then turn infront of you inorder to take in a sceneic overlook, or tiny alpine lake. Some of you may chastise me for calling these towner kids “pudgy”, yup, its a broadbrush statement, the likes of which my son Pine informs me that I make to many of. But, I had occassion to stop in the instance above and watch the family that I dubbed the “Howitzer Family” exit thier SUV. any one of them, with just a little grease applied, would have fit perfectly into a cannon barrel. Stopped at many overlooks over the next few days, and it very often looked the same to me. Guess I am on a rant because somwhere along on this USA trip, I read that less than 8% of our high schoolers get the daily recommended amount of physical activity……and someone has the audacity to call us an “obese nation”.

The driving and roads would over the course of the day prove to be just about too much too handle. Jeremiah and Shirley, were relegated to walking up almost every hill, not because of steepness nor difficulty…….its simply a matter of self-preservation that set in. I know many bikers will tell you, simply get out there and occupy your lane. Force the offending motorists to slow down and contend with you as another vehichle…….all fine and dandy till its you that is prying the Lexus SUV hood ornament out of yer…….butt.

Passing thru Payson, taking on more water,some gatorade and an Ice Cream Sandwich for a little exfra fuel boost. Jeremiah kept heading for the top of the Mogollon Rim and the junction of 260 headed west to Camp Verde. The road after Payson is just not a cyclists road, and shouldn’t be marked as such. Way to tight and narrow, zero shoulder, very soft gravel acts as what little shoulder there is, and its virtually up from Payson thru Pine and then Strawberry and up yet more and steeper to the 260 Junction. All totalled, I walked about 12 miles of this stretch of road……and lived to tell about it.

Made camp at the junction basically, maybe a few miles short. Camp was great, read Tom Clancy for a couple hours had tea and a few cookies, sacked out with a starry night sky captured in heavens vault. Dreamt of my wife, my kids, my big red dog that likes to fart and howl sometimes at the same time, the fat cat that adorns my office chair, the guys in the shop, lifting wieghts at noon with Luis, and all those fruit trees that have been planted over the years. It seems the longer I am traveling the more local and less worldly my thoughts become…….it was the exact opposite of this when I left on this journey.

Up early, riding before 7am and enjoying the prefectly crisp aire and the beautiful smells that come with spring no matter where you are. Heading due west, and about 3000 feet lower to Camp Verde on the Verde River in central Arizona. Alligator Junipers are loaded with pollen, spotting the landscape with thier deep ochre coloration, contrasting with the deep greens of their cousins, the western Junipers. The ground between trees, a rich tapestry of muted earthtones, with bunch grasses mostly of the perrenial type, a mottling of soft yellows intersperced with the reds of the sands from which it grows. A veritable color carpet laying under the globe like trees that fill the landscape as far as can be seen. Shirley Surly, she bucks and farts as she hits a serious 9 mile descent at 6%, while its not a European descent, it is nevertheless a downhill, and there is a new spring in her step…….is that a throb or maybe a pulse that I feel up thru the hind wheel.

Camp Verde comes very easily as it is almost a downhill roll the whole way. But attaining Prescott by days end will prove to be a much harder task, but I was determined to make it happen. I chose to break the law, and ride right over the grade on I-17 south to Hwy169 which is my exit on secondary roads to the hillside town of Prescott. The big I-17 grade took nearly 2 hours of time and chugging to get up and over. No State Troopers seemed to notice me, so, I got thru without a problem. The pulsing sensation within the back wheel was becoming more pronounced, knowing there would be a bike shop in Prescott I was determined to get it looked at since the roads and towns that follow this are far narrower and towns much smaller. Finally rolled into town on one last climb, spotted a motel with easy access and got a room and shower for the night.

The following morning, would see me at the local bike shop getting some much needed repair work done. My Phil Wood rear hub had lost the bearings on one side, hence the pulsation coming up thru the rear wheel. A few other minor adjustments, and we were rolling west on Iron Springs grade out of Prescott, and headed plunging downhill into Skull Valley. A beautiful ride of maybe 30 miles, not much left in this tiny hay farming valley. Just a tiny wood floored cafe, and the well weathered patrons who live locally. I, on the other hand stood out like an escaped zoo animal……I am sure they are still talking about the idiot on the bike. 2 glasses of sweet tea and we hit the road again, headed towards Kirkland where my wife tells me there is a lot in the way of gas stations and stores…….boy howdy was she wrong. There ain’t crap in Kirkland, but for a tiny elementary school. So Jeremiah rolls into the school and begs a bottle of water off one bus driver, fills every vessel he owns and rolls on north on SR10. About 90 miles, maybe a little more till the next civilization. As a bonus, I will roll thru Bagdad on my route west. Folks, this is one beautiful drive, its a bit ruff, rather winding in many places, but a drive to be made in the spring when the flowers are out in bloom. Beautiful for sure.

Jeremiah rolled along with one eye on the ditch, hoping to spot a good stiff plastic bottle to load on additional water thru this section. As luck and the Lord would have it, I came across a nice clean 2ltr soda bottle with good cap and no damage. Along the way, I passed a ranch house rightalong the side of the road…….walked into the yard tenatively, watching for old snaggle toothed Festus, the ranch guard dog to emerge from his shaded concealment. No dog, a real surprise…..knock…….knock……still no dog…….one more knocking round. A garden hose hung limp on a fence post as I walked back toward the road……and right tbere is the faucet……..so, I turned it on letting the warm sitting water pass thru and refilled all bottles that I had with me. Caml that nite was simply alongside the road, just a flat sandy spot large enough for a tent was all, stoppjng celt very good as there hadbeen many climbs thru the day.

Rolled up camp, which was maybe 4 or 5 miles from the Bagdad turn off, and headed out with a belly full of oatmeal and legs refreshed from a good nights rest. My route would take me duewest by the compass, till I intersect State Highway 89 which will then take me due north thru the only small town respet wnich is Wikieup before I pedal on into Kingman. Not much excitement thru this long boring deserty section, many hills to climb making my way north, the road is good for the most part with ample shoulder in all but a few short sections. Just before Wikieup, I ran a 2″ or so sheet metal screw thru both sides of the hind tyre…..never done that before. Left out of Wikieup, determined to get S close to Kingman today as I could. Somewhere along in thjs section of road, my phone rang and it was my dauvhter Nevada. We hadnt talked for quite awhile, so the 4t minutes we did was good therapy for ol’pops.

Camped at a ranch access pull off. The painting of the evening sky done each evening for us by the Lord, was hidden from view by heavy low hanging cloud….evening came wrapped in a grey cloak. Got up early to the sound of an lverly active Meadowlark sitting and singing right outside my tent. First, I thought where is my shotgun……then I thought, maybe God wants me up and riding……heah tbat must be it. Doing just that, I was riding by 7.15 or so and hit the junction of I-40 and pointed Shirley Surley due west for the 20 miles into Kingman. Arrived in good time, bought a few groceries, had a quick burger and found the Old Route 66 turn and was headed for Oatman as my destination that day.

The road out is pretty much a 2% grade out of town for maybe 12 miles or so, dry washes, flowerjng shrubs and greasewood are all tnat keep you company. At about the 12 mile mark, you will round a bend and slip in between 2 rows of low lying hills…….and then beautiful does begin…..along with the climbjng as well. You will be making your way over Sitgreaves Pass of 3500 foot elevation…..on a very old piece of knarled and twisted bitumen dating from the neolithic period. First stop is at the rock walled edifice at the base of the climb, that being, Cold Springs……a travelers oasis of soft drinks, gatorade and ice cream bars and I had one of each. Up, up, up we pedal, one slow revolving pedal stroke at a time. The sandy valley floor gkves way to rising decomposed lava formed rusty red spires. Jagged rock formations, like something taken from a Grimms Fairytale. Jutting into the sky as if set too hook passing clouds on thier way east with the prevailing winds. The ragged lava spires are soon mixed in with round knobby wall like fortifications of soft wind formed sandstone. The contrast in colors is amazing. Still further up, the sides of the surrounding mountains turn into huge brilliant carmine boulders, ot stacked and orderly, but thrown into place by Nephalum or maybe trolls back in the day. From the steep upper roads near the peak, a stop looking backwards gives one the visual mix of not just distance, but the entire color spectrum that the human eye can can concieve and enjoy. Truely, one of the prettiest roads I have ridden thus far.

The Lord is merciful, and fulfils our dreams beyond where our mind can imagine. Someplace along in Bosnia or was it Montenegro, my wife and I ran into a group of fellas logging with Oxen…….wish number 1 came too pass. Then, as I made the very last bend and slipped tnru Sitgreaves Pass…..mlvement off to my right caught my eye……Holy Crap and Poochy Maggie……..look out my mind said to me…….right there at about 15 feet over head, came a dozen Desert Big Horn rams…….running down the side of the mountain to my right, plungkng in full flight off that 15 foot bank……landing in the mkddle of the road not more than 20 feet infront of me…….they were seemingly oblivious to my presence……..they each inturn landed, and with the next stride they blunded on zpringlike legs clear lff the road to my left and into the surrounding rock and cactus…….they were all but invisible witthin seconds ofhitting the local vegetation. Jeremiah simply stood, partly dumbfounded by what had just happened……but waiting in epectation as well…….I just knew my tool making friend Barry King would/should be hot on thier heels and the reason for thier flight…….Wish number 2 came too pass, to see our hardest to find desert bighorns in thier home turf. It was indeed a special treat to see.

Topping out and sliding over to the eastern side of the pass, gave me cause to take refuge out on a rocky promontory……maybe eat a little something and look out over tbe exlansive valley below and cojnt my continual blessings. “Hey, what ya doin there ehh?”, came a voice from some unseen person to my right. Just sitting here eating and tKing in the beauty of it all……so, where are you from in Canada I ask. The EHH suffix gave him away. Ends up, 2 retirees from “dead rear” as it is locally known….or Red Deer on the map. Farmers, grain growers. Wingerjng in the Quartzite area Nd just relaxing along the Colorado river when they felt like getting up and moving. The lifestyle would’nt suit me, but it seemed to fit there rather plush vase type build to tee. Ate my 2 pieces of fruit, rolled on down below the crest a few miles, took many more pics, and set up my little tent where the wind could not get to me. What a drop dead gorgeous spot I had, with surrounding red rock turning crimson with the advent of evening. Bouffant volumnous clouds turned pink and orange overhead as brilliant green foliage was washed in the spectral light of evening, once again the Lord would place his hand upon another blessed day and make it visibly so for all too see. There I sat, with a front row seat, believeing ti too be just for me……do you think it could be?

Allen, a confirmed “roadie”, was my visitor along the streets of Needles. He, having been on the road now for an excess of 3 years. Had crashed out his bike, sold it off for parts along with everything he owned and bought an Amtrac ticket back to Wisconsin and home. He would take a month off, rebuild another bike and set off by June 1 to ride all the way around the Great Lakes. It amazed me how mush we ended up looking alike…….it seems to me profiling long distance bicycle travelers would be very easy. Bedang careful out there mKing your way west to Barstow he warned, as tbere aint anythjng tbat ocfers salvation for tbe weary traveller along Old 66…..just so you know!

144 miles of bright sunny skies, by middah everythkng took on a silvery sheen made manifest by dry air and microscopic dust particles floating in the California desert air. Distance was lost to haze by 1pm. Thirst began to feel like the norm, and shade was nowhere to be seen nor found…..it was time to just shutup and pedal……after all, Shirley and I had only 143 miles left to go. My ATT quit me less than 5 miles out of Needles, and never returned till I was within about 20 miles of Barstow. 2.25 days too Barstow, arrived this am about 9 and got a motel room so I had a full day of blasting AC and work on the blog and images. Just one day that I am thankful too have an obligation too work on the blog today. It would look like one blog post left from Barstow to home which is about 258 miles by my mapping, and will follow that with gear review after I make it into my front yard sans a radiator attached to my backside. Have a great day, and God bless you all for following, commenting (too which I will try and return replies later today) and generally encouraging me as I ride.

Blog54-Pietown and enchanted skies

Caught in the frozen sunlight of an early morning in New Mexico.

You are joining the Jeremiah Watt travel blog as he cycles round the surface of Gods creation on his Round the World (RTW) bicycle tour. I cannot take credit for this being a solo tour, my son Pine Watt joined me for the first 4 most arduous months. Then our Russian friend Vladimir Kolchetkov and his wife Gaia encouraged us abundantly, as did many fans, family and friends thru prayer. My older brother joined me now on 2 separate occassions, first for a stretch thru Italy and France, then for a second stretch from House NM which lies along the Texas stateline out thru the enchanted state of New Mexico. Jeremiah, on his RTW steed Shirley Surly, and my brother took to the icy air and roads of eastern New Mexico leaving thru a window between winter storms. Pietown was calling me after 37 or more years, and surely we could find that enchanted cloud cover that New Mexico is known for if only we rode west.

The remains of yet another RTW cyclist along an obscure New Mexico road.

Left to right, Nita of Toaster House, Oscar and Jeremiah in Pie Town.

A passionate Christian fellow who really understood the meaning of Christs Blessings.

Armed with a huge bag of oatmeal cookies made by Niels daughter, Kendra. We pointed our loaded Surly Long Haul Trucker touring cycles to the west off what is locally known as the cap, and headed for Santa Rosa for the day. Atop the cap, the skies were lead grey, and heavy with pending snow and ice. But dropping approx. 700 feet off the rocky rim of the canyon lead us into a warm micro-climate where winter layers of clothing were soon being shed. Down thru rim rock country with its red sand and waving yellow grass we passed over the miles and ridges that harbor the tiny town of Santa Rosa which lies on I-40 to the east of Tucumcari NM. Arriving somewhat pooped because the last 20 miles or so had a stiff headwind challenging our every pedal stroke. The scarlet and crimson skies of sunset had left us before the twinkling lights of town greeted us, leaving little opportunity to find a good place to set up our tents. Yes, we opted for a room and a restaurant meal this night.

The following morning would see Niel up early, followed by Jeremiah in a far less eager fashion savoring the warm bed instead of the Brroks saddle which awaited him. But leave we did, in good time and headed south now towards Vaughn NM. the road climbs slightly out of town across a Rio Negra river and hits a series of high grass strewn plateaus. Each of which have to be climbed to be enjoyed, then plunge down again to conquer the next which waits in turn. The wind was howling out of the west, hitting us more or less on a diagonal at about 2o,clock position. Once again in typical plains fashion, Gaia or mother nature, would be there trying with all her might to defeat us from attaining Vaughn by days end. With all that said, we pretty much rode that piece of road like a time-trial course, arriving at almost noon in Vaughn. The aire was thick with ice crystals, my mustache hung with icy stalagtites, a testimony to pending winter conditions. The visibility was down to a mere 100-150 yards and we worried more about being hit riding than freezing to death. We found an open gas station at Vaughn, and for 2 hours I stood outside with a handmade sign reading “FREE GAS”……..teeth chattering, knees knocking, I waited patiently for someone to offer a ride so we could get ahead of the storm…..and I buy them gas for a ride. After all that time we had no ride, and 2 people offered me money to buy gas. Once again, we opted to get a room as the weather predictions were for worsening weather thru the night.

Left Vaughn a little late, we allowed the ice to melt off the road and the sky to turn blue. It was like a skating rink till about 8.30 that morning. We headed west again on Hwy60, with a slight breeze in our face and very cool air. At times it hurt around the sinuses and cheek bones, but a warming New Mexico sun soon prevailed and by Encino those layers were getting peeled off. The sky was studded with puffy cloud, azure color as a surround. The countryside turned into rolling grass covered hills, golden in the afternoon sun. Windmills and cattle have been added as ornamentation. We had found it! Thee ubiquitous land of enchantment so often mentioned in novels, captured on canvas, in the iambic pentameter of poetry. We rolled out from under cold grey skies and into a postcard scene welcoming our enjoyment and exploration. Spent the night camped alongside a fence line, enjoyed a crystal clear sky inwhich God had hung a brilliant full moon that bathed the sleeping hills in a silvery nightcoat.

The following mornings dialogue was one of comparing aches, pains and constant laments about that danged wind getting to us, blowing my mustache back over my eyes making it hard to see. Brother Niel, spent his time playing “eye spy something red” and would compare that new found brilliant red to his now very sore posterior. In general, we were caught in a “bitching fest”!! God, he sure has a away of drawing light to those moments when we are riding thankless instead of spirit filled and spirit lead………what the heck is that moving junk pile out on the horizon brother? Not sure, guess we will figure it out when we get closer…………..looks wierd though. Sure enough as we drew closer to the roaming junkpile, a car pulled alongside it and SOMETHING was passed thru the car window. WE TWO BITCHERS, were about too get soundly spanked for our total lack of faith in whom we Pray too. The car it turns out, just passed a bag of food over to a MAN who pedaled the roaming junk pile. Yes, a Christian fellow, not pushing his belief, simply extolling the blessings he has expirienced thru riding by faith. How each day, cold, wet, miserable, overly hot or overly difficult, had in its own way a blessing to be observed and thankfull for, something we two had clearly lost sight of. He explained his Christian stand with simple language, not the academic elequence of one trained in the semenary…….rather it was the vernacular used by a simple man who simply believed by faith and a witness too how God pours out his blessings to those who seek him daily. We knew then that we had been shown face to face, the faithfull versus those whose faith required seeing mountains move to be satisfied with its being. Our messenger lifted his arms to heaven, spoke these words in earnest ” I am yours Father, I surrender unto you”, lowered his arms and rode on his way too the east. We rode west, not mindfull of traffic nor wind, nor even the sprawling countryside, each of us was reflecting on our own walk with Christ and our failings in having that strength of FAITH. Forgive us Father, we will try harder tomorrow.

Mountaiair, was our stop for an early lunch. Conversation began immediatly, we found a seat next to the long established Mountainair senate meeting. They being a local historian, a truck driver, a retired gardner and a mechanic who ten years ago dropped his wrenches for a lounge chair and the front porch. Thomas, the most vocal of the gathered congress, moved over to better hear the conversation as Niel and I ate our breakfast. About that time, a well dressed cowboy with starched jeans and a leather jacket steps into the cafe……turning to face me where I sat……it was like an old west movie, as he walked the hardwood floor I was moving slowly towards my sawed off shotgun under the table as Niel moved deftly for the colt strapped to his hip……time ticked like a slow moving train……the stranger squared up facing our table and opened his coat at the waist reveling a silver trophy buckle……”Is your name Jeremiah Watt” he asked. In a throat chocked with fear, I answered in a high squeeky voice…… “yes”……..and waited for the proverbial “crap to hit the rotary oscillator”. Instead, a broad smile spread across his face and he stuck his hand out to say hello, and told us the folks at Cool Horse over in Canyon had told him that we would be coming thru that way. Scott, joined our table and added to the conversation over our last cup of coffee before we would head on west. Abo pass was waiti g for us and we departed, leaving new freinds behind and a really nice little town…..Mountainair.

Climb, pedal, climb, and breath……that occupied our mind for the next 15 or so miles as we made our way past the Abo Ruins, and on towards the pass taking its name from those same ancient ruins. Topping out at nearly 7000 feet, we could see the valley below us spread like a table cloth at a banquet. For miles across the Rio Grande river valley to the sno capped mountains that shore up its western flank. We allowed our bikes to gather and gain whatever speed they wanted since it was a clean and simple downhill run for several miles. Exiting the protection of the hills and trees allowed us to now feel the strength of the wind blowing thru the river valley, it was substancial at times and at others soft and muted. The sun bore down and began the slow frying process that is a a part of New Mexico sunshine. By the time we reached our turn to the south towards Socorro, we were pooped and wondering where we would camp…….no trees to speak of…….limited river access due to fences………we would be forced to ride interstate down to Socorro, yuk. We talked for a while in the shade of the overpass, and discussed just how much further we wanted to ride and what we would tolerate for a camp site. Okay, planning is done, lets get pedaling and see what we find. Up we go, around the curve of the onramp to the Interstate, maybe 500 yards from our planning stop……..and there is a blue campground sign……..GOD provided! Dont be fooled folks, since the very first day of this trip, I have not stayed in a camp ground because there was simply not one around at the end of the day…….GOD, just slapped one down RIGHT at the place we would need one. We pulled in, pitched our tents, washed clothes and had a simple meal and conversatkon till it was time to turn in for the night.

Jim-Bob had been having a flat tire battle for the last 2 weeks. Always on a hind, and always in the same place! Try as I may, searching thru my tire and liner each time, I could not find the cause……frustrating as all get out. We began this morning ride to Socorro in sort of a dual fashion. Since we both actually had a flat. After that, we sprinted to Socorro, Jeremiah arrived with a flat as well as left with a flat. We had 2 goals in mind for our stop in Socorro, fix the flat and find the cause, and Shirley Surly had developed a serious clunk in the crNk arms as they revolved around, meaning that it needed tightening with special tools or replacing. An Electric Horse, and its happy go lucky 68 year old owner, made every effort to solve both. The constant flats we found were caused by 2 small staples poking thru on the inside wall of my much loved Schwalbe tires. The sloppy crank however was not to be fixed so easily. At least. not in Socorro.

We left the central New Mexico town of Socorro about 2 hours after we arrived, headed up hill to the west on State Highway 60. As soon as you cross the Rio Grande River whichsplits the state down the middle, you are headed up hill all the way to the Continental Divide over near the states western edge. We had our work cut out for us, and knew full well it would be a leg burner for the rest of the day. We campedthatnight behind an old stone wall in an abandoned gas station that sat at the foot of an imposing mountain. Protected from the wind, we enjoyed a colorful display of Gods work on the western sunset, conversation revolved around family, dreams and aspirations and how sore Uncle Niels butt was. He knew at this point that he was in trouble.

Early the nextmorning, the guy with the sorest butt rolled out and kicked started the day. With gloved hands and covered heads, we began our approach to Magdalena NM. Once the largest cattle shipping yard along the southern rail line, and now a dusty,quiet little retirement town. We arrived in Magdalena with huge spread between just 2 riders. Jeremiah found the local hangout cafe, and waited for older brother to heard his bike and sore posterior into the town square some 35 minutes later……but make it he did. Breakfast was vreat at the M&M Cafe which sits at the southeast corner of the old Magdalena Inn. We sat with a local writer Steve Modio and his wife, who had also been over to Mongolia twice while working on a book about Khazack eaglers. A chello player Joel Becktell, who lived local but played with orchestras all over the world. While the meal was superb, it was the conversation with the group that will always make it memorable. Reluctantly we had to roll out and make our way to Datil, our next town along a sparcely populated ribbon of ashphalt. Only 29 miles separates us from this task, and it would prove the undoing of my worthy partner. Just one too many hills, and just 5 miles an hour too much wind it seemed. It would take us 6 hours to cover that distance…….every drop of gatorade was poured down to ease the posterior pain…….every cookie was eaten in an effort to forget that which lies ahead……more road, morehills and yes more pain as your reward. Datil, would be the final resting place for my traveling companion, my brother had had enough, he would be going home from here.

We spent that night with noted New Mexico race horse breeder and trainer, former world ranked bull rider, a short guy with a giant size appetite for life at 76, Mr. Dick Wellborn. The following morning, jeremiah and his bicycle Shirley Surly would depart further west with tear rimmed eyes, while brother Niel would take one of Dicks pickups and head for Socorro and rendevous with his daugbter Kendra. Jim-Bob pedalled west into taller pine trees and rolling mesa type cou try. Next stop is Pie Town. This post mentions Pie Town in its title and for thjs reason. Some 36 years ago, 6 young fellas were attending saddle mKing school in Amarillo Texas, Jeremiah Watt, Bill Watt, Darby Adams, Troy West, Danny West and lastly Don Bartrum of Apache Creek NM. It was Don who first planted those seeds of curiosity with regard to Pie Town and thier famous PIES. Now, all these years later, the onlything that kept me pedaling towards that spot on the map was those famous PIES. All the way around the world, I have been craving a simple piece of pie and with no luck, I would solve that here. First however, I had to conquer the Continental Divide, then on into my destination for lunch. An outdoor museum of antique windmills had me pulled over to take some pictures…….all of this lies at the east side of a very tiny town…….as I am shooting a lady drives up and introduces herselfas the official Pie Town greeter…….my name is Nita, and I run the Toaster House (famous to hikers around the world, quite literally, donations are accepted to support it) the house is open to all who hike road or trails in the area. “Are you here for pie today” she asks? Yes, indeed I am…….well, follow me then and she zips off over the horizon to a small cafe. Nita, and I, as well as a Mexican National name Oscar, sat and had dinner. Excellent hanburgeres cooked up by Harley riding chef Tim. We then had 3 pieces of shared pie, blackberry, blueberry, and NewMexico Apple which has green chilies in it. All were excellent, I assure you.

Jeremiah left Pie Town, satisfied that after all these many years, Pie Town was indeed just as Don Bartrum had described……..”jist a tiny place that makes darn good pies in a place you would not expect”. Quimado, my next stop, some 30 miles distant. The spanish name means “burnt”, and the names origins are derived from a tiny settlement that the Indians burned to the ground back in the late 1880,s. Rebuilt, some 3 miles further west, and as lone local told me, its closer to a fire hydrant now as well. Jeremiah and his Surly would arrive in Quimado at about 4.15 to the ringing of his phone, somewhat of a shocker. I had no signal since back in Mountainair. Answered the phone, caught snippets of conversation, and just hung up since none of it made sense. Had supper at Largo Cafe, looked around town and bedded down. I knew I was in a little trouble with my bike, the cranks were much sloppier and chain jump was becoming an issue.

The following morning, a beautiful blue sky would greet me, coffee at the Largo along with eggs and bacon. Then hit the cranks for Springerville Arizona, about 47 miles away. Big rolling hills, covered in grass and sandy soil, sparce pinion pine tree cover is sprinkled here and there. The hills are bigger thru this section, mesas are taller, the sun is warmer. I ride into Springerville about 1.15 or so, find my local bike repair man Jay at The Sweat Shop, and have him do the much needed repairs to my steed Shirley Surly.

Blog52-Galloping across the Lone Star State

Texas greeted Jeremiah and his RTW-round the world effort with a freshened breeze out of the south, a blazing winter sun shimmering on the black paint of Shirley Surly, the steed used for this cycling journey. Waco, now lay in my rearview mirror. A days rest in Waco adds just enough freshness too the legs to give rise to optimisim about riding out this battle to the end, concluding in California. More specifically to end at home in Coalinga, California.

For several days, Jeremiah would be riding west by northwest under a blazing southern winter sun. Somedays pushing the temps up well into the 80’s, burning and baking all exposed skin surfaces to a wilted wrinkled “Boston Baked Bean” look. Especially the top of my now almost hairless head, poochy maggies that hurt and I had watery effluent trickling down behind my ears for several days as the blisters broke and leaked. Not to worry, as God made us a heck of a lot more durable than the average person thinks is possible these days. Simple, stopped and bought a hat at the first gas station selling hats….cured but for the itchy scabs.

Jeremiah and Shirley Surly, put in some longer than planned for days while on this west Texas leg of the journey. My timeline was built on approx. 50 mile days on the loaded tour around the world. But here, in Texas, I have ridden mostly over 65 mile days, several 80 plus days and my second from last day arriving into Lubbock was 105 miles. There are several reasons why this may happen. For one, in some places there is no reason to stop……there just aint a town nor gas station to make a stop for. Also the days are getting longer so Jeremiah can ride later into the evening hours before darkness forces him off the road. If I were to quit at the 50 mile mark, somedays I would be done at noon…….and then what do I do for the rest of the day? Right, I agree fully, just keep pedaling is the best idea. As my friend Cleve Redding said…..”just shutup and ride”. Thats clear and concise……I just our President can learn a lesson in this.

Along about the tiny scrub brush covered town of Evant, I got the heads up that there was a bit&spur maker there that I should have stopped and visited. Big Problem, I always ask around any and all small towns…..”hey, are there any folks in town or around who do interesting work, like make bits and spurs, maybe make saddles or do leather work, heck anything western”. To which the gas station employee purses his lips, cocks an eyebrow, maybe grips thier chin with a left hand to add to the theatrics of “giving heavy thought” ……..and says ” well Blanche Wormwood over on Filmore does needle point……but that would be the only artist that I can think of”!!!! And so, armed with this knowledge I rode on another 10-12 miles past Evant and camped on the side of the road……..getting up the next morning to ride on only to find out that when I took the picture of my bike beside the EVANT sign that I was only 200 yards from bit&spurmaker Brian Mauneys front doorstep. Sorry Brian, I would have loved to had a visit……my advice to you……you need to tell the guy at the gas station that you also do needle point.

Some 38 or so years ago, Jeremiah attended saddlemaking school in Amarillo Texas. One of the fellow students in my class year, a fellow who hails from Abilene, Niel Overton…….still building saddles much the same as am I. We had a chance to get together for breakfast in Sweetwater Texas, tell old stories, find out whats happening in each others lives since then. All fun, and great to see Niel again. Another event that happened during my time going to school in Texas, was attending an invitational roping in the tiny west Texas town of Post. The last time that Jeremiah was in this town, was to watch the match roping between World Champion All Around Cowboy, Phil Lyne and the new up-and-comer that being Roy Cooper. Along with many runs of steer trippers and other calfropers, its was a spectacular weekend of roping that has always stuck with me. I rolled into Post about 6.30 after all these years, and the sun had set withdarkness invading the streets and alleys, I needed to camp soon…..but needed food worse. Ate at Hollies Drive-Inn, had a great burger and fries……..solved my camping problem by walking right across the streetand sleeping in the little band-stand pavilillion in the town park…….just as simple as that. For breakfast, I rode thru the town of 3500 until I spotted a cafe and all the trucks in front proving it was popular, by accident I had found a good one, Geroges BBQ and Cafe. So, as it ends up. Let a man with brown hairy legs and rubber pants walk thru a cafe full of cowboys with hats tipped back and spurs on thier boots…..a fight broke out…….LOL, jist kidding. Conversation broke out. I think I could have plugged a canon barrel with thier eyes as they swelled to size when I told them I was a saddle maker and also a bit and spurmaker. This was a hard one for them to believe, but in the end with the telling of tales, mentioning my name and what we make it came to pass that they believed, and that we all had more in common rather than nothing in common.

For Jeremiah, the little town of Santa Anna held him for several hours longer than expected. At the south end of town is a fellow who does resaw work. Turning old mesquite and oak stumps into beautiful lumber. What had once been bridge support beams or tongue and groove bridge decking, is resawn and turned into gorgeous flooring for trendy New York or Atlanta night clubs, restaurants and chic apartments. Upscale recycle with an incredible new face, birthed out out of discarded remains of Americas industrialization.

Breakfast in Santa Anna, would happen at an old-time coffeeshop. The sort that seems all to rare these days, yet at one time the icon of that slower small town lifestyle that had us leaving the city to enjoy it. Ranchers with spurs yet on thier boots surround one table, the talk of cattle or feed prices occupies thier time. At yet another table its the morning ” coffee klatch” among the few struggling businesses who still hold onto the small town lifestyle, thier conversation seems to revolve around issues more political which affect thier business life. Off to the far corner you have the octogenarions, long since retired, and since 1951 have been thru the years starting everyday with at least coffee at the local coffee shop………this day, no different than any since this morning pilgrimage began. Only that at this table, any and allthings are talked about, its the NO holds barred table and houses the sage amongst sage patrons…..so be careful should you pull up a chair to join thier ranks.

Newspaper journalist, photographer and insurance salesman hears about my own journey as I speak with another cafe patron……and before I know it I am rolling down the street for an interview with Tex Wright. Now pushing past mid 70’s, Tex is still very active at all those things that interest him. An avid landscape photographer, Tex spends idle time shooting the west Texas region and giving his images to local hospitals. Some serious medical issues dont seem to be a hindrance to Tex, maybe his Doctor…..but not Tex. I am well instructed on the ways of survival in the west Texas desert before I am allowed to depart.

BLESSED, while riding thru Goldthwaite. Tragedy is averted. Upon leaving a store in this small Texas town, Jeremiah drops his wallet unknowingly and rides on in search of Peabodys Diner. Found the diner, but also found it was shutdown and for sale…….a passerby recommends that I head up the street to the Wagon Wheel Cafe. In I go, happy as can be on a beautifully warm sunny day, going to eat a nice meal in a cafe. Jeremiah spots a fellow sporting a well waxed mustache, not a common sight here in Texas…..something more common to say Elko County, Nevada.

Mr. G.L.Daniels is my conversation partner for the next 1/2 hour or so. We talk about all things pertaining to the west,cowboys, ranching and waxed mustaches………….(“anybody mention losing a wallet” sounds a small voice within the din that is eating diners.) The time has come, I need to move on and put somemore miles in on Shirley Surly. Jeremiah gets his bill and heads for the cash register only to have the shock wave of dread rip thru your mind when you realize somehow you have misplaced your wallet. As I am trying to explain to the cashier that somehow I have misplaced my wallet, and at the same time do a vain mental search of my most recent wallet memory…..off to my right a yound lady mentions that someone from the Newspaper next door asked about a wallet maybe 45 minutes ago. News too me, and yet she did walk in and ask the patrons about’a lost wallet. Jeremiah runs…..yes, runs nextdoor and inquires about the wallet……….finding out it has been handed over to the Sheriff…….right over in that building as she points it out to me. Jeremiah does his best impression of Usian Bolts as he sprints for the Sherriffs Office. As I walk into the fortified alcove awaiting you once thru the front door…..I can already see my black nylon wallet containing my whole life, laying on the desk. After describing what should have been in the wallet, it is handed back over to me. Absolutely everything in the wallet is intact, cash, euros, credit cards…..everything. my continued faith in the protection offered us thru faith and Prayer is fortified. And my faith in human good and kindness is restored. If the entire world is not good…….then at least I know that Goldthwaite is for sure.

Cycling north by west thru Texas and its arid western desert, with its scrub brush, cactus and rolling hills is taking me ever closer to Lubbock and a chance to visit my niece Kipty Watt, a student at Texas Tech getting her degree in Animal Nutrition. It will be good for the soul to be able to stop and visit actual family for a change. From Lubbock I will be headed further north towards House NM to visit yet another niece, but before that I leave for 4 days of business taking me out of Texas and into another state for that time. If all works out, I should be mounted up and riding towards Clovis NM by late Saturday or for sure Sunday departure. In the meantime, I pray for safe roads, good weather and blessings on all those who follow not only my blog but Christs word on living our lives……and yes, that includes you Bill at the Jerky Store.

Blog37-Loafers, Lambo’s and Ascots

From Florence where my brother and I met up, we headed basically west by northwest. We stopped for 2 days in the Italian coastal port city of Genoa, which also happened to be the home port of non-other than Christopher Columbus. From Genoa we essentially rode the coastal route over too Nice France where my brother then flies home. This is an affluent piece of real estate that we are riding thru, with cities such as San Remo and Montecarlo among them. Indeed there are many days that we felt and looked like homeless bums as we walked among the rich and famous. Equisite ltalian leather loafers, nice suits and the european version of a wild rag around the neck….only they call it an Ascot. Not to mention the plethora of makes and models of fine automobiles that passed us.

For both my brother and I, we gravitate more to the simpler and maybe more rural style of life,food and dress….this piece of the trip was just a little much for our upbringing. To really get back to feeling a little more normal we had to go spend one night in a dumpster……well, okay….over the top maybe, but real close to that. I will explain later.

We walked Genoa and seen as many Cathedrals as a person can stand too see in one day. And I love Cathedrals. We shopped for art…..and I finally found that Don Marley poster I have been looking for. Love that Reggae beat,mon. Some of our time was spent studying traffic and deciding which roads to escape on, and we are glad we spent that time because the escape went very well. Now I know that Italy has a world class food reputation, I dont really doubt it. But we went out for supper 3 times one night, and had about the worst meals you could imagine. Not sure what our problem was, but nothing worked out. We were longing for a Denny’s when it was over, or maybe a Perini’s in Texas hill country.

Made our route choice and left early Sunday morning. Hit the cranks out of Genoa by about 7.15am. The roads were wide open and vacant. I have to interject here with a few thoughts and insights that may well offend my European friends which I dont intend to do. But here goes, who ever is in charge of road signage placement……should probably just be shot….he is an idiot. Then we have to deal with the beurocratic nepatism, pretty sure the first guy we just shot had hired his brother to actually install the signs….he should also be shot. Pretty harsh, I know. But after awhile, when you finally find your sign hidden behind a tree…..or posted some 150 yards after the junction and it is down a hill and around a corner, or worse yet the road number was spray painted on a stray dog.Well, can I just say that by then the humor in it all has vanished. It was our observation that signage really sucks in Italy unless per chance you are doing the Auto-Strada thingy. Its ironic on one hand that part of tourism is inviting people over to enjoy an otherwise beautiful country, when at the ground or roadside level it is so poorly executed…..just sayin, don’t get yer knickers all up in a knot.

The Italian Riviera. That is what they call this portion of the coast that we rode, very few if any are more beautiful. It really was a breathtaking ride to be sure. Our route of choice was on SS1, which is a small secondary road, two lane. It meanders and tangles its way along this cerulean strip of cliff edged paradise, from south of Cinque Terra right up to the French border. Marked as an official cycle route upon many maps and blog descriptions. Along the way we occassionaly found a cycle path by pure accident…..because signs were of little help. The Italian drivers, whether that be in a several ton delivery truck, a Lambo,Porsche of a Poggio….they were too a person outstandingly considerate and courteous. Both of us want to say thanks for that fact.

The road runs right down along the shore, then vaults skyward up over rocky 1000 foot headlands that interrupt that coastal geography. Up, up, we grind. Along a narrow road with pine strewn cliff edge on our left, and a stacked rockwall or a harsh jagged mountainside to the right. At uneven intervals small paved single lane roads would heave themselves further skyward towards some unseen house or Hotel high above our ashphalt path. The houses here actually “cling” upon solid rock, wind wiping foam on mediterranean water at the same time it rips at the facade of myriad houses that dot its coast line. It all became a sort of pattern or rythm, we ride that wave-like decent thru tunnels turns and twists, flatten out a little as we come to the shore line. Wind our way thru narrow streets of yet another coastal village or city. Then repeat the whole process again as we climb yet another headland into the shadow of a setting sun.

We had some interesting visits with a couple “also traveling bikers”, one fellow I mentioned, Wheatsa from Holland. But also, Brian who has blazed his trail on a very road weary antique single speed. And a common lament is that almost all camp grounds for tenters are closed, “and wild camping is just impossible because there are people everywhere. Just want to tell you Pine and Nevada, that we wild camped every night…..no campgrounds for these two. No sireee bob. Some may not have been real pretty, like the camp where we slept behind a 20 inch tall rock wall on a pretty busy road…..and being under a street light really dealt a blow to the ambiance of the whole situation. Or better yet, the camp where we sandwiched our tents between hedges in a street corner park….also a dandy. We did however have some gorgeous camps inwhich the blue sea lay just over our shoulder as did the setting sun, like a comforting mantle at the end of a long day, stony headlands marched on up the coast like soldiers in formation.

Our route would take us thru the fabled city of Montecarlo, which lays within the Principality of Monaco. Folks, this is a place where escape is a heck of a lot harder than entry. My dear God in Heaven, but this is a proverbial rats nest or maze when it comes to roads and traffic. Just unbelievable how tangled a web you can make with roads….I know, we seen it. But in Montecarlo the surface it covered in roads so bad you simply have no room to add to the web created. So, they have moved underground with a maze akin to the Mines of Moria. Yes indeed, a 6 way traffic circle fully underground, 3 road groups were rising to leave and 2 were decling deeper while one stayed fairly flat. And not just one such narrow engineering abstraction……oh no, we hit 3 such collossal granite beasts. Loaded semi’s come rolling round corners so tight that what gets scraped off the right front corners on the way in, is reapplied to the rear left corner upon exit, cars clammer for a lane, horns and flashing lights, dark then brilliant light, you climb in a low gear only to topout, shift and turn into a hard spiralling turn to the left while your eyes try to adjust and your brain attempts to make sense of ” real near ” horn honks and those that are but echoes of a near miss from seconds ago and in some other tunnel. A full 2 hours were taken up trying to escape from a town 16 feet wide by 10 miles long and a thousand feet tall. Beaucoup cranky at the end of that day…..some serious praying done before for safe roads, and afterwards, prayers of apology after for what I was calling them. With Montecarlo now behind us, you could sense a certain amount of relief in the crew (both of us).

We finally roll into Nice France, once the home port of Vasco de Gama. Our first stop is for coffee and charge at least one phone up so se can find a place to stay. We have a tiny room in an average Hotel and I feel I paid to much. But thats from the twisted mind of a “wild camper” for you. We walked, talked and ate our ay thru Nice, San Remo, Genoa, Florence among many others. My brother and I will part ways as brothers once again, but with a different appreciation for each other and the journey made over these brief 2 weeks. Just want to say thanks to family for making/letting/allowing this trip to happen. And thanks to Jesus Christ for actually blessing the time while we were together. And thanks brother for taking time away from family and friends so you could spend time with me here in Italy.

Blog37-Loafers, Lambo’s and Ascots

Blog36- at the confluence of family and art

Finally free wheeled into downtown Florence, which for many folks is the hearstopping center of Italian Art. For me, it is the confluence of not only art but also the meeting point for my older brother Niel who flew over to ride with me. The road in, over those last few pulls was a wee bit of a test of my mental attitude. While not overly tall by any means, they bit my legs hard, and I guess that was because I had concluded heck we are there when indeed we weren’t quite. By 3pm I rolled in under the long shadow cast by the illustrious Duomo Cathedral. What a city, really has a good feel to it for me. This, my second visit to the fabled art city of Michelangelo and DaVinci, Florence, home to art and culture in Italy.

Brothers flight was just fine, he had so many concerns about leg room and other things, but he was just fine. You know how it is with that first international flight, all those worries and concerns seem to be an anchor halting ones ability to enjoy the moment. Once on the ground and rolling in a taxi, I could see him let down and accept mentally that he was among the survivors of yet another international travel expirience. Once again, I had rented an apartment, we put his gear away and headed out for a quick bite before calling it a day. We walked the cobbled streets of city center Florence, under a waning moon and the yellow cast light of a meager few street lamps. Vendors bjsied themselves packing thier wares into thier sidewalk hawking carts! Rolling vestibules of capitalisim in this communist leaning goverened country called Italy. Produce sellers, sorting thru spoiled produce, and a few would-be partiers were just starting thier evening, ebullient and loud, while we were ready to call it a day.

The following morningbegins our day begins afresh, we awake to the 6clarion call of Italys favorite vehicle…….the bedamned scooter, with it’s raspy, smoking breath. That weedeater on steroids, driven by some pimple faced teen, making it’s roar/whine sound combination, akin to a vocalist just a little off key and not quite as endearing……thats Italys fabled scooter. The sound of swishing brooms and shuffling feet greets our timpanic membranes, as we make our days plans sitting in a small cafe shop……….”holy crap, thats a cup of coffee”…..pretty normal sound eminating from the lips of a person out on the streets of europe for the first time. There are so many things to become accustomed to on that first visit, many of them are so different that they set us back in our effort to just enjoy that which is new. over time though, it seems we can relax and take it in stride. The tastes,the smells and sights, we can become comfortable with, if not downright enjoy the differences for that short time that we are here.

Begin the day with a walk down thru the central market, a huge venue in downtown Florence hosting sellers of every edible product known to man or grown or made in Italy. Italy markets its food-self with a great deal or pride and boast as to quality and organic freshness. A host of local catch fishmongers greet us as we walk thru the front doors. The chill of ice, the smell of fish and the loud clamour of buying and sellling begins. The onrush of senses awakens our sleepy pituitary, and arouses the “old-factory” glands lying idle at the moment. Hawkers of dried fruit and Indian spices make thier pitch as we pass, further along the famous Florentine Bisteak is being hand cut and sold by kilo as we stroll. Another local favorite I have come to love, is a good piece of Schichiatta bread with its airy texture and olive oil and salt flavor, low and flat like a house slipper and almost as chewey. We buy a few items to munch as we walk, after all, we are men on the hunt so to speak. In quest of the famous Lampredotto or what we would call a boiled tripe sandwich. Found it AHAH….. at Florences most famous shop for such a delicacy……and really wished we had taken a wrong turn somewhere along in our search. Turned out to be boiled strips of inner tube in a dry crusty bread roll……..”food writers”, what a lying bunch of dogs they are. As a group, they are about as dependable as the UN. If a food writer describes this local delicacy in more than one short paragraph and without expletives……you know danged well they never actually ate one they are just regurgitating something else they have read about it.

The Duomo, which is one of the best known cathedrals in the world I think, yes, even beyond that of St.Agathe Manitoba, was on the list of “TODO,S” while in Florence. Not ragging here, but the outside is indeed that part which is a must see. It is quite simply described as, fabulous. The art work achieved by the varied artists and designers is stunning. The interior, while it is both massive and wonderfully done is rather austere in its character when compared to most or many Cathedrals. Massive white marble octagonal pillars, some 20 feet across, support the flying buttress roof design which vaults some 75 feet above the tiled floor of this God inviting sanctuary. The Duomo’s dome, known as the “Cupola”, hosts a mural of striking beauty……Spong Bob Square Pants meets Moses as they part the river Thames. Some 7,575 steps later, or what felt like that many, after climbing up the tiny staircase which threads its way to the top of the Cupola. All at the same time that those who are coming down have to thread past you…..all a little close depending on which part of what anatomy you are left hugging, and how sweaty it is. Once we top out and take in the view, it all comes home as to how worth while the climb really was, even on a cloudy day as we had it is awesome.

From the Duomo strait in to see the great works of Italys best sculptors, Michealangelo not among the least. Thanks to hawkers on the street, we aquired tickets and pretty much walked right in past the sweltering que beside the building…..hahaha I say to myself……..it pays2pray. Now even a person who does not care a great deal about art and sculpture can walk among these pieces unaffected. Viewers are caught short of breath when they for the first time come face to face with the likes of David or The Rape of the Sabine. These and others like them, are not simply scanned like a bar code and walked past, these works will wrench emotion from rocks let alone the human, a unique combination of inspiration, art, spatial design and yes even math comes into play ( if only my highschool Math teachers could have told me this instead of….if you dont learn this you will end up digging ditchs ) turning the heads of even the dullest viewer………..something Picasso just cannot do for me…..I always like the back of his pictures better than the front, while the work of Rubens canleave you with tear filled eyes. A day well spent, and a bit of a cultural&art filled overload……if you hail from Claresholm where “paint by number” still rules the day…..but some of it is really good….just saying.

4 long years ago now, both mykids were over to Italy during the summer and ate S well as RAVED about eating at IL PORCHINO RESTUARANTE…….ya just gotta bo there to know what its is really like. So fast forward 2 years, and last Christmas we spent it over here in Europe….France, Switzerland and Italy ….to be exact. And during that trip we took in Florence for 2 reasons. Obviously to eat at the Il Porschino but also forthe art and cathederals. It was fabulous, and the cathederals were great as well. My brother arrives and I am sick, I cannot find the little restaurant anywhere, I call my kids. ?……….I call my wife?……I am panicked and distraut?……..it is gone,closed,might as well leave Florence now there isnothing to see. I leave dejected from my cafe stool and walk some 200 yards down the street……..walking rather zombie like…….excitement and life had left my limbs…..and one eye……….”what the heck, look at the size of that bike hub JimBob its hugger than yours”……….I bend over smart like and begin to feel the synapses fire again as the blood invigorates my thinking all the time burying the loss of Il Porchino further back in the rusty filing cabinets of my mind……..”Hey,you like my bike or what”? says a well dressed old guy on the sidewalk (gosh he had to be close to sixty, didnt evenknow someone that old could still throw a leg over”…….and so as JC would have it a conversation about hubs ensues and I even take his bike for a quick spin…..all while he holds onto my wallet, my dog, and my pants…….I love the whole trust your brother thing. With our bike conversation drawing to a close I decide to segway into another directkon, I ask if he is local here and if he has ever heard of the Il Porchino Restaurant………….a slow wide Italian smile erupts…….why yes, I am born in Florence it is always my home for 59 years ( my self thinking- holy crap, he’s alot older than I thought) and yes I did hear of the little Porcupine. Great I am thinking, do you know where I can find it? Certainly he says, with a smile like the Cheshire Cat, just step this way and I show you……..I move maybe 2 or 3 feet towards him and the sidewalk he stands on, all the while thinking this vantage point will allow me to see in a direction that I have not yet looked……..Now, says my host, lean right there on this post……….I feel likeI am playing Simon Says now, but I do it dutifully as he asks………..my right hand shoulder high on the black post, and I am still looking strait at a stone wall?????……..Okay says my epicurian guide, look strait up to you right hand………and voila, like that. What I am looking at,maybe 2 feet above my hand is the sign welcoming you to dine at the Il Porchino…………..now, did I feel like the village idiot…….no, not at all. The village idiot walked by me though, to rpoud orembarresed to ask and talk to those whom Christ places in your path. Was God giving me a lesson…..I think so. If we were to seek him as diligently as we would seek a simple restaurant……..I wonder what the results would be. To conclude this missive, we did indeed dine at this fabulous restaurant,and yes we again had Franco as our waiter. We had, squash blossoms deep fried, outstanding. Then we had what looked like a ravioli but much bigger and a different kind of dough, served with melted butter it was stuffed with squash with a hint of nutmeg and trecal sugar……WOW, now that I could Wrangler Founder on. Then we went on to full on Ravioli served with fungus ( for Kendra and Kate, think mushrooms ) and wild bore sauce bedded on sawdust…..haha just kidding but caught’ya didnt’eye. Our ravioli, to put it as elequently as a food writer would, were bedded on crisp arugella leaves and coaxed in between delicate slices of scallion…….or as a cowboy, my little macaroni wrapup thingy’s were jammed between skinny onions and lettuce lookin stuff. But hey, it was all good no matter how you describe it. Topped of the evening in 3 delightfull manners, we had a great 1.25ounce Espresso, followed by Tiramissu and a conversation with 2 young attractive women sitting next. The whole meal had been rather a Shakesperean comedy feel to it, we got advice from 4 people sitting behind us on what was the best entree of the day……we got advice again on which ravioli was best today………Franco, did not remember me………he only remembered my wife…..”WHO, Is that embarraseing for”……..so being red faced he offered to help out these language stunted yankees and just ordered for us. As it turned out, both gals sitting next were art major students from Sweden ( another country full of finger painters ), one a degree in Music History and round dance ( she didn’t even know who Billy Ray Sinus was…….no foolin…..King of line dance doesn,t even get mention…..go figger, thats European education fer ya. And the other, a Masters in fine art. A mere 2 hours plus after the last bite was swollowed by all in attendance, we untied our attention deprived students and bid them good night.

Sunday morning, we load our vehicles of chain driven labor and head for the extremities of Florence, to the west, its a setting sun we seek as we creak and pedal. No, the chain is oiled, as are the pedals and hubs……its hips and knees and lungs, yes even they make noise. The big guy, brother to me, tags behind as I act in Pines roll of navigator. We weave and thread our way thru low hills, olive orchards, terraced vineyards and a few steep pitchs towards our destination city of Lucca. It all happens shall we say….outt,a the blue…..when exuberance takes precedence over diligence,…….and when excitement precludes caution. We had topped a long for us series of switchbacks along the costal range, you know that point when you realize you have topped out and everything in front of you is a high speed decent……that point where you set deep in the saddle……lean over those bars……..take on that “mean as heck” look and set forth downhill on that asphalt luge to enjoy the fruits of our labor. Inside crank set high, legs stiff, we plunge into the curves………..AHHHHHH………CRIMINY………..Ahhhhhh…..my racers edge reflexes kick in and I peer into my rear facing mirror to see two huge eyes………and a tongue frantically trying to formulate an audible sound………man his face is red I think to myself?………… I wonder if hes getting to much sun?………..I can hear it, my oratorical devices snap into that lock on like radar position, both ears now pointing backwards……..my brain is computing distance to the sound of dragging metal and canvas……my emotion detectors that come on at the first sense of movement……..are trying to analyze the facial gestures and contortions in the mirror……….why doesnt he take his tonge outt,a his left eye so he can speak………DANGER WILL ROBINSON……. a red alert light goes off just milliseconds after all that information was fed into the mental computer that God designed not IBM. I apply a hefty brake and find a guardrail to lean my bike against, just in time to see big brother wheel his steed off the road way and onto a patch of grass. During our delight in bolting the bike back together…… niether of us double checked the rack bolts. As a result, the entire rack and panniers, as well as top load bag all flipped back behind the rear wheel in one unit……sure causes steering and control issues. All are fine, no one hurt, and bike shorts are easily washed out.

Our route takes us right thru the walled city of Lucca. Considered to be the best intact medium-evil city in Europe. If these guys are ranked as Medium -Evil, hate to meet to really evil ones. I really enjoyed the jibe of Lucca, with its huge walls dating back to early 1500. The walls are now lined with Sycamore trees instead of cannons, and there are more joggers than jousters. The city center sits wrapped in a cobweb of cobbled streets, more akin a labrynth than a mindful layout. Should fog shroud the streets and a moon glower over, breaking thru at brief moments, it would take on a Poe’esh ambience for sure. From Lucca, we head now more northerly than true west. After much debate and discussion about riding the fabled Cinque Terre, which I drove last year with my family and know it is indeed steep, we arrive at the conclusion that we may struggle just a tad much with soft legs and a loaded bike right out of the chutes. Our option is to skirt round the eastern flank of the Cinque Park region on minor roads. The route is simple enough, as it is the old road prior to the upgraded Autostrada which races back and forth above our route for the most part. Where cars see long tunnels and huge bridges spanning chasms 500 feet deep, we see the climbs of old that made both cars and bikers overheat. Every once in we while we would pull over and let loose the radiator cap so we could cool down, we could ponder the grand landscape spread before us……what a great gift we are given here this earth that we roam.

No climb to long, no climb to steep for men like us……as long as we have ice cream bars and Fanta we can/would/did tackle all of it in stride. Did we huff and puff, and did we smell bad, of course, but it was worse after we started cycling. Several climbs near conquered us, we took our rest stops while other cyclists rode on past. Keep in mind they were under 35, had empty 12 pound bikes. We had 150 pound bikes in the back of a truck………ah, sorry just kidding. We have ridden everything since departing the train way back in Russia. There is a point where cycling along thru the hills on the Ligurian coastline of Italy, that you fall off a ridge at a steep 12 percent pitch and can see city on coast for as far as can be seen along the azure waters that greet the eye. The mind relaxes, the muscles loose some of that natural tension that comes from many inclines, relaxation softens the spine till you resemble Sid the Sloth from Iceage. And then it hits……all along the coast there are these steep short pitches that take you up along or in some cases over the rocky headlands that dot the coast, and you realize its not over till its over and that will be in Genoa for us tonight. While stopped atone particularilybeautiful overlook, we happened to meet another fellow cycling our same route. Wheatsay, is from Holland and is cycling from Sicily to Nice for his vacation. Had a great visit and learned much from another perspective……even if he is wrong. jk

Blog35-looking ahead to Italy and the Appenines

Landscape view, headed north of Badacio.

For several reasons, we ride and spend more time thinking about Italy, than the Croatian countryside that I currently cycle thru. My wife is gone, and I have departed south along the shoreline, headed for a coastal town called Split. I’am really looking ahead to Italy and the Appenines. Mainly because in my mind this body of water that we call the Adriatic is that symbolic barrier between myself and home. odd when I think about it, I know the Atlantic is far bigger, but the Adriatic is the wall that I mentally have to get over. And second, as far as reazons to be thinking about Italy. My older brother Niel will be coming to ride with me if all goes well. And that will be a blessing. And third, I have already been to Italy and know that it has a lot to offer in the way of natural beauty and plenty of artifacts of historical significance…..and I love history.

This is very common on the back roads, between a hood ornament and a hard spot

Riding south along the azure Adriatic coastline, it reminds me to look and think about the beauty of home. I tend too lean towards thinking that home is not as beautiful in it’s own way when indeed it is. While I cant explain why a person would fly away from this sort of beauty, or the beauty of where I live…..so that they can see Los Angeles or San Franciso. Thats a hard one for a guy like me to figger. Leaving Zadar about 10am, kissed Colleen and we parted ways till Christmas if all goes well. she is back home and already shipping boxes out, I just talked to her this morning.

Right now I am in Split and waiting to board a ferry over to Ancona Italy. Rode across the Adriatic, slept out on the deck in my bag of sleep to save a few bucks, glad that I did. Arrived Ancona Italy at about 6:45am, depart the boat and pretty much head uphill from the shoreline. Had a beast of a time reading my Google maps, the darned little roads all blend right into the maps background color. I’ve had to resort to borrowing all the reading classes at the retirement home just to read the darned map. We are riding the tiniest white roads shown on Google, and POOCHY MAGGIE, do those roads get steep. Seen some real beautiful country by taking the back roads, a lot of farming on very inclined pitches.

While not tall by mountain standards, the old roads that traverse the Appenines are indeed steep. For sure when climbing up thru the Appenines, you will be required to sweat your way to the summit. This, my second visit to Italy, I had forgotten just how loud a simple conversation over a cup of coffee can be with just 2 or 3 Italians engaged.

I am armed with a road map as well as full google map service, and I feel on the verge of lost every moment of the day. Several things lead me to this destitute feeling. When asking the Carabineri (police) which roads I can ride upon, I get 3 different answers. Signs, well in Italy…..signs are an issue. I swear, its the only place where you can come to a 4 way traffic circle and have signs for 9 different countries and 47 different cities/villages…..and non of them will be on your road map. I have also come to a 4 way traffic circle and found my desired town on 3 out of four of the roads that make up the traffic circle. Pretty sure that I spend darned near as much of my time double checking my google map as I do peddaling. Not complaining, just making note that going forward here is far slower than I had anticipated. Totally unlike rolling thru anything country prior to landing in Italy

Also finding that wild camping is much harder to do now that I am in Italy, as most ground has iether a house or farm product on it, so finding that just right spot has been pretty tuff do do. And yes, to answer that nagging question you have in the back of your mind……does he ever just ask permission……YES, but only when I see an adult male out in the farm yard somewhere. Never stop if its just a women or kids, to much hassle and to likely it could go south. And never stop and knock…..the home owner may not be home……but I bet the sleeping farm dog is. And we sure dont need to wake him up now do we. Tonight, I am pitched in a olive orchard, not my fav because they are usually ant infested places. This ones not bad actually. My days have been averaging just 50 miles per, a little lower than Balkans region average.

One last thing of note, fellow bikers DO NOT STOP, even if you holler and wave your arms……they are far to busy winning that imaginery time trial going on in there mind. Tried three of them now, as I needed directions…..they seen me, they made eye contact and kept right on rolling like nothing was said. That seems rather odd to my way of thinking, as back home and most other places we have been up till now, when cyclists meet they most often have a quick visit. Not sure of the whys and what fors, but it struck me as odd.

I made it Florence, not such a bad trip all in all. Finally figured out I can switch views on my Google map, and that has helped in a huge way. I find so far at least, that the drivers are quite polite and for that Iam very grateful. I was down to the last 30 miles coming into the busy city of Florence, and would’nt ya know it someone put 3 small stiff climbs in there just for fun. A little dissappointed that my route was based entirely in getting here for my brother and precluded any time for sightseeing. I missed several hill top fortifications that Italy, or better yet Tuscany are renowned for, for another day another visit. Think I will wrap this one up and say goodnight to you all, be well and be blessed. Better yet go out and be a Blessing.

Last view of a small Croatian village before leaving.

Ancona harbor entering Italy T day break.

Blog28-oh brutal Bosnia

I was warned, my cycling friend from Belgrade warned me, that crossing Bosnia by “velocipede” is not for the faint of heart. And from what I witnessed all day today and most of yesterday, he is certainly correct in his assesment. “Oh, brutal Bosnia, lay thy hills flat and valleys wide for but a weaker soul may pass you by!”, from a poem by Sadar Vericioni. And the way my hips and knees feel, I am all in on the laying low the hills.

In most parts of the world, mountains seem to have a direction or rythm that makes geological sense. This feels like God accidentally dropped a handful of those “proverbial mountain seeds”. The mountain ranges here, run in every direction you can imagine. No matter which way you head there is a climb facing you, heck, I think even the water runs uphill!! Funny , as I sit here in my tent, in what feels like the middle of “NOWHERE”, I can here the call to prayer at a Mosque somewhere not far away, the loudspeaker sounds as if its right beside me. Bosnia it divided up into many regions, non of which make any sense to me, but they divide Muslim and Orthodox Christian as well as Bosnian Serbs, Bosnian Croates and I guess plain old vanilla wrapper Bosnians. So go figger cause I sure can’t.

Bosnia, as a piece of country goes, lands in what I would call the rugged column. Much more so than Mongolia which I would place in the vast column but not rugged. Something that I am becoming aware of when riding these back roads is that there is most often nothing to be bought in the whole place. So, I now carry not only water but also a full days food……dang it, now my bike is heavier again. I am currently SW of Tuzla on small roads, rode for 3 hours up hill the whole time and felt like I was back in Rauraului all over. The whole country has been having flooding and mudslides, of which I have seen and felt much of it. The back roads are severely washed out, rutted, and many places there huge sections of road missing……oh, and did I forget to mention bridges are gone as well. They sure are.

Oh brutal Bosnia, lets pray you are not my undoing. JW, IS OFFICIALLY SICK AND TIRED OF THE DANGED RAIN. Folks, it has rained hard everynight since I left Belgrade, and I am sick of it. If I wanted to grow gills and moss on my person then become a coffee snob…….I would have moved to Seattle. Sometime during the day, I have to pull things out of the panniers, hang gear along a fence and dry it. If I don’t, we will have to deal with smells and mold again. Generally, I just pick some random spot along the side of the road which has a fence or guardrail that I can borrow as a makeshift clothesline. Hang my gear and sit back letting Mr.Sunshine does his part. On this day I strung my gear out on a bridge railing, and right beside the road was a small store. It took about 3 minutes for a crowd to gather. Anthony, sort of the most curious and spokesman for the growing crowd, suggested he buy me a beer. Of course I declined the beer and took a juice instead, which the gathered men thought was quite funny. Questions were asked, and as best I could I answered. It wasn’t until the teenagers began to show up, that the event got lively. Most of the kids in school take iether English or German as a second language. They were able to ask and then interpret the reply back to the men who were sitting having a beer or six. I finally dug my tablet out to help explain what it is that I do for work. It has been so long, heck, even I found it interesting to see what I do. It was a great hour respite, drying gear. But it was also the 3rd rain stop of the day. Twice I holed up to avoid a deluge of rain that managed to cross paths with my own chosen route.

I have learned a new trick with my cell phone, showed to me by my Serbian cycling friend, Nenad. And it involves taking panorama images on the cell phone. Now that i know how to do it, youguys will most likely get sick of pan shots as a result. So, I will post a few, then we will see how they display on computers and the blog and pass judgement after that to see if we should post more or not. But, if thats to work then I will need enough of you to give feedback to make it worthwhile so that decisions can be made.

omg, its 7.30pm and I am stark raving mad and lonesome and even bored. Its pouring rain so I cant even sit outside and swat bugs. If I work on the tablet getting pictures edited to size etc, it eats the battery very quickly. I most often leave photo work to those times that I have a hotel. I no longer have my solar panel unit and it wouldn’t do much good here with so little sunshine anyways. Today, I pulled into 3 little roadside cafes in order to use WIFI, I keep getting the notice that due to poor signal I should try again. Yet when i search for the Cafe’s router it shows usually 4-5 arcs/bars of signal strength……QUESTION FOR SOME TECH-TYPE, is this because of a setting issue on my Samsung Galaxy 2 , 10.2 size tablet, or is there another way around the constant WIFI issues I am having. Second question, and it also feminds me to openly apologise to the WORDPRESS folks. I had been blaming them for some photo issues I am having, but, I have come to find out it is a tablet issue. Somehow internally, the tablet strips the usual photo-orientation information away when you try to send or share an image…….hence, everything gets displayed as horizontal….no matter what. To my young friend Steven Butler……yes you Steven, these questions are for a guy like you if you can help. Send a note to jwatt@inreach.com……it would be appreciated much.

Pretty sure this is day 12 of rain, it is pouring rain right now and I am camped in a cemetary tonight………I hate chosing campsites late and without my glasses on. Dang near fell in an open hole, ya think God is trying to tell me something? Even though I got a good start this am, I did not burn up the back roads. Too many climbs, the ol knees, hips ade really sore tonight. But I was also taken aback by how sore the leg muscles were, I had no horsepower today, I felt like a pooped scooter all day. Apart from the road being a little tricky with the silt and mud that have washed across it, I pulled over to attempt uploading to the blog as well as found shelter from 4 very heavy downpours…….all great, but got nailed by the fifth. To say we are good and wet is an understatement. As I lay here in my drenched tent, rain got me during setup before I got the fly thrown over, I am all tucked in and have already eaten poorly yet again. Got a seriuos rash going on under my chin and just above my belly button…….I think its from the edges of my life jacket, but I will keep an eye on it.

Good night and may God bless you all, as he has myself. Thanyou to Ted and Tracy, withojt you this would never have happened. Thanks Mom, for doing all that you do, Thanks big Rob, for having me reading thru James……now, what comes next. Pastor Mike, thanks for having the Saints praying for me continually. Thanks Auntie Fawn and Pete, I know your palms are worn thin worrying and praying. And to the many of you who follow along silently, we are thankful to have you along for the journey……..and lastly, I want to thank the Coalinga Curling Club for thier support……sorry I mixsed that labor day weekend outdoor Bonspiel.

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Jeremiah Watt Cycling around God's Creation

long distance bicycle touring

Posts tagged ‘cycling’

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