Calstock, England: Quick Update

There's a video I like to watch sometimes called Do What You Can't. One line in the video has been running through my head a lot lately:

If you do it right, you get to quit your day job and make friends in places you've never been, a life moving so fast that's so full you won't even have time to process it.

That's about where I am right now.

I've been in England... six days? It feels like it's been three weeks. I'm under the impression our brains are elastic: use them more and they will be better at being used. My head hurts right now just trying to process all the places I've been and things I've seen and people I've met. "Increased throughput" would be an understatement compared to the happenings of my life a year ago. I have about two hours of recordings to go through. I also have to figure out how to get to Ireland and then back across to France within the next 2-3 weeks.

I could sit and type for a whole day and not get it all out; but, my priorities are adventure first. Blogging will always come second. I'll leave you with a photo for now, and try and gather my thoughts into cohesive sentences instead of just compressed memories and the best kind of heartache sometime in the next week or so.

Also there are more photos on the map.

Philadelphia, PA to Rudgwick, England: Rain, a plane, and a lot of dogs

When we last left off, I was in Philadelphia staying with a friend of my sister's from college, Justicia, and her partner, Courtney. I bought my flight with a few days buffer in case of emergency, and I had used a few of those days over the past two months waiting out weather, but I still had three left. Justicia and Courtney were kind enough to let me spend two of those three with them in Philadelphia.

Among other things, I went to a great local donut shop called Federal Donuts (and waited in the line out the door), an awesome park with hammocks everywhere and a naval museum on board a ship and a submarine next door, a dumpling bar, and got to see a few local bands playing on porches for the once-a-year Porchfest. This included, but was not limited to, a Star Wars themed jazz band (complete with the tuba player dressed as Princess Leia), a drum circle, and a bluegrass accordion band (close to my heart because I played the accordion before leaving for tour).

Also, Justicia is an amazing chef. Justicia and Courtney, in general, were just really cool to be around. I'm glad I met them, I'm incredibly grateful for their kindness and generosity in letting me stay, and I hope I get to see them again.

And eat Justicia's cooking.

But, the time came for me to move on. I headed out for the two day ride to New York, with one day still to kill before my flight from JFK to London. I think I'd name the first day “towpaths and textures” – I ended up riding on two towpaths and saw lots of cool textures. It's the simple things.

I was planning on stealth camping, but the weather had also been planning on cooperating. Around dinner, the forecast changed to include a thunderstorm. I asked a friendly looking couple at the restaurant if they had space in their yard; they didn't, but they knew of a park nearby with a pagoda and suggested I head there. Awesome! Just for giggles, I tried calling a local Warmshowers host before heading out – no answer.

Just as I was turning off my route to head for the park, my phone rang. Sheri, the Warmshowers host, had gotten my message and would be happy to have me. She lived not a mile from where I was, and happened to have plenty of leftovers from dinner. On such short notice, I was expecting nothing more than space in the garage to hide from the storm, so I was surprised and flattered to receive dinner, a very, very large glass of wine (Sheri and her partner Linda said I had “catching up to do”), about five different types of chocolate to choose from, and lovely conversation. It was a great night, and I was very grateful for their kindness and generosity, especially on such short notice.

On Monday I went across the Delaware River from PA to NJ and decided to take a detour from the Adventure Cycling Route – down the river a few miles was a towpath from Trenton almost all the way to my host for the next night in North Plainfield, NJ. It would be a bit longer, but I only had 40 miles that day so could sacrifice distance for scenery.

It was very scenic, AND I met the first other cyclists of the tour going cross-country! Leo and his son Kevin had left New York that day headed for LA. We talked a bit about our routes, shot pictures, and I gave him my Adventure Cycling Maps to DC since I didn't need them anymore. It was really moralizing – I often hear about other cross-country tourists, but hadn't met a single one yet (excluding all the tourists going from Pittsburgh to DC on the GAP/C&O).

My very gracious hosts for Monday and Tuesday night were Sarah and Dave from Warmshowers. I was treated to dinner on Monday and Tuesday and lunch on Tuesday, despite offering to feed myself multiple times. Sarah and Dave got into cycling in the past few years and regularly travel with their bikes. They plan on doing a cross-country one day, but haven't had the time yet. Dave has Laotian heritage, so on Tuesday I got to see the creation of and eat authentic Laotian sticky rice. Yum!

On Wednesday Dave was kind enough to drop me off just across the bridge from Manhattan Island in New York. The ride there would have been about 35 miles through industrial New Jersey – lots of trucks and no bike lanes. He offered to take me across the bridge into Manhattan, but there's a ridiculous toll of $18 which is nearly my budget for the day. As it was, there was a small toll to get up to the bridge, which I offered to pay multiple times but Dave said I needed the money more.

So, I rode across the bridge and began riding around Manhattan Island. Another cyclist named Sanjay rode with me for a while – he had done some touring himself, in Spain and Portugal. We traded touring stories (most of his affirming the notion that stealth camping was easier in Europe – or at least that if you get caught nothing happened: one time the Spanish military came across him while he was changing...), he gave me directions and advice on getting to JFK, and we parted ways.

I took lunch in Central Park...

...stopped by Times Square (because, why not?)...

...and made my way through Brooklyn and Queens to JFK's long term parking, where there's an Airtran into the terminal. I rolled my bike onto the Airtrain and just after getting off found a place behind the escalator to take it apart and bag it up (I had stopped by a hardware store in New Jersey to pick up bubble wrap, tape, and a painter's tarp).

Plowville, PA to Philadelphia, PA: Right where I'm supposed to be

When we last left off, I was in dire need of a place to stay. Okay, not dire need (the sun wasn't going down yet), but I was tired and worried I was going to end up doing a door-to-door. I'm not particularly religious, but it seemed almost too coincidental that upon beginning to get despondent, a cyclist coming the other way cut across the road right in front me to open his mailbox. Right in front of me. On a bike. The mailbox by his house. Where he lives. On a bike.

“Hey, how's it going?” he said as I passed by.

“Good.” I guess I was feeling confident after my success at the fire station the night before, because I followed with, “Can I pitch my tent in your yard tonight?”

Almost without hesitation, he replied, “I don't see why not.”

I dismounted my bike and we began walking down the side road that his mailbox was on the end of.

“Where are you coming from?” he said.

“Minneapolis.” He looked questioningly at me, so I continued, “I quit my job to bike around the world.”

“I like you already. I'm Ben.” We shook hands. “The offer to stay is contingent on the approval of my wife.”

We talked more as we rode down the street, and he instructed me to find a place for my tent while he went inside to check with his wife. They both came out and she shook my hand. Thus began one of the best nights of my tour so far.

Ben and Stacey are as adventurous as I am. Ben is 27 (my age!) and has moved 26 times, so he's seen his share of this country in addition to a few others, and travel comes easily to him. Shortly after their marriage, Ben fixed up a camper van and the two of them vagabonded around the country. They had just moved into this house a month ago, and were, as Ben put it, “looking to return the kindness that was so immensely given to us when we traveled in our van.” Starting with me, apparently.

Like I said, I'm not particularly religious, but this was one of those things that just seemed too coincidental to have happened without intervention from some higher power.

They happened to have leftovers upon leftovers, so I was very, very well fed. I kept asking, “Are you sure it's okay if I eat all your food?” and they kept replying, “Eat all our food.” So, I did my best. I don't think I ate it all, but it took an extra hour to fall asleep that night because my stomach had so much work to do.

There was three helpings of squash spaghetti with vegetable sauce, salad, barbecue chicken, coleslaw, cookies, and oh... strawberries.

I forget to mention in my last post that I passed stand after stand of farms selling strawberries. But I also hadn't passed a single ATM since leaving DC, and I had exactly one dollar and some change aside from my cards. So every time I passed a strawberry stand, my mouth would water and I would think, “What would they do if I asked for a dollar of strawberries?” Fresh-picked strawberries would have really hit the spot. I had been feeling this way the entire day.

Ben and Stacey worked on a strawberry farm.

So, I ate their strawberries. And played my uke for them. There was a distinct moment when I was leaning back on the couch enjoying a strawberry that I thought to myself... this is right where I'm supposed to be. And that, I think, is the best feeling a host can give a guest.

To top things off, the forecast for that night had been midnight thunderstorms. When I checked just before going to bed to see if I had to put the fly on the tent, however, it had changed to partly cloudy. Every star seemed in alignment for me that night.

They even had a bathroom just for male cyclists.

As I was packing up the next morning, Ben came out with breakfast. We chatted for a bit, hugged, committed to keeping in touch, and he went off to work. I finished packing up, went inside to say goodbye to Stacey, and was presented with second breakfast. Stacey and I fantasized about meeting up somewhere in Europe, once she and Ben buy their second camper van to vagabond again, this time abroad... Ben would pick up the bass uke, and we'd start a traveling ukulele band: The Vagabond Strings. I would have been happy staying with them for quite a while. But, the time came when I had to leave.

These mailboxes will go down in history.

The rest of the day was beautiful. I hit 2000 miles...

...was overseen by Spock, which made me smile for miles...

...found a beautiful town beside a creek and had third breakfast there, seating myself next to another traveler for company (hi Greg!)...

…and passed through Valley Forge. As soon as I saw the words “George Washington,” my mind starting playing Hamilton: “We are outgunned, outmanned, outnumbered outplanned...” (here is that part of that song if you want the full Kyle mind meld experience).

Valley Forge was beautiful. Lots of history, lots of views, and a really cool church. The church was erected recently, but with the intent of honoring the revolution and the founding of our country. The attention to detail was incredible – every window was unique, each with a different theme. Every nook and cranny seemed to have an engraving, sculpting, or symbol of some kind to give it meaning. It felt almost overdone, but I still enjoyed seeing something that so much time was put into.

Passing through Conshohoken on the way into Philadelphia, I had some time to kill, so I stopped at a local coffee shop to start on my blog. Ray was there:

Notice the Hamilton tee. Clearly, Ray is my best friend in another life.

I also double-checked my schedule and learned that, after getting to New York, I would have three days to kill between then and my flight. Feeling bold from the past two nights, I asked Ray if I could stay with him.

I will probably do an entire post on this or include it as a Musing of the Road, but the bolder I become about asking people for help, the more I feel the world is truly full of kindness. Ray wasn't able to host me, but he did ask around for me. He didn't have to do that, but he did. The kindness of strangers is sometimes so surprising, in the best way. I'm doing this trip partly to see if the world really is as scary a place as our media portrays it to be. I don't believe it is. But to have that constantly validated over and over again... it moves something inside me.

Anyways, as I was leaving the coffee shop I ran into Susan and Helen-Marie who appeared to be setting up for an event of some kind. They enthusiastically asked me about my tour, and Helen-Marie confirmed what seemed to be the theme for that day: most people would probably let me pitch my tent in their yard. Sadly, as was also the theme, I had to depart what seemed like wonderful people. I got back on the trail...

...snapped this picture...

...and noticed that part of the trail was a towpath. My second towpath! (the first was from Cumberland to DC – blog post here if you missed it).

Philly was awesome to bike through: flat, bike lanes everywhere, and respectful drivers (for the most part). I could live here one day. My host for the night? A friend of my sister's from college, Justicia, who has done a tour of her own, and her partner, Courtney. We had chorizo nachos for dinner; then, we sat on the back porch for hours. Courtney and Justicia told story after story, building off of one another like fireworks. One story would lead to another, and like this they doted on each other, made each other laugh, and recounted the history between themselves and those of others: how they got where they were, how being fiercely genuine and true to themselves was the best thing they ever did. A few times we tried to call it quits, but the night seemed to melt endlessly into itself with laughter, love, and whiskey, and just the general feeling that I belonged right where I was.

Before I knew it, it was 10:30 (on tour, with the sun as my alarm clock, I am normally asleep by 9) and I was on the futon in the guest bedroom trying to document all the details of the night lest they became a dream. Some friends caught me while I was awake, and in catching up with them, I didn't end up getting to bed until past midnight.

The past 36 hours (since the writing of this post -- it won’t go live for another day, probably) have been ones to remember. I have met so many awesome people, received such kindness and caring, and heard so many good stories. If every day on tour was like this, I would never stop. This is what touring, to me, is all about.

Washington, DC to Plowville, PA: Ice Cream, Oreos, and Places to Sleep

Spending the week in DC was a much needed recharge, even aside from the fact that it was wonderful to see my sister and her husband. In fact, since it was Memorial Day weekend, my other sister already happened to be planning a visit. So all the siblings got together! When this happens, we call it the sibling monster.

There was ice cream.

There were bonsai trees.

There was smiling.

There was graffiti.

There was getting in bed with my two favorite things: goldens and bikes.

There were many more things as well, but suffice to say, it was good to have a home for a while. Alas, at some point, it was time to go. I do have a flight to London to catch, after all...

I was sent off with a ride to the Capitol and partway down the national mall. After that, I was on my own again. There were lots of spontaneous interactions while I was in the denser part of the city, and I saw a few cyclists on the mall coming off the C&O, given away by their dirt-covered panniers and sweat-laden long-sleeves (out for the day? Wear spandex. Out for the week? Dress comfortably). In particular, I met a couple from London who was spending about two weeks in the US during a visit to see a relative. They were quite kind and I traded them directions to a museum for advice about cycling in the UK (the advice amounted to this: the most hilly parts are the most beautiful), and then took this picture of just one side of a street lined with food trucks:

DC has, as my sister would say, “serious food truck game.” Madison? Wanna get started on that before I make my return?

The first 20 or 30 miles of the day were on trail, which was nice. It was mostly uphill trail, which makes sense given I was coming out of the Chesepeake Bay. After the trail, there were rolling hills... which makes sense given I was in the foothills of the Appalachians, despite being on the other side from when I last saw hills (for those of you just joining, there is a rail-trail that runs from Pittsburgh to DC, so the word “hill” hadn't been in my vocabulary for a while).

Other than succumbing to hilldom and seeing this sign, the day was mostly uneventful:

(recall that I play the uke. Why put that on a sign on a bike bath on the Adventure Cycling Route from DC to Philly? Was it meant for me? I'll never know, but it made me smile! In any case...) I found a beautiful forest to camp in and had a decision to make: to tent, or not to tent?

I had tented almost every night outside since actually getting my tent in Madison, having had a bad experience using just a bivvy early on in the tour. Now that I was out of the Midwest, too, I had to worry about snakes, poisonous spiders, and who knows what other forms of mischief that lurked in the forest. Mostly my concern was the rain coming in at 7 AM the next morning: pitch my tent and sleep in, or use my (not completely waterproof) bivvy and make a quick escape before the rain came in?

I bivvied it.

Around 4 AM rain started dripping off the trees. It wasn't “raining,” I don't think, just when it was windy, the trees would shed their accumulated moisture. The bivvy did keep me dry until I got up at 5 and went on my way. There was, as always, the urge to spend just a few more minutes inside warm, dry heaven, but at some point a shrieking bird nearby scared the daylights out of me and I was suddenly too awake to sleep any longer.

The next day was mist, clouds, and fog the whole day. That's about all the summary you need (spoiler alert: I'm ready for Europe). Oh, and I think I avoided cities a little too hard, because I never came by anything I'd call a “grocery store.” It was mostly convenience stores (gas stations, tiny food shops), so I was living without Clif bars and buying fruit only when I could summon the gumption to pay $1 for a banana. Tragedy.

That night it was supposed to thunderstorm so I didn't really want to be outside. I decided to start asking people if anyone knew anyone I could stay with; there were no Warmshowers hosts until the next day, and it was a little late to start asking anyways (when I left DC the forecast was sunny, or I would have planned further in advance). One of these interactions happened at a stoplight – I was turning left and the driver of the car to the right of me rolled down his window:

“Hey, where ya comin' from?”

“Minneapolis.”

“Awesome! Where ya headed?”

“Around the world. But tonight – Airville. Know anyone who could put a roof over my head?”

The light changed. “Bob H...(engine noise).”

“Bob Hope?” I shouted after him.

“Bob (last name). He's a carpenter. Tell him...”

And he was off.

So, when I got to Airville I started asking around about Bob the carpenter.

Also I made my return to Pennsylvania.

I wish this story had a happy ending. I mean, it does, but it doesn't end with Bob. Nobody knew him. I did find his business on Google Maps about 15 miles out of Airville... too far to bike. Not wanting to give up just yet, I went to the local fire department to ask if they had spare room. Nobody was around, but I did find an innocuous looking storage shed out back:

It was small – just big enough for my bike and sleeping pad – but it was free and weatherproof and therefore awesome.

I felt nervous about sleeping there without permission (note: I would never have done anything like this on private property – only on public or “friendly” property like a church, a park, or a fire station). I didn't know the schedule of the fire department. In small towns in rural areas, there probably aren't many fires, so maybe it doesn't make sense for them to be manned (personned? What's the gender-neutral term here?) at all times. But would someone open the shed at night? I left a note on the door and decided to read until dark, not wanting to make myself at home until either I could ask someone or I didn't think anyone would find me. Around 7, I heard people outside, so I opened the door and looked at them. And they looked at me. And I said...

“Hi! I'm so sorry to startle you, I tried to find someone earlier but no one was here. I'm biking around the world and it's supposed to thunderstorm tonight. Could I please sleep in here?”

“I don't see a problem with that.” It was a little underwhelming – not that I expected fireworks or a birthday cake, just that I did feel I was intruding a bit, and I didn't want them to feel obligated just because I was in need, or was already there. But, they did consent, so that's where I spent the night. I tried to leave it better than I found it. In the future I think I'll try and wait somewhere less presumptuous, like outside the shed, or by the front door... (though it was raining). What would you have done?

I left the next morning dry and bleary-eyed. It was still misting, but the sun came out just as I crested a particularly difficult hill, and I was rewarded with a view:

"America the Beautiful" also started playing in my head. The version from the Coca-Cola commercial spliced with a choir version.

I also realized I had forgotten to fill up with water at the fire station, so I ran out of water and ended up filtering some from a hose next to a church. Despite the filtering it tasted pretty gnarly, so I resolved to find someone I could ask... and about a mile later, saw some guys pointing at me from the side of the road. “Look at this guy!” one said to the other.

I pulled up.

“Hey. Trade you a good story for a fill of water.”

Problem solved. I carried on.

Again, there were no larger grocery stores, so I was still out of Clif Bars; but, I did modify my diet to include generic Oreos ($4 for the real thing, $1 for off-brand... not as good, but when burning 6000 calories a day, almost quite nearly as good), and that's been a boon. Even the smallest convenience stores seem to always have beef jerky or beef sticks, which aren't great because they're expensive but which are great because they contain two of the three food groups every cyclist needs: protein and salt (the third food group is carbs). I splurged.

The rest of the day was hot and humid, and after hunting for Clif bars and pedaling up and down the foothills of the Appalachians, over and over, it was pretty much the best thing ever to come across a local creamery that sold three very large scoops of ice cream, coming out to about a pint, for $4.50 – cheaper than Ben and Jerry's. It was some of the best ice cream I've ever had – well made, local, and just what I needed during a hot day of tough pedaling. I chatted with two locals on the porch, Carol and Mary Ann, who told me they had children who were also well traveled – so Carol and Mary Ann traveled “by plane... and also vicariously.” Hi ladies!

Shortly thereafter, the hunt for a place to stay began again. I passed by a number of campsites, thinking if they were affordable and good looking, I'd stop by – but all were full of RVs, and there is nothing so unsatisfying as trying to sleep with air conditioners and water pumps running all around you, and waking up to doors slamming and engines starting. There is nothing wrong with RVs, of course, it's just that sleeping among them when you're in a tent is a little obnoxious. So, I rode on.

Around 5:30 I passed a racetrack which looked very promising in terms of a place to sleep. It was set up similar to a fairgrounds: a central area where the events happen with huge grass parking lots all around. All empty. One of the lots had a break in the fence along a treeline, and the treeline went back and back... only, there was a father and son fishing back there, and I didn't want to bother them. I rode on, looking over the fenced-in areas, thinking, if I could just get back there.... Aside from the area where the father and son were fishing though, everything was very well fenced.

(in retrospect, I probably could have gone just inside the fence and napped on the grass until the sun went down and they left, then set up my tent. Next time...)

About a mile later, I thought I saw a forested spot on a side road, but upon further investigation, there was a house too close to it for comfort. Another mile and another patch of woods, but I could only get about ten yards in before there was too much brush to go any further. Too visible from the road. I carried on.

I wasn't exactly beginning to panic, but I was definitely cursing myself for not stopping at the race track. There was still two hours of sun left, but I was extremely tired, having started very early that morning and the day before, and having now done two days of hill after hill... I wasn't sure how much farther I could go without needing to stop for the night, but I wasn't seeing anywhere to camp without risk of being seen. Would this be the first time I'd have to start knocking on doors?

I hate doing this but it is, honestly, a really good breaking point: find out next time...