BRO QUEST 2009

Alrighty:

I am sorry for the delay, but I have been busy finding a place to live, moving to said place, and orienting myself re: law school, but here's some final numbers regarding our trip.

Distance: 4011.6 miles
Days: 59 days
Hours in saddle: 311h12m
Average speed: 12.89mph
Calories burned while bicycling: 251,000/person (based on 210 lbs of weight)
Calories burned total: 369,000/person (2,000 calories/day for normal metabolic activity)
Calories burned/day: 6,250/person
Number of times laundry done: 8
Number of rest days: 8
Number of nights camped: 30
Number of nights in hotel: 2
Number of nights couchsurfed: 17
Number of bears encountered (live): 4
Number of bears encountered (dead): 1
Number of fruit pies eaten: 50+
Number of wrecks: 2
Number of flat tires: 12
Number of ferries taken: 3
Number of books read: 7
Number of films watched: 1
Number of films enjoyed: 0

If I think of any more, I'll be sure to add them. If you're interested in doing your own bike trip, feel free to get in touch with me via phone or email (look to the panel on the left) and I'd be more than happy to discuss the finer points of living on a bike.

It's been nine days since we finished our trip, and I have been back in Oklahoma for three of those days. I'm not going to lie, I'm not really comfortable with being back. One would think that I would be relieved to not have to ride a bike, get rained on, camp, eat absurd collections of food, get sunburns and bug bites, perpetuate and worsen nerve damage in my hands/arms, etc, but on the contrary I find riding around in a car and trying to sort out the details of a "regular" life frustrating, scary and above-all, boring.

Some of this might be due to the depression and disorientation that occurs with a major disruption of one's surroundings and daily routine. But on the other hand, this is still part of a pattern of behavior that has been sprouting up since I was in my early teens, a behavior that leads to intense, almost obsessive commitment to some goal or set of goals, which usually results in the completion of the goals, in addition to physical, mental and emotional exhaustion, strained friendships and relationships, and (perversely) an ever-greater desire to push further, harder, to pursue ever more strenuous and esoteric objectives and adventures.

While riding on a particularly long day, I was overcome with a desire to do another Ironman triathlon. Training and preparation for the last Ironman lasted months and led, in part, to one of the most dangerous and prolonged illnesses I've ever had (remember pneumonia-fest '08, guys?) but during the 15 hours that I spent wrecking my body in various athletic disciplines, what can compare? All stresses, cares and even most of myself disappeared from my body and my brain, leaving me and the race itself, with the rest of reality distant and black, like the opposite side of a valley during a thunderstorm. Upon reflection, most of my thoughts and actions are geared towards producing the same effects, towards cleaving my perceptions from their normal reality, I guess it really is a case of being "high on life", and I am hopelessly ensnared in doing more of the same.

It might sound, at first blush, that I am some sort of adrenaline junkie. But that isn't the case--adrenaline can never supplant the feeling of having pushed one's body, one's brain to the absolute brink, to stare all-or-nothing situations in the face and to soldier on.

As Pat mentioned in an earlier post, an elderly gentleman told us that we were living the "real life" on our trip, and that when we finished it was "back to the nightmare". While it sounds overly poetic, it is true--after living homeless for two months, whipping around blind corners at 40mph, one's face turned into a grinning deathmask from wind and concentration, hiking through forests where there are no trails and riding a bicycle until one literally cannot form a complete sentence, who the hell wants to worry about paying a mortgage while sitting in a cubicle and waiting for time to pass?

I realize that one simply cannot live footloose forever, and I realize as well that working 9 to 5 and worrying along with millions of others about money and pollution and heart attacks or whatever helps define such adventures and places them in the appropriate context.

In my early teens I was an avid climber, and I idolized most the rugged mountaineers, who would run risks I could not brave in exchange for a reward that I could not comprehend. I understand now the devotion of those mountaineers, who will risk life and limb to climb frozen peaks in the worst condition, steadily losing fingers and toes over the course of their adventures until finally the icy wind snatches them and drags them into some howling void. And there is some chance that I will run the same risks as mountaineers, but very likely, I am going to continue to push farther, to forge ever ahead into uncharted experiential waters, and I would like to apologize in advance, because I understand that adventurers are often more defined by their absence rather than their presence, be it temporary or permanent, inadequately filled with photographs and incredibly long, masturbatory treatises such as this one. So to my family, I apologize for the empty spot at the dinner table, and to my friends, the empty spot on the front porch or the patio of some watering hole. And to Pearl, I apologize for the times that I wasn't there this summer and should have been, and for the empty spaces as yet unoccupied by me in the future.

This has gotten long, overwrought, and likely gives the (possibly accurate) impression that I am a selfish libertine concerned only with some overly-intellectualized strenuous form of hedonism. But nonetheless, I'd like to invite you to join me on whatever I do next: any and all are welcome to accompany me wherever I happen to go next, and I would love an invitation to whatever you are embarking upon, be it big or small. You know where to find me.

--S

So I am writing this days later, (we've finished the trip) but for the next few stories/blog posts we are going to pretend like we haven't yet finished. TEMPORAL SHENANIGANS.

If I were to make a list off the top of my head of the coolest ways to shuffle off this mortal coil, it would probably look like this:

• Spontaneous combustion
• Spontaneous combustion, while on a motorcycle
• Boat jumping accident (I am in the boat and the boat is jumping something)
• Boat jumping accident (I am jumping over a boat)
• Getting crushed under a 15 foot tall wave of molasses
• Colliding with bear on bicycle, being decapitated by said bear

There might be a few more, but this is just the result of a few minutes' thought. Anyway, on the Vermont/New Hampshire border I was riding about 20mph to catch up with Pat (I had stopped to take a phone call) and I saw a big furry head push out through the brush on the side of the road. My train of thought went something like this:

"That's a really big dog"
"Wait, that isn't a dog--"
BEAR CRISIS!

By the time the bear got all the way out on the road (and by the time I successfully identified the creature as a bear), I was only about 25 feet from the guy (or gal). I yelled "HEY!" really loud, hoping to scare it. The bear growled/roared at me and took off across the road, giving a disturbing display of the ursine capacity for speed (they can sprint at upwards of 35 mph).

Very luckily for me, the bear got spooked. If the bear had stood its ground or simply not moved fast enough, I would have slammed into the side of a black bear that was about the same height and weight as myself. While defeating a bear in single combat with a pocket knife and bicycle pump and then taking its fur, claws and teeth as trophies would have been both admirable and impressive, very likely I would have squealed like a little girl as the bear mauled me and then ate me.

This was probably the weirdest experience for me on the trip and also the most dangerous bicycle experience I've had, including the three times I got hit by cars. Just thought I would share the experience with you guys.

40-ish miles, rain, forests, fun riding. Finished at almost 6pm. Kinda wanted to keep going.

View Maine Recap in a larger map

New Hampshire, lovingly known as the Granite State, is full of short steep hills, windy roads, and rain. It took us a day and a half of riding to cross the state, having to tack northward and southward just to go east.

View New Hampshire Recap in a larger map

At 6:15 on Friday, Stuart and I finished up Broquest by riding into Portland. We put in 4011 miles in 59 days. It was a proud moment for us, and we drank champagne (or facsimile thereof) and called our families at the edge of the Atlantic.

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!
Our last day was a fitting end to the trip. We camped behind a supermarket in Alton the night before and wanted to make an early start on the day. We were up and on the road at 7:30, and we had great weather riding into Wolfeboro for breakfast. We changed into our riding clothes and got back on the road thinking we would have a relaxed 60 miles into the finish. We were mistaken. New Hampshire doesn't like to put signs up designating state highways, so we ended up making a loop around Mirror Lake before we realized we needed to change course. About that time, the heavens opened up, and dumped rain on us for 8 hours straight. We corrected our course and were able to make it to the New Hampshire-Maine border by 2. We ate lunch and tried to dry out in Limerick to no success.

Pouring some out in the ocean for our dead homies
The terrain was beautiful - a lot of rolling hills through gorgeous forests. Had it not been raining so much, we probably would have enjoyed it a bit more. As we reached 4000 miles, Stuart pulled over to take a picture of his odometer at the bottom of a hill. I could only see 20 feet ahead of me with the rain. I looked up to see him stopped suddenly and hit both of my brakes. The rain had slicked everything down, so I could not stop in time. With 10 miles left in the trip, Broquest had its first and only bike on bike crash. We both had a quick laugh at the situation then pushed on the the finish line.

We've been having fun in Portland so far - you may have guessed that by the delay in putting up an actual posting since we've been here. It's a really weird feeling to be done and wake up in the morning not knowing what to do with ourselves. I woke up yesterday feeling ready to bike 90 miles, but not knowing where to go. Schedules are starting to tighten. Deadlines are on the horizon. My job hunt is becoming more and more imminent. Our lives as vagrant bicyclists are coming to an end (temporarily). Both Stuart and I are looking forward to coming back to Oklahoma to see family and friends for a few days. It has been an amazing journey, and we have been very privileged to share it with you. Thank you for all of your support, best wishes, thoughts, prayers, love, and patience. More to come!

We are about ten miles from being into our penultimate state, which is a true shame, as Vermont is an outdoors playground full of fly-fishing, mountains, forests, subaru station wagons, etc.

The roads are not as nice as New York's (but then again not even the gold-paved streets of heaven have shoulders as wide as the Empire State), but the drivers and locals are all very courteous people. They will sort of give you a sheepish acknowledgment that they do, in fact, live in one of the best places on Earth, then they will recommend you some excellent food.

It's really hot and humid, and it appears a storm is moving in. We just crossed the Green Mountains, which featured about 15 miles of uninterrupted climbing at grades running from 4% to 9%, followed by some downhills, some rollers. another steep set of climbs, and then a final gentle descent through one of the river valleys.

Here's a map:

View Vermont Recap in a larger map

Putting 3700 miles on a bike definitely does weird things to you. Both Stuart and I named our bikes before our trips, and they've grown into their personalities. I've definitely bonded with Mr. Belvedere, and I have put my life in his hands every day of this trip. I know how he handles, know his quirks, and I've grown attached to him. I plan on keeping him in good condition and getting a lot more use out of him after Broquest.

Constant need of repair

When I started the tour, my bike was practically brand new. I had put maybe 200 miles on him, and my leather saddle was as hard as a rock. I had never biked more than 45 miles at once and was unsure of how I would last on Broquest. After 2 weeks of riding, I was fully comfortable with biking extended distances and grew into the role of 'touring cyclist.' After a while, my sunburns became tan, my saddle broke in, my panniers became scratched up and dirty, my thighs and calves became huge, and I adapted. One of the subtlest complements from other tourers is when they touch our saddles to see how they have softened (kind of gross). It's a badge of honor.

Mr. Belvedere at the beginning of the tour

Now at the end of the trip, Mr. Belvedere has become cantankerous, and it seems like our bike problems are a reflection of the end of the journey. I know that it's normal wear and tear - most bikes never see that much mileage in their lifetimes, let alone in under 2 months. In the last week or so, I've started to have a slew of problems with him. I wore out my rear tire due to my brakes being engaged. I had 2 puncture flats from random debris on the road. I've been battling with my rear racks and panniers after they decided to dig into my rear wheel. I've had constant issues from my brakes overengaging and disengaging due to weather. It's been incredibly
frustrating that neither us nor seasoned bike mechanics can fix them outright.

Adjusting Mr. Belvedere next to some bikers

At the same time, it's something we realize is almost entirely out of our control. It's part and parcel of the journey. It's just circumstance that everything seems to be failing at the same time. Stuart and I have had an incredible time together, and we've grown attached to this lifestyle, meeting new people, and experiencing America from the freedom of our bike saddles.

On our way into Guelph, ON, Stuart and I ate lunch outside of a grocery store. We met a guy who lived in an off-the-grid collective and did a lot of eco-friendly projects. He was excited about what we were doing and happy for our experiences. He asked about what we planned on doing after our tour. I said something along the lines of getting back to reality, finding a job, and starting a career once I finished Broquest. He told us, "this is reality, you're returning to the nightmare."

Feral kittens offer us hope

Apparently this is the rainiest/coldest summer that New York has ever had. In Western New York the temperatures weren't bad, sixties-seventies and maybe slightly chilly at night. The rain, on the other hand, came down in sheets and repeatedly soaked us every day in New York (so far). We started out from Niagara Falls headed toward Rochester, loosely following the Erie Canal Historic Passage. Turns out there is a bike/horse/pedestrian pass that runs the entire length of the canal, but it didn't really go where we wanted to go, so we had to satisfy ourselves by jealously taking pictures of the wide, beautiful and traffic-free path whenever we crossed it.

Erie Canal and accompanying multi-use path

About ten miles out from Niagara, we ran into a family of Californians that were headed from Maine to Seattle. The father and older son were both riding Surly tourers with trailers, and the mom and younger son were pushing a co-motion tandem with saddlebags AND a small min-pin in a doggie carrier located on top of their rear rack. Apparently the dog would stick his head out of the front of the carrier and rest it on the back of the bike saddle. Happy trails, Californians.

In Rochester we got to stay with the family of Nick Galusha, my former roommate and OKC's friendliest TV mogul. Nick's family were totally AWESOME, thanks a million for the pasta dinner and the breakfast.

We decided to ride across Northern Rochester to avoid traffic and also to see Oklahoma Beach, which is apparently located on Lake Ontario. All went well and good until we got to the bridge crossing at Irondequoit Bay, which was apparently closed during the summer months so that the bay could function as a marina. We were seriously only 30 feet from the other side of the Bay with no way to get across. Given that they Bay is long and narrow, we'd have to ride all the way around the sucker and then back up the other side in order to get to Oklahoma Beach.

Faced with a possible 20 mile detour involving lots of traffic and some rough roads, we hitched a ride on a motorboat:

Crossing a 30 foot water gap
It took us three tries to find a boat willing to ferry us and our stuff across, we tried to pay the captain but he refused to take any money for his services. A really generous guy and an extremely positive experience.

Detour? Don't think so!

Oklahoma Beach wasn't actually that great, just a strip of private land dotted with houses that faced Lake Ontario. We were hoping for at least a place to buy beers/hamburgers/tacky Oklahoma souvenirs.

You ain't seen the south until you've seen that red durt

Riding out of Rochester and into Auburn was fun, though we got in late due to a nasty two-hour thunderstorm. The state highways and old US highways in New York have absolutely gorgeous shoulders, wide, freshly-paved and free of rumble strips. We took US 20 (the Cherry Valley Turnpike) east from Auburn, stopping almost immediately to go to an antique boat show, which also had antique cars. And one of the original "fab five" from "Queer Eye For The Straight Guy", who stared at me for a while before speeding off on a boat. Bizzarro-world.

Boat and matching car

We stuck around too long looking at expensive hobbies for white guys in the Northeast, but we did learn some sweet terminology, such as "Lapstrake", which is apparently a form of boat construction in which the boards overlap on the hull, rather than being smooth-sided. BOAT SCHOOL: IN SESSION.

BOAT SHOW, FOOLS

There were some kickass rocket boats too, but we didn't get to see any sweet jumps or like boat explosions or anything, mostly just rich people and expensive toys. We did eat some really good fish and chips, though. I think the town is called Skaneateles?

Boat maxes out at warp 6.7

So it turns out the Finger Lakes region and the Cherry Valley Turnpike contain some really steep hills, probably steeper (though not longer) than anything we've experienced on this trip. The countryside was beautiful and we weren't exactly getting worn out from the hills, but climbing them certainly took a lot of time and as a result we only made 50 miles before it got dark.

About 1/3 of way up a STEEP-assed hill

On the plus side, we did get some really good downhills in, routinely hitting 40-45 mph. On one hill we ended up almost hitting 50mph. In fact, we probably would've, but I had to tap my brakes to avoid rear-ending a motorcyclist who was wandering all over the road. Yes, I almost hit a motorcycle from behind and at high speed on a bicycle.

Anyway, I noticed that my front tire was wearing out, so I had to quit taking downhills at full speed because a front tire blowout at speed is a pretty good way to need skin grafts, blood transfusions and fake teeth.

That diagonal line on the opposite hillside is where we hit our current speed record, 49.29mph

We knocked out a hard day exiting the Cherry Valley and ended up only 25 miles from Saratoga Springs, so we decided to ride in just our regular shorts and no shirts. Which worked great, until it started raining, and then we didn't have dry clothes to wear. Whoops! Luckily we were in town by 11:30 in the morning and just sat around all day.

Doing it up hesher style in Eastern NY

Anyway, I have another flat (that makes seven for the trip). Actually, the distribution of flats has been very odd--a thousand miles and then one flat, two thousand miles with no problems, and then 6 flats over the next 700 miles. I think it's mostly due to worn-out tires. Both us and our bikes are getting a little worn out, but we've only got another 250 miles or so until Portland, Maine. Thank you so much for sharing this journey with us, you should hear from me again in Vermont or maybe New Hampshire.

With our mileage end for the state being somewhere in the vicinity of 3760, we're headed out of NY. The ride through Western NY was flat and rainy through both farmland, rustbelt decay, and a big city. In addition, we had to catch a quick ride from a motorboat to get across the Irondequoit Bay, where a bridge was closed during the summer due to it is a marina. Dropping south to Route 20 dropped us on some of the steepest climbs we've encountered (the Cherry Valley Turnpike area).

Central NY was beautiful, if hilly. and only by turning Northward on Route 80 did we get out of the hills. Continuing East towards Saratoga Springs put us on some gentle rollers, and we're expecting steep but not impossible climbing for our last 30 miles. We're only three days of riding out from Portland, assuming weather, geography and equipment cooperate.

View New York Recap in a larger map