I'm up early, the advantage of the motel, head south and east out of Farmington, this is in New Mexico, looking for some breakfast, I drive through Bloomfield, I'm feeling a bit down because the plan is now to head south on the interstate and in Albuquerque meet up with I-40 and head east, the adventure is about over, interstate all the way. Bloomfield doesn't look too attractive and then, right on the southern limits I see a nice old café across the road, I make a u-turn, drive in and park. Now poor Leslie is suffering a little from all the rain and damp and much of the bling is starting to rust, in addition to the bling that turned green in San Diego. Well, hopefully I'll go over it with a pad and it'll clean up, she is a wonderful touring bike but all the cruising bling is suffering. Inside the café is bright and full of chatter, a very attractive and perky waitress seats me, we chat a little, she introduces herself as Frances, brings me a coffee while I study the menu.
Outside a really battered pickup parks and three folks get out and walk into the café, an odd looking trio, the guy in front is lean as a beanstalk, tall, behind him comes a woman, very short and very stout and bringing up at the rear is the other guy, short and almost spherical. They sit by the window, looking out at Leslie, when the waitress comes to talk to them, they obviously know each other, she points over to me and says something, presumably, that I'm the biker. The tall thin one comes over and introduces himself, name of Slick, he says, and asks if I'd mind them joining me as he wants to talk about the Goldwing. I tell him I'm delighted and they come over, he sits next to me and the other two sit opposite, the round fellow is called BJ, stands for Billie Joe, and the woman is called Rubee, two es.
We sit and chat about the bike, about my trip, as always they are far too impressed, I ask Slick if he rides and he says that he does, every one else laughs, "Let me tell you the story", he says. Frances comes round and we order, "Phil, make sure he tells you about his last ride", she says, laughing.
"Well", Slick says, "I used to work over at the gas station, pumping gas, fixing up cars, in my spare time I had this dirt bike and we all used to go out riding in the mountains". "About five years ago it must have been, it was a Saturday, I'd been out dirt riding, taken a pretty heavy spill, face all messed up, mixture of sweat and mud and blood, tore one of the shoulder pads off my jacket, it was the weekend of the county fair and the streets were full of people, lots of kids on horses, that kind of thing." "I'm heading home down the high street and I see this huge Harley coming the other way, I give him the low five, watch all that chrome ride by."
BJ interrupts him, "Don't you believe this, this version is for Lil, that's Slick's today girl, what really happened was that he saw this girl friend of his, from high school, and he is giving her the glad eye and waving, that's what caused all the trouble."
"Yea, well", says Slick, "Whatever, I look ahead and this idiot has driven out of a side road, right in front of me. I stomp on the brake, big mistake as when I slide forward in the seat I push on the grip and the bike heads off hard to the right, 'Cause I'm only holding on with my right hand as I'm still out there waving to the Harley."
"Girlfriend", mutters BJ.
"Well, I make a grab for the left grip, miss and in a moment am off, over the handlebars as the bike crashes into the dirt on the right side of the road, flying through the air." He pauses for a mouthful of coffee.
BJ says, "Clean dismount", everyone laughs.
Rubee interrupts, "See, the year before, Slick was riding his mare down the same high street, sees this old girl friend, another one, always the lady's man he is, and he decides to show off, and vault off, like in the movies, he kicks his feet out of the stirrups, the mare is ambling along, and he leaps off the mare. Sad to say the spur on his left boot catches the stirrup and he ends up hanging upside down across the saddle, the mare keeps on walking, Slick bangs his head on the ground at every stride, we are all laughing so much that no one can get a grip on the horse. Now that was a bad dismount."
Frances brings us our food, refills our coffee, tells Slick to let me out, pushes him over and sits me back down, draws up a chair and starts drinking my coffee and eating my hash browns. "You don't take any sugar, do you, tastes pretty good", she says.
Slick is off again, "I reckon I must of come down on my head and slid onto my back, I feel myself sliding feet first and stumble to my feet just in time to crash face first into the side of the car that has by now stopped. Out cold! Well someone calls emergency and by the time my eyes are open there is an ambulance, the fire truck, police and a forest ranger. They roll me into the ambulance, drive me to the hospital, X-ray me, keep me overnight, by morning I'm fine except for a hell of a headache and a very stiff neck. "
"And that is about it, the bike isn't even bent up".
"Well, no more than before, he rides like he is a stunt man in the movies", says Rubee, "Miracle he hasn't killed himself before this."
"It is a couple of months later", continues Slick, "I'm up on the porch cleaning the bike, this shiny town car from Albuquerque pulls up my driveway, guess he's lost, but no, this fellow in a suit gets out, walks up until he is about twenty feet from me and hollers out,
“Could you tell me where Adam Saunders lives'".
"That's me, I tell him, "What do you want?"
"'Need to talk to you', he says, 'Mind if I come up?'"
"Sure", I tell him, "Let me get you a coke".
"He sits down, drinks from the can, then says, 'I represent the insurance company of the driver of the car you were involved with several months ago'".
"I say nothing, all I think is that they can sue me for everything and all they'll get is this old house trailer".
"He goes on, 'We'd prefer not to take this before a judge and I've been sent down to ask if you are prepared to settle out of court'".
"What the hell is he talking about?"
"'If you would sign a release then we would be prepared to make you a very generous offer', he says."
"I can't say anything , as if my tongue was tied in a knot, is this guy going to pay me for crashing into that dude's car at the county fair?
"'I tell you what', he says, 'Just to save ourselves all the hassle, how much would you want to just forget the whole thing?'"
"If I say anything I just grunt'", says Slick, "All I can think is,
what the hell is going on?"
"The guy then says, 'I'm authorized to offer you three hundred thousand dollars if you will sign a full release'".
"Three hundred thousand dollars! I can't understand what is going on, I just stare at him, wiping my hands on the oily rag I was cleaning the bike with just a few minutes ago."
"He speaks up again, 'Honestly, the very most we can pay you out of court is four hundred thousand'.
He reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a clip board with a stack of papers on it."
"'Listen', he says, and starts reading, it is all about release, I don't understand a single word, he goes on for five minutes, then looks at me, he is really angry, I still haven't said anything, I can't think of anything to say."
" Just ten minutes ago I was cleaning my bike, getting ready to go down to the gas station to pump gas and now this guy seems to be telling me he'll give me four hundred thousand dollars for an accident I caused and no one was hurt."
“Four hundred thousand dollars! I'm trying to work out how much money that is."
"We both sit silently for a few minutes, I'm starting to sort of wake up, before I can say anything he stands up, walks over to me, drops the clipboard on my lap, thrusts a pen at me and says, 'Sign here and we'll settle for four hundred and fifty thousand, last chance, right now, or else we'll meet you in court.'"
"I feel kind of drunk, like one of those fellows on the television who has been hypnotized, what the hell, 'OK', I say."
"He grabs the clipboard back, writes all over the top sheet, then hands it to me and starts explaining what it all means, basically if I sign they will pay me four hundred and fifty thousand dollars and I'll not take them to court or charge them for any damage or lost wages, or medical expenses, psychological injury, he goes on and on and on, now, 'sign here, and here and here'".
"I sign there and there and there, he tears off the copy and gives it to me, shakes my hand, gets back in the car, drives away."
Frances has finished eating my hash browns and has started on the toast, "I was working that day and Slick came in, I thought he had seen a ghost, he was that shaken up." "He told us this story; we thought he had finally gone mad."
Slick starts again, "A few weeks later another Albuquerque car drives up, a different guy gets out, we drive down here for a coffee, he tells me that actually they won't pay me four hundred and fifty thousand dollars, which doesn't surprise me at all."
"But no, it wasn't a scam, what I signed and what they have done is to give me that amount of shares in the insurance company, non-voting shares, he called them, and I will get paid the dividend on these shares, for the rest of my life, they are my shares and he wants me to fill in a form as to who will be the beneficiary when I die and to open a bank account so they can pay the dividends in."
Rubee starts to laugh again, "And we ain't done a lick of work since then, not Slick, not BJ, not me. Just enjoy life, that's what we've done. Now Frances, she just has to work, loves working in the café, making people happy, that's what she likes to do."
A family comes into the café; Frances gets up to serve them, Slick asks where I'm off to, tells me not to go south, there is a great bike ride east and then south, he shows me on the map, I get up to go, they won't let me pay, we all shake hands, Frances comes over and gives me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, "Take care, Phil", she says, "Don't forget us.". I think we are both near to crying. I suit up, mount up on Leslie and drive north and east.
Alone in the mountains, in the pines, high on the ridges looking over the world, in the valleys alongside the cold white water, riding, thinking, remembering.
Phil Edmonds
Enroute across the USA
Monday, 6 August 2007
Sequences
A couple of miles from Gerry's farm the road crosses an inlet of the Melton Hill Dam, created by the Tennessee Valley Project, or TVA, started back in the Great Depression, although I think Melton Hill was dammed quite recently, maybe in the early sixties. Some years ago Gerry, presumably fishing from the bridge as he is an avid fisherman, noticed that the water flow under the bridge frequently oscillates back and forwards with a period of maybe five to ten minutes, we've never measured it as I've only been there en-route to better things, this time we were both out on our bikes heading for the marina and a cold drink.
Gerry suggests that the effect may be caused by the flow of water past the mouth of the inlet, when all the turbines are running the flow is quite fast, in a similar fashion to a flute (we are neither of us actually all that confident of the detailed physics of a flute, but that is neither here nor there, it is the rough picture that counts, ask any cosmologist), he presumes that the flow past the mouth of the inlet extracts water from the inlet, as the inlet empties the inertia of the flow overwhelms the Venturi effect and the inlet refills, the whole system has a natural period of several minutes. How about that for a bit of flaky science?
So, yesterday morning, we decided we'd take a boat down to the dam and investigate the phenomenon, no problem. After a lazy morning start, sitting around having eggs on toast and coffee and solving the world's problems, we stumble out into the hot humid outside to get the boat sorted out. Right, we find it, a bit buried in the undergrowth and drag it out into the open. One of the tires is flat. Gerry finds a compressor and an air cylinder, rolls it over to the nearest power point, the compressor sits on an old baker's tray mounted on a prehistoric pram base with four of the most off round wheels you've ever imagined going round but it rolls quite easily, he plugs it into the power, and fills the air tank, unfortunately the gauge is broken so we have to guess at the pressure, the tank doesn't explode so, so far, all is well. We carry the air cylinder over to the boat trailer and fill the tire, it inflates, progress.
Gerry finds the gas tank for the engine, I plug it in, pump on the squeeze bulb to pump gas into the motor, there are a couple of small splits in the hose near the squeeze bulb but I can block then both with my finger, the gas smells a bit old to me, that varnish smell, but Gerry says it is pretty recent, so not to worry. Just for effect, I pull the engine through a couple of times and it acts really dead to me, certainly doesn't start. It is not good for the water cooling pump to run dry so we don't really try too hard, instead we start emptying the autumn leaves and mulch and general trash out of the boat.
Well, we quickly discover that there was an ant's nest at the bottom of the boat, little dark coloured ants, they instantly get really excited and Gerry is the nearest victim, I make a rapid retreat when I saw them as I hate fire ants and these acted exactly like them, the only difference I could see is that they a little darker, Gerry says they are just very angry little pissants, he is the biologist (very softly, fire ants I tell you, bloody tiger mosquitoes, fire ants, place has gone to hell) . They crawl all over him in a moment, biting viciously. I pour a pint of gas over the boat to discourage the little demons, running around like mad, poor things, trying to find a safe place for their eggs, no sympathy. Gerry comes back a few minutes later, he is covered in bites.
Well, ever onward, all the ropes holding the boat on the trailer are rotted out so we have to find newer ropes and tie it down so we can drag it the fifty yards or so to the water standpipe, then Gerry finds an old water barrel, we stick it under the engine, prop the front of the trailer up, try and start the outboard. Not a sign of life. Ok, we take the cover off the motor, there is a rotted out wire, a bit irrelevant as it is the kill button and we would just love to have a running engine to stop, never mind, here is something we can do so we dig around and find wire and tools and replace the wire, not too surprisingly the engine still doesn't start.
Gerry vanishes back into one of his many sheds and reappears with a much smaller engine,” This one was running when I put it away", he says. I don't ask but wonder, does this imply the other one, the one we've been pulling on for the last half an hour, wasn't running when he put it away? We screw the new engine on the boat, it is tiny, about two and a half horse, Gerry says. We stick it in the water barrel, a couple of pulls and it fires right up. Looking good, we get serious and clean the bottom of the boat out, get rid of all the ants, tie the boat onto the trailer more securely, throw a couple of lifejackets into the boat, two paddles, pretty much ready, then go inside to cool off, all this is happening in ninety five degrees temperature (around thirty five to you metric folks across the Atlantic) and dripping humidity.
I'm covered in insect repellent against the really dreadful tiger mosquitoes which as far as I can tell just love that stuff, I'm wearing my bike boots and jeans so at least I'm safe up to my waist, the insects particularly like toes and ankles and the back of my knees. They are still busy biting my knuckles. Bastards! We have a drink of water, Gerry loves coke, sit around getting our energy back then head out again.
Damn. We can't find the tow ball that fits the trailer, we look every where and in Gerry's farm with maybe half a dozen sheds and workshops scattered about that is a fair amount of looking. So back inside, cool off again, I put on all my leathers, now I'm really boiling and we get outside again, fire up the bikes and drive the ten miles or so to the nearest hardware store to get a new ball, then back to the house, stick it on the back of the Jeep, change back into Jeans and boots, now we are really ready. The trailer tire is flat again so we refill the air tank, then pump up the trailer tire again. Gerry drives the Jeep around and the rear tire is flat so we pump that up as well, finally, we pile into the Jeep and this time actually get going.
All this has taken a fair bit of the morning and most of the afternoon; it is now around five thirty. The Jeep hasn't been used for a couple of weeks and so smells really mouldy, welcome to the high humidity semi tropical semi rainforests of East Tennessee. We drive the five or so miles to where the road crosses the little bridge over the inlet and I suggest we should stop to see if the "flute" is working, Gerry drives past, I walk back. The water looks about six inches low, Gerry says that means the turbines are running, I watch for a minute or so, the rig is parked pretty much in the centre of the road, can't hang around too long, in the time I watch all I see is a steady outward drift, looks like the system is shut down for now.
When I get back to the trailer, Gerry is looking at the tire that we've been pumping up and shows me, there is a slab of rubber a couple of inches square missing and the canvas threads are showing, half of them are broken. It is pretty clear we are close to a catastrophic failure so we turn around and drive carefully back to the farm, halfway there the trailer gets a bit of a list, we don't stop, and when we get home it is to discover that the tire is essentially gone, just a necklace of canvas strips around the wheel. Another day in the life! Fortunately Sandra has taken the opportunity of our absence to get some shopping done and has brought me a can of beer, consolation prize. Down it goes. Meanwhile this mysterious oscillator will have to wait another day.
Sequences, well, this time they didn't work out. I plan to head out early next morning, get up, discover a little bump on the back of my knee which turns out to be a tiny tick, ugh. I search all over and find another one on my waist, I put them both in a glass and take them down to show Gerry, he says they are deer ticks and not to worry too much, they carry Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever and Lyme Disease, if I come down with a fever then I should tell my doctor, an antibiotic course will fix it, but it is not too likely that I'll catch it, very reassuring. I feel like some innocent New Yorker suddenly transplanted into the Amazonian Jungle, Tiger mosquitoes, Nile fever, fire ants, ticks, Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, Lyme Disease. Hell, it's as bad as Ghana. Well, at least no malaria. Yet!
Time to pack the bike, get ready to go. But first breakfast, we pile into Sandra's Subaru and drive the five or so miles to the nearest breakfast place, a Huddles and have a very pleasant breakfast, a real improvement over the last time I ate at Huddles in Louisiana or similar. Back to the farm, I'm terribly reluctant to leave, Sandra and I sit around talking and going over all the books and stuff her grandfather left her from the first world war, A set photographic studies of the war labelled "How we won the war", I bet that upset a lot of English, some absolutely beautiful quilts, then Gerry comes in and we sit around some more, drinking coffee as an excuse, then Randy, Ferrell's boyfriend calls and says he is coming around, I stay on, I'd like to meet him, finally it is past midday before I get under way. Goodbye my most wonderful of friends, see you soon. I've drunk so much coffee I'm fairly buzzing.
I drive south to Alcoa along a road that says "North", I get confused and make a few one-eighties but work it out in the end, on into the Smoky Mountains National Park, then a fabulous drive along the river a d then up into the mountains, over the gap, down the other side, I decide to take the winding Blue Ridge Parkway, still reluctant to end this fabulous adventure, drive for hours along the top of the ridges, down and across the gaps, back up into the clouds, finally, late I reach the campground, hotel and restaurant at Pisgah mountain, check out the hotel, for once too expensive, find myself a campsite, one more time, the clouds are clearing, I assume it won't rain, plan to sleep out, drive over to the restaurant for dinner, then back just in time ot catch the end of the Ranger's talk about the park, in the question time someone asks her why there aren't any showers, she says that they had planned to have showers this year but the contractor took the money, demolished the old toilet block, then absconded with the money, the matter is in litigation and so it will be some time before we have showers. Life is never simple; imagine ripping off the National Park Service.
I have neighbours and they sit around a fire and play poker until late, then argue, when they finally settle down I realize I'm still pumped up with all the coffee and lie awake for most of the night, the sky is clear, I see three shooting stars, early in the morning the moon rises, finally I fall asleep, wake around dawn. Striking camp is pretty simple, load up Leslie, the windscreen is fogged over, every time I wipe it off it fogs again, impossible to see and impossible to drive looking around it. Then I realize the plastic is colder than the air and the moisture is condensing on it so I warm it up with my hands, that fixes it. Around seven thirty I'm ready, off we go.
About ten miles down the road I come across a couple of people sitting on the side of the road and as I drive by I realise that there is also a car buried deep in the woods, they must have lost control and driven off the road. I turn around and drive back, ask if they are OK, they say that one of them has a cut but they've called the ambulance so I drive off, within a few minutes I'm passed by two fire trucks and an ambulance, good response. Near Asheville I join the I-40 heading East to Raleigh, stop off around nine for a breakfast, this is biker country on a Saturday, the café is filled with bikers, quite a lot of the riders are women, this is relatively new and has been discussed several times. The café has a computer and the charming blond waitress has let me use it if I promise to include her name, so, Jean-Marie, thank you very much. I've finished breakfast, run out of excuses, time to go, maybe four hours if I take the back roads to Raleigh, nearly, very nearly finished the adventure, drive carefully, no mistakes now.
Regards to all, Phil
Phil Edmonds
Enroute across the USA
Gerry suggests that the effect may be caused by the flow of water past the mouth of the inlet, when all the turbines are running the flow is quite fast, in a similar fashion to a flute (we are neither of us actually all that confident of the detailed physics of a flute, but that is neither here nor there, it is the rough picture that counts, ask any cosmologist), he presumes that the flow past the mouth of the inlet extracts water from the inlet, as the inlet empties the inertia of the flow overwhelms the Venturi effect and the inlet refills, the whole system has a natural period of several minutes. How about that for a bit of flaky science?
So, yesterday morning, we decided we'd take a boat down to the dam and investigate the phenomenon, no problem. After a lazy morning start, sitting around having eggs on toast and coffee and solving the world's problems, we stumble out into the hot humid outside to get the boat sorted out. Right, we find it, a bit buried in the undergrowth and drag it out into the open. One of the tires is flat. Gerry finds a compressor and an air cylinder, rolls it over to the nearest power point, the compressor sits on an old baker's tray mounted on a prehistoric pram base with four of the most off round wheels you've ever imagined going round but it rolls quite easily, he plugs it into the power, and fills the air tank, unfortunately the gauge is broken so we have to guess at the pressure, the tank doesn't explode so, so far, all is well. We carry the air cylinder over to the boat trailer and fill the tire, it inflates, progress.
Gerry finds the gas tank for the engine, I plug it in, pump on the squeeze bulb to pump gas into the motor, there are a couple of small splits in the hose near the squeeze bulb but I can block then both with my finger, the gas smells a bit old to me, that varnish smell, but Gerry says it is pretty recent, so not to worry. Just for effect, I pull the engine through a couple of times and it acts really dead to me, certainly doesn't start. It is not good for the water cooling pump to run dry so we don't really try too hard, instead we start emptying the autumn leaves and mulch and general trash out of the boat.
Well, we quickly discover that there was an ant's nest at the bottom of the boat, little dark coloured ants, they instantly get really excited and Gerry is the nearest victim, I make a rapid retreat when I saw them as I hate fire ants and these acted exactly like them, the only difference I could see is that they a little darker, Gerry says they are just very angry little pissants, he is the biologist (very softly, fire ants I tell you, bloody tiger mosquitoes, fire ants, place has gone to hell) . They crawl all over him in a moment, biting viciously. I pour a pint of gas over the boat to discourage the little demons, running around like mad, poor things, trying to find a safe place for their eggs, no sympathy. Gerry comes back a few minutes later, he is covered in bites.
Well, ever onward, all the ropes holding the boat on the trailer are rotted out so we have to find newer ropes and tie it down so we can drag it the fifty yards or so to the water standpipe, then Gerry finds an old water barrel, we stick it under the engine, prop the front of the trailer up, try and start the outboard. Not a sign of life. Ok, we take the cover off the motor, there is a rotted out wire, a bit irrelevant as it is the kill button and we would just love to have a running engine to stop, never mind, here is something we can do so we dig around and find wire and tools and replace the wire, not too surprisingly the engine still doesn't start.
Gerry vanishes back into one of his many sheds and reappears with a much smaller engine,” This one was running when I put it away", he says. I don't ask but wonder, does this imply the other one, the one we've been pulling on for the last half an hour, wasn't running when he put it away? We screw the new engine on the boat, it is tiny, about two and a half horse, Gerry says. We stick it in the water barrel, a couple of pulls and it fires right up. Looking good, we get serious and clean the bottom of the boat out, get rid of all the ants, tie the boat onto the trailer more securely, throw a couple of lifejackets into the boat, two paddles, pretty much ready, then go inside to cool off, all this is happening in ninety five degrees temperature (around thirty five to you metric folks across the Atlantic) and dripping humidity.
I'm covered in insect repellent against the really dreadful tiger mosquitoes which as far as I can tell just love that stuff, I'm wearing my bike boots and jeans so at least I'm safe up to my waist, the insects particularly like toes and ankles and the back of my knees. They are still busy biting my knuckles. Bastards! We have a drink of water, Gerry loves coke, sit around getting our energy back then head out again.
Damn. We can't find the tow ball that fits the trailer, we look every where and in Gerry's farm with maybe half a dozen sheds and workshops scattered about that is a fair amount of looking. So back inside, cool off again, I put on all my leathers, now I'm really boiling and we get outside again, fire up the bikes and drive the ten miles or so to the nearest hardware store to get a new ball, then back to the house, stick it on the back of the Jeep, change back into Jeans and boots, now we are really ready. The trailer tire is flat again so we refill the air tank, then pump up the trailer tire again. Gerry drives the Jeep around and the rear tire is flat so we pump that up as well, finally, we pile into the Jeep and this time actually get going.
All this has taken a fair bit of the morning and most of the afternoon; it is now around five thirty. The Jeep hasn't been used for a couple of weeks and so smells really mouldy, welcome to the high humidity semi tropical semi rainforests of East Tennessee. We drive the five or so miles to where the road crosses the little bridge over the inlet and I suggest we should stop to see if the "flute" is working, Gerry drives past, I walk back. The water looks about six inches low, Gerry says that means the turbines are running, I watch for a minute or so, the rig is parked pretty much in the centre of the road, can't hang around too long, in the time I watch all I see is a steady outward drift, looks like the system is shut down for now.
When I get back to the trailer, Gerry is looking at the tire that we've been pumping up and shows me, there is a slab of rubber a couple of inches square missing and the canvas threads are showing, half of them are broken. It is pretty clear we are close to a catastrophic failure so we turn around and drive carefully back to the farm, halfway there the trailer gets a bit of a list, we don't stop, and when we get home it is to discover that the tire is essentially gone, just a necklace of canvas strips around the wheel. Another day in the life! Fortunately Sandra has taken the opportunity of our absence to get some shopping done and has brought me a can of beer, consolation prize. Down it goes. Meanwhile this mysterious oscillator will have to wait another day.
Sequences, well, this time they didn't work out. I plan to head out early next morning, get up, discover a little bump on the back of my knee which turns out to be a tiny tick, ugh. I search all over and find another one on my waist, I put them both in a glass and take them down to show Gerry, he says they are deer ticks and not to worry too much, they carry Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever and Lyme Disease, if I come down with a fever then I should tell my doctor, an antibiotic course will fix it, but it is not too likely that I'll catch it, very reassuring. I feel like some innocent New Yorker suddenly transplanted into the Amazonian Jungle, Tiger mosquitoes, Nile fever, fire ants, ticks, Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, Lyme Disease. Hell, it's as bad as Ghana. Well, at least no malaria. Yet!
Time to pack the bike, get ready to go. But first breakfast, we pile into Sandra's Subaru and drive the five or so miles to the nearest breakfast place, a Huddles and have a very pleasant breakfast, a real improvement over the last time I ate at Huddles in Louisiana or similar. Back to the farm, I'm terribly reluctant to leave, Sandra and I sit around talking and going over all the books and stuff her grandfather left her from the first world war, A set photographic studies of the war labelled "How we won the war", I bet that upset a lot of English, some absolutely beautiful quilts, then Gerry comes in and we sit around some more, drinking coffee as an excuse, then Randy, Ferrell's boyfriend calls and says he is coming around, I stay on, I'd like to meet him, finally it is past midday before I get under way. Goodbye my most wonderful of friends, see you soon. I've drunk so much coffee I'm fairly buzzing.
I drive south to Alcoa along a road that says "North", I get confused and make a few one-eighties but work it out in the end, on into the Smoky Mountains National Park, then a fabulous drive along the river a d then up into the mountains, over the gap, down the other side, I decide to take the winding Blue Ridge Parkway, still reluctant to end this fabulous adventure, drive for hours along the top of the ridges, down and across the gaps, back up into the clouds, finally, late I reach the campground, hotel and restaurant at Pisgah mountain, check out the hotel, for once too expensive, find myself a campsite, one more time, the clouds are clearing, I assume it won't rain, plan to sleep out, drive over to the restaurant for dinner, then back just in time ot catch the end of the Ranger's talk about the park, in the question time someone asks her why there aren't any showers, she says that they had planned to have showers this year but the contractor took the money, demolished the old toilet block, then absconded with the money, the matter is in litigation and so it will be some time before we have showers. Life is never simple; imagine ripping off the National Park Service.
I have neighbours and they sit around a fire and play poker until late, then argue, when they finally settle down I realize I'm still pumped up with all the coffee and lie awake for most of the night, the sky is clear, I see three shooting stars, early in the morning the moon rises, finally I fall asleep, wake around dawn. Striking camp is pretty simple, load up Leslie, the windscreen is fogged over, every time I wipe it off it fogs again, impossible to see and impossible to drive looking around it. Then I realize the plastic is colder than the air and the moisture is condensing on it so I warm it up with my hands, that fixes it. Around seven thirty I'm ready, off we go.
About ten miles down the road I come across a couple of people sitting on the side of the road and as I drive by I realise that there is also a car buried deep in the woods, they must have lost control and driven off the road. I turn around and drive back, ask if they are OK, they say that one of them has a cut but they've called the ambulance so I drive off, within a few minutes I'm passed by two fire trucks and an ambulance, good response. Near Asheville I join the I-40 heading East to Raleigh, stop off around nine for a breakfast, this is biker country on a Saturday, the café is filled with bikers, quite a lot of the riders are women, this is relatively new and has been discussed several times. The café has a computer and the charming blond waitress has let me use it if I promise to include her name, so, Jean-Marie, thank you very much. I've finished breakfast, run out of excuses, time to go, maybe four hours if I take the back roads to Raleigh, nearly, very nearly finished the adventure, drive carefully, no mistakes now.
Regards to all, Phil
Phil Edmonds
Enroute across the USA
Friday, 3 August 2007
Knoxville Tennessee, July 30
Headed south out of New Mexico, spent the night in a State Park just north of Las Vegas, the campsite was just the open grassland on the bank of a small lake, it was quite idyllic. As the sun set one of the other campers, there were about four of us, launched a catamaran and gently sailed around the lake as the last light failed. The location was appropriate as the lake sits at the extreme eastern end of the Rockies, looking south, to my left was the endless plain running east to the Mississippi, to my right the foothills of the Rockies, blue in the haze and smoke from the fires in Utah and Oregon. It was my first night camping after the Grand Canyon fiasco, the tent was red with the dried mud, fortunately the few clouds cleared as the sun set and the night was cool and comfortable.
No escaping it, time to head back, I planned to drive south to the interstate and just hammer east, however in the coffee house in Las Vegas a local convinced me to take a meandering back road and so I stole another lovely day up in the high desert. But by evening I was finally on the I-40 heading east, I have to laugh at how quickly circumstances change, just a couple of months ago it was all so terrifying and now I'm very comfortable blasting the slabs, but it doesn't compare with the back roads, winding through the countryside, stopping in the small towns, exploring.
Now rocketing east, a steady seventy five. Pretty hot, my thermometer runs around ninety five. Across Oklahoma, through Oklahoma City mid afternoon, then into Arkansas, hope to get past Little Rock but end up too tired about a hundred miles short, pull off into a small town, Forest City, there was an ad for a Honda motorcycle shop, when I find it they tell me they are booked up a week ahead but send me to a small shop a couple of miles down the road, when I find it the driveway is a shambles of mud and pebbles but more confident now I drive up it and park, after hanging around for half an hour or so I get to talk to the owner, he'd like to help but they are closing in a few minutes an he is heading off to Sturgis for the motorcycle convention, It is in one of the Dacotas. Damn an blast, I'm pretty tired and after spending an hour or so mid afternoon trying to get Leslie serviced I'm hot and sweaty.
Not to worry, on we go, maybe thirty miles,, pull off into what looks like a pleasant small town, from the map, called Conway. Actually Conway is a desperate place, it consists of a loop of highway off the interstate, both sided lined with endless strip malls and auto sales, a single traffic light has a sad cluster of brick buildings, the remnants of the old town, most of them boarded up. This turns out to be the style of all the towns I visit off the I-40, the businesses are driven to the interstate intersections and the town centre s are sadly abandoned. I find a reasonable looking motel, check in, when I get into the room it is pretty awful, pleasant furniture but a stained carpet and even two dead cockroaches in the bathroom, Ugh!. But I'm tired and really have driven far enough, four hundred and fifty miles, my longest day, so I shower, take an hours rest, then drive down the strip looking for a restaurant, there isn't one, end up in a Captain D's fish parlour, not too bad. Across the road I stop in a gas station to get provisions for breakfast and a can of beer, the outside of the store is covered in crickets, or a similar insect, they tell me that they are having and absolute plague of them, hundreds and thousands.
When I get back to the motel I check and the dead insects aren't roaches, just more of these wretched crickets. But, when I get back from dinner the parking lot is filled with police, three cars, miracle I didn't fall off when I swung into this mess from the road. Apparently the Hispanic boy in the next room had a major accident in his dressed up SUV, and didn't report it, his SUV is all banged up, I stay a long way away from it all, after an hour or so the police leave, everything calms down, I'm in bed and asleep by ten.
Now rereading this I realise I have missed out an entire day on Interstate 40, and this pretty much sums up long days on the interstate simply run into each other, not too much fun but certainly gets you four or five hundred miles a day, my longest was 450 but I can imagine on a cooler day easily driving five hundred. How Mark did a thousand is beyond comprehension, good on you, mate.
Next morning I decide to sleep a little late so as not to have the rising sun in my eyes, in fact by the time I'm on the road, around eight, the sky is overcast and I have a rather pleasant morning run, as midday approaches the skies clear and I really start to cook. Coffee time I realise that route 70 runs parallel and a few miles south of I-40 and I take this quieter road, it is amazing, the side road is deserted, most of the time not a vehicle in sight, ahead or behind, meanwhile, just a mile north, is the interstate, an endless stream of trucks and cars. I shift back to the interstate in West Memphis, cross the Mississippi, take the information centre exit, park.
A Taiwanese comes over and asks would I mind if he takes a photo of his family with me and my bike, don't understand this but happy to oblige, so his wife and daughter pose and takes half a dozen photos, this must be the third or fourth time this has happened. I flee into the air conditioned exhibit centre, cool but no chairs, damn, I had been looking forward to a half an hour's rest as it is really blistering outside, humid, hot, very uncomfortable. So outside again, there is a sky train that connects with Mud Island, I assume this is an island in mid river, I miss the turn to the parking area and so end up on the interstate, undefeated I turn off it and spend a half an hour wandering around downtown looking for the sky train station, when I finally find it I discover the parking lot is for employees only. So, this time defeated, I head on east, still don't know what Mud Island is.
Late afternoon I stop in a rest stop for a breather, this skinny guy comes over to talk to me, his name is Larry. At first I think he is one of the truckers but turns out that actually he is the guy who looks after the rest area, a lot of work, he not only maintains the facility, toilets, etc., but also cuts the grass, four and a half acres, trims the edges, does everything. He tells me he just bought a motorcycle, a week or so ago, however he can’t remember what type it is, other than that it is a Harley. He is a smoker, has emphysema, circulatory problems, has to quit. He is taking a prescription drug that apparently helps him to stop smoking, he has almost stopped he said. One of the side effects of this drug, Larry tells me, is that he loses his memory, so he can't remember things, such as the type of motorcycle he bought or the name of the drug he is taking , in fact, right now he can't even remember his wife's name. Wow. He is very friendly and gives me a Tennessee map, water from his refrigerator, people are so nice.
I head on through Nashville, a bit of a mess but I'm really very comfortable with the big cities now, drive very defensively, generally keep in the right or one over lane, let people go past, keep out of their way, generally I'm happiest in the rightmost lane as then I always have the breakdown lane for escape, it does mean I have to be very very careful of cars cutting in front of me to make the exit lane, and keep an eye on cars merging, the idiots driving fast in the leftmost lane to get past one more car, truck, whatever, before making a multiple lane change to take the exit are the most dangerous.
One guy did all of that, cut in front of me to make the exit, then, well committed down the exit lane decided it was not for him and pulled back into my lane, fortunately I had slowed for him so when he cut back he was still well in front of me. Another added burden is that the in city roads are normally in the worst of condition, potholes, debris, makes it all a bit hairy.
Exited at Lebanon, looking for another motel, drove the several miles of the strip road that connects the interstate west of the town to the interstate east of the town, nothing at all attractive so pulled into a rather pleasant motel, turns out the only difference is the carpet was cleaner and the TV more modern. Watched the second half of a BBC comedy, "As time goes by".
Morning I decide to spend a leisurely day driving through central Tennessee so take route 70 again, it turns south and wanders through half a dozen pleasant towns, I stop off at Ozone and take a walk to the falls, there are a bunch of people setting up for a rappel, really loaded with descending gear, must be cavers on holiday. I head on, a very late breakfast in Harriman, it is Sunday and the churches are coming out, the cafe is filled with overdressed people, one group are really extravagantly dressed, the man is wearing a suit that looks like it is made from silver thread, the women in extravagant colours and costumes.
Only a few miles to go, head a little north, swing through Oliver Springs, the lovely complex brick house is still there, it was built by a doctor and as long as he was still building he didn't have to pay tax so he kept on adding little bits here, and there, all this in the late eighteen hundreds. Through Oak Ridge, my normal ambivalence, some of the best things in my life happened here, some of the worst also happened here. Then over the river, turn right at Hardin valley, overshoot the Gallahar Ferry road so have to make a turnaround, then left up Gerry's drive way, I had been worrying about the gravel entrance but it was no problem, and I've arrived.
Shut Leslie down, sit and listen to the silence, the wind in the trees, distant thunder, then again the lovely silence. Bloody mosquitoes attack me. About ten years ago a virulent breed of mosquitoes was accidentally imported from the far east in a load of old tires. They are large, they are black and they are vicious. They give you Nile fever which is apparently very unpleasant. They are too big for the tiny creatures that live in pools and ponds that normally eat mosquitoes to eat and so they breed uncontrollably. The local song bird population has taken a terrible hit because of these wretched pests. Essentially they have taken over the outside at dawn and dusk. Bastards.
I fled into the house to meet Gerry and Sandra, for me this is a wonderful home. When I get a moment I'll pull out my map and get the days right and tell tales about the places I've been and the people I've met that I haven't had time to talk about. But for now, safe and sound in Knoxville, sad to say I missed Alan and Bernice by a day, well, see you back in Abingdon. and love to all, Phil
Phil Edmonds
Enroute across the USA
No escaping it, time to head back, I planned to drive south to the interstate and just hammer east, however in the coffee house in Las Vegas a local convinced me to take a meandering back road and so I stole another lovely day up in the high desert. But by evening I was finally on the I-40 heading east, I have to laugh at how quickly circumstances change, just a couple of months ago it was all so terrifying and now I'm very comfortable blasting the slabs, but it doesn't compare with the back roads, winding through the countryside, stopping in the small towns, exploring.
Now rocketing east, a steady seventy five. Pretty hot, my thermometer runs around ninety five. Across Oklahoma, through Oklahoma City mid afternoon, then into Arkansas, hope to get past Little Rock but end up too tired about a hundred miles short, pull off into a small town, Forest City, there was an ad for a Honda motorcycle shop, when I find it they tell me they are booked up a week ahead but send me to a small shop a couple of miles down the road, when I find it the driveway is a shambles of mud and pebbles but more confident now I drive up it and park, after hanging around for half an hour or so I get to talk to the owner, he'd like to help but they are closing in a few minutes an he is heading off to Sturgis for the motorcycle convention, It is in one of the Dacotas. Damn an blast, I'm pretty tired and after spending an hour or so mid afternoon trying to get Leslie serviced I'm hot and sweaty.
Not to worry, on we go, maybe thirty miles,, pull off into what looks like a pleasant small town, from the map, called Conway. Actually Conway is a desperate place, it consists of a loop of highway off the interstate, both sided lined with endless strip malls and auto sales, a single traffic light has a sad cluster of brick buildings, the remnants of the old town, most of them boarded up. This turns out to be the style of all the towns I visit off the I-40, the businesses are driven to the interstate intersections and the town centre s are sadly abandoned. I find a reasonable looking motel, check in, when I get into the room it is pretty awful, pleasant furniture but a stained carpet and even two dead cockroaches in the bathroom, Ugh!. But I'm tired and really have driven far enough, four hundred and fifty miles, my longest day, so I shower, take an hours rest, then drive down the strip looking for a restaurant, there isn't one, end up in a Captain D's fish parlour, not too bad. Across the road I stop in a gas station to get provisions for breakfast and a can of beer, the outside of the store is covered in crickets, or a similar insect, they tell me that they are having and absolute plague of them, hundreds and thousands.
When I get back to the motel I check and the dead insects aren't roaches, just more of these wretched crickets. But, when I get back from dinner the parking lot is filled with police, three cars, miracle I didn't fall off when I swung into this mess from the road. Apparently the Hispanic boy in the next room had a major accident in his dressed up SUV, and didn't report it, his SUV is all banged up, I stay a long way away from it all, after an hour or so the police leave, everything calms down, I'm in bed and asleep by ten.
Now rereading this I realise I have missed out an entire day on Interstate 40, and this pretty much sums up long days on the interstate simply run into each other, not too much fun but certainly gets you four or five hundred miles a day, my longest was 450 but I can imagine on a cooler day easily driving five hundred. How Mark did a thousand is beyond comprehension, good on you, mate.
Next morning I decide to sleep a little late so as not to have the rising sun in my eyes, in fact by the time I'm on the road, around eight, the sky is overcast and I have a rather pleasant morning run, as midday approaches the skies clear and I really start to cook. Coffee time I realise that route 70 runs parallel and a few miles south of I-40 and I take this quieter road, it is amazing, the side road is deserted, most of the time not a vehicle in sight, ahead or behind, meanwhile, just a mile north, is the interstate, an endless stream of trucks and cars. I shift back to the interstate in West Memphis, cross the Mississippi, take the information centre exit, park.
A Taiwanese comes over and asks would I mind if he takes a photo of his family with me and my bike, don't understand this but happy to oblige, so his wife and daughter pose and takes half a dozen photos, this must be the third or fourth time this has happened. I flee into the air conditioned exhibit centre, cool but no chairs, damn, I had been looking forward to a half an hour's rest as it is really blistering outside, humid, hot, very uncomfortable. So outside again, there is a sky train that connects with Mud Island, I assume this is an island in mid river, I miss the turn to the parking area and so end up on the interstate, undefeated I turn off it and spend a half an hour wandering around downtown looking for the sky train station, when I finally find it I discover the parking lot is for employees only. So, this time defeated, I head on east, still don't know what Mud Island is.
Late afternoon I stop in a rest stop for a breather, this skinny guy comes over to talk to me, his name is Larry. At first I think he is one of the truckers but turns out that actually he is the guy who looks after the rest area, a lot of work, he not only maintains the facility, toilets, etc., but also cuts the grass, four and a half acres, trims the edges, does everything. He tells me he just bought a motorcycle, a week or so ago, however he can’t remember what type it is, other than that it is a Harley. He is a smoker, has emphysema, circulatory problems, has to quit. He is taking a prescription drug that apparently helps him to stop smoking, he has almost stopped he said. One of the side effects of this drug, Larry tells me, is that he loses his memory, so he can't remember things, such as the type of motorcycle he bought or the name of the drug he is taking , in fact, right now he can't even remember his wife's name. Wow. He is very friendly and gives me a Tennessee map, water from his refrigerator, people are so nice.
I head on through Nashville, a bit of a mess but I'm really very comfortable with the big cities now, drive very defensively, generally keep in the right or one over lane, let people go past, keep out of their way, generally I'm happiest in the rightmost lane as then I always have the breakdown lane for escape, it does mean I have to be very very careful of cars cutting in front of me to make the exit lane, and keep an eye on cars merging, the idiots driving fast in the leftmost lane to get past one more car, truck, whatever, before making a multiple lane change to take the exit are the most dangerous.
One guy did all of that, cut in front of me to make the exit, then, well committed down the exit lane decided it was not for him and pulled back into my lane, fortunately I had slowed for him so when he cut back he was still well in front of me. Another added burden is that the in city roads are normally in the worst of condition, potholes, debris, makes it all a bit hairy.
Exited at Lebanon, looking for another motel, drove the several miles of the strip road that connects the interstate west of the town to the interstate east of the town, nothing at all attractive so pulled into a rather pleasant motel, turns out the only difference is the carpet was cleaner and the TV more modern. Watched the second half of a BBC comedy, "As time goes by".
Morning I decide to spend a leisurely day driving through central Tennessee so take route 70 again, it turns south and wanders through half a dozen pleasant towns, I stop off at Ozone and take a walk to the falls, there are a bunch of people setting up for a rappel, really loaded with descending gear, must be cavers on holiday. I head on, a very late breakfast in Harriman, it is Sunday and the churches are coming out, the cafe is filled with overdressed people, one group are really extravagantly dressed, the man is wearing a suit that looks like it is made from silver thread, the women in extravagant colours and costumes.
Only a few miles to go, head a little north, swing through Oliver Springs, the lovely complex brick house is still there, it was built by a doctor and as long as he was still building he didn't have to pay tax so he kept on adding little bits here, and there, all this in the late eighteen hundreds. Through Oak Ridge, my normal ambivalence, some of the best things in my life happened here, some of the worst also happened here. Then over the river, turn right at Hardin valley, overshoot the Gallahar Ferry road so have to make a turnaround, then left up Gerry's drive way, I had been worrying about the gravel entrance but it was no problem, and I've arrived.
Shut Leslie down, sit and listen to the silence, the wind in the trees, distant thunder, then again the lovely silence. Bloody mosquitoes attack me. About ten years ago a virulent breed of mosquitoes was accidentally imported from the far east in a load of old tires. They are large, they are black and they are vicious. They give you Nile fever which is apparently very unpleasant. They are too big for the tiny creatures that live in pools and ponds that normally eat mosquitoes to eat and so they breed uncontrollably. The local song bird population has taken a terrible hit because of these wretched pests. Essentially they have taken over the outside at dawn and dusk. Bastards.
I fled into the house to meet Gerry and Sandra, for me this is a wonderful home. When I get a moment I'll pull out my map and get the days right and tell tales about the places I've been and the people I've met that I haven't had time to talk about. But for now, safe and sound in Knoxville, sad to say I missed Alan and Bernice by a day, well, see you back in Abingdon. and love to all, Phil
Phil Edmonds
Enroute across the USA
Thursday, 26 July 2007
Chams, New Mexico
Have fifteen minutes in a welcome centre. After Bryce and Torrey headed south to Glen Canyon, an absolute zoo, cooking under a baking sun, filled with huge RVs and houseboats, then on to the north Rim, campground full so camped in the National Forest nearby, a mile up a gravel road in light rain, it was pleasantly cool, originally planned to not pitch the tent but at dusk it started to drizzle and so I ended putting up the tent, then it stopped raining. Tiny flat space in amongst the trees but slept fairly well.
In the morning into the Park, overcast and very light rain, after a fairly long walk and coffee headed back out and down through Cameron and into the South Rim, camped in the Village, pitched the tent, dinner in the Village Café, high living, in the morning took the bus around the Eat side then headed west, walked along the rim, huge deluge and storm, the park closed the bus service and it took me an hour of waiting to discover this, spent most of the afternoon getting back to the camp, everything was absolutely soaked, the top leaked and the bottom flooded, the tent is twenty five years old and clearly past the waterproof age. I covered the top with the groundsheets and the sky cleared, looking good, rather uncomfortable getting into the wet bag, then late in the night it started raining again, all considered not too good a night, meanwhile a muscle in my right back has decided to go sprong and it was very painful that morning, difficult to fold the tent and take the campsite down, Ibu helped.
Headed out on the bike, through Monument Valley, then to New Mexico and motelled in Farmington. Been putting off the long hot drive down I40 east but maybe I have to start tomorrow. Meanwhile the weather man is telling me that Knoxville is having a mother of all thunderstorms, hope to arrive in four or five days.
Regards to all for the moment, sorry this isn't too exciting but don't have time to tell tales, about Mary Anne, the lovely artiste from Gunnison, the oh so totally sure of themselves Latter Day Saints folks at the Tabernacle I visited, the lovely waitress Francis this morning, hopefully later today may find a library and tell more tales. But for the moment, Leslie and I are doing well, my back has cleared up, had my first shower for two weeks yesterday so finally a little clean,
Regards to all, Phil.
Phil Edmonds
Enroute across the USA
In the morning into the Park, overcast and very light rain, after a fairly long walk and coffee headed back out and down through Cameron and into the South Rim, camped in the Village, pitched the tent, dinner in the Village Café, high living, in the morning took the bus around the Eat side then headed west, walked along the rim, huge deluge and storm, the park closed the bus service and it took me an hour of waiting to discover this, spent most of the afternoon getting back to the camp, everything was absolutely soaked, the top leaked and the bottom flooded, the tent is twenty five years old and clearly past the waterproof age. I covered the top with the groundsheets and the sky cleared, looking good, rather uncomfortable getting into the wet bag, then late in the night it started raining again, all considered not too good a night, meanwhile a muscle in my right back has decided to go sprong and it was very painful that morning, difficult to fold the tent and take the campsite down, Ibu helped.
Headed out on the bike, through Monument Valley, then to New Mexico and motelled in Farmington. Been putting off the long hot drive down I40 east but maybe I have to start tomorrow. Meanwhile the weather man is telling me that Knoxville is having a mother of all thunderstorms, hope to arrive in four or five days.
Regards to all for the moment, sorry this isn't too exciting but don't have time to tell tales, about Mary Anne, the lovely artiste from Gunnison, the oh so totally sure of themselves Latter Day Saints folks at the Tabernacle I visited, the lovely waitress Francis this morning, hopefully later today may find a library and tell more tales. But for the moment, Leslie and I are doing well, my back has cleared up, had my first shower for two weeks yesterday so finally a little clean,
Regards to all, Phil.
Phil Edmonds
Enroute across the USA
Monday, 23 July 2007
Capitol Reef National Park, Utah
Been a long time, driving up in the high desert, hardly any towns to send emails from.
Was a real relief to escape from West Yellowstone, camped in the National Park, Indian River, nice and quiet, about five miles from Mammoth, drove up and had a decent dinner for once, actually it was pretty fast foody but better than my interminable half sandwich, fish and chips it was pretty good.
Dennis, remember Dennis, he had this Vietnam girlfriend, clearly Sarah hated her, thought she was a gold digger, well, I guess she was, he used to go motorbike camping with her, the Vietnam girlfriend, that is, he towed a trailer behind the bike., very common, and had an electric generator on board for the electric blanket, the rice boiler and the sound system. When he had his stroke she left him, selling with her the house that he had apparently bought for her and vanishing with the money. He still has the generator and the electric blanket and tells every one about it. Sarah sat and looked ready to spit. Yellowstone was interesting, since the last earthquake many of the areas have stopped steaming and are now blindingly white salt formations.
Early the next morning, about seven, I drove off to old Faithful, round one of the many bends a herd of Elk was cluttering up the road, I stopped for them (not enough "situational awareness", sorry Mark, my fault). The road was very steeply cambered, before I got my right foot down the bike was into rotation, she went over like a rock, narrowly missed trapping my right foot under the crash bar, badly bruised my foot, fortunately the boots, thanks again Philip, saved me. It hurt for a couple of hours but apart form a skin scrape is fine. not good.
A couple miles further down the road I came across a bison broadside, astride the double yellow. I slowed, assessed the situation, the creature was huge, they are the size of a medium sized car, decided not to try creeping past, by now I was maybe twenty feet away, slowing, the beast turned ponderously towards me, Enough of this, I stopped dead, no time for details, laid the bike down deliberately on the left side and retreated, keeping poor Leslie between me and the Bison, sad to say I didn't have the camera with me, the bison slowly walked past the bike, appeared totally indifferent to anything but keeping a clear sight of me, I crossed the road the cautiously walked back past it, it turned its enormous head as I passed but made no attempt to divert its relentless walk up the road, it was totally farcical, you see this kind of thing in the comics, but actually near to terrifying, just me on foot and this wild creature, they can easily hit thirty miles an hour in a charge, I was very relieved when it went on its way, I hauled Les back up, the left side is a lot easier a lift, we headed off, I was thinking, dropped her twice, not good.
A couple miles further on I stopped just to get my breath back, put her on the kick stand, in neutral, let up the clutch, she was still in gear, bang, over she went again. The neutral light came on even though she was in gear. Three times in one morning, and I had been doing so well.
Never mind, on we went, had a coffee to settle things down, watched Old Faithful throw thousands of gallons of steam and boiling water in the air, then headed on out and south. Meanwhile I've been having a bit of trouble with Leslie, just after Lava Beds, one morning, I noticed the rear tire appeared a bit low, I decided to head on to the next town and check it where there was a compressed air line, well, on the first serious curve the entire bike went into this slow side to side wobble, most alarming, I straightened up and slowed up and it went away, I stopped in the next widening of the road, by a tree that was covered in shoes, apparently the locals to celebrate or whatever, drive over to this tree, tie the laces of a pair of shoes, sneakers, boots, together and then throw it high into the tree, there must have been hundreds, the tree was totally covered in them. I checked the tire pressure, it was down to 25 psi, should be 33, clearly a problem. Fortunately the bike has a built in inflator, it is very slow and often I end up with less than when i started, but no time ot complain, after about twenty minutes of futching I had it up to about 35 psi, drove on to the next town and filled it to 39 psi, which was the setting when I first got the bike.
On again but aware, after lunch checked, down to mid thirties, add air. This went on for several days, no place to get it fixed, I met a lovely biker from a town just north of salt lake city, Pociletto or something, he said there was a Honda shop in his town but it would take them at least a week to get around to taking the rear wheel off and fixing it as they were totally overloaded, I just kept on and hoped I wasn't being too reckless. Adding air morning, noon and night.
Outside the cafeteria by old Faithful I met a group of cyclists, they had cycled all the way from Maryland, forty five days, and planned to make the West coast on Aug 15th. Wow, the slim slip of a girl I was chatting to told me they make about 800 miles a day. I was in awe, my longest day in recent history has been 620 and it left both of us totally destroyed, imagine getting up the next day and doing it all over a gain.
South and along Rte 89, lovely riding country, in the mountain sand in the high desert, endless views of endless plains and mountains in the distance, mostly no water and deserted, whenever there is any water massive circular irrigation and green fields everywhere, all seems to be winter fodder, enormously loaded trucks pas in the other direction loaded with huge bales of dried grass. Getting late, getting tired, maybe this should be my logo, I drive past Bear Lake and an a winding route through a national forest with many campsites shown on the map, well, the first site is packed, then nothing until just a few miles before the end of the park, it is now about seven and I've been going, on and off, since seven, another site, as I enter i meet a couple on a lovely Yamaha Venture coming out, I ask if I can share their site, they look surprise but agree, I park the bike and collapse for half an hour.
The site is alongside the river and quite lovely, we are getting lower and it is pretty hot, the day running around ninety five, now down to mid eighties, I drink a can of beer, eat my sandwich, marvel at the rig the people I met have, he is Mike and she is Becky, she is very quiet, he is a technician at a rocketry plant where he is decommissioning the rockets, apparently this will take a long time, recovering the fuels, etc. They have a monster fifth wheel, towed behind a huge pickup, I discover the fifth wheel has a ramp at the back and they can roll up the carpet in the living room, move the furniture, lower the ramp, ride the bike up into the trailer, tie it down, raise the ramp, off to Yellowstone. Unbelievable, they get 12 miles per gallon if he drives carefully. All that junk.
I'm off early, finally get away unless than thirty minutes, including air in the tire, drive on to Bingham City, add more air at the gas station, have an egg and cheese sandwich, then hammer down the interstate through Salt Lake City, doing seventy five, terrified about my rear wheel, but in close traffic, then about sixty miles down the high Occupancy lane, not much traffic but impatient with my slow speed, I exit south of the City and drive through the town of Nephi, drive past a Honda Bike shop, wait a minute, make a one eighty, back drive in, the mechanic, a young mechanic nicknamed Beaker because of his prominent nose, comes out to greet me, we haul Leslie onto the centre stand, he checks the wheel, finds a small puncture Right tin the tread center, but never mind that, he says the tire is right at end of life, the normal round contour now has a flat strip at the centre which is about an inch and a half wide, tread worn down to a mere memory, he suggests that I should get a new tire as soon as possible, is surprised when I propose, let's do it now, I'm tired of the apprehension and worry, he checks, they do have a suitable replacement, every one is so helpful, they drag all the other jobs out of the shop, raise Les on the lift, after two hours she is back on the road, proud with a new tire. The book said, $45 for the job and that is what they charged me, over my protestation, two mechanics worked on the bike for two hours. Well, thanks, wonderful folk.
On towards Bryce, a little late, in the town of Garrison I stop for lunch, a very nice diner, run by a lovely, half Vietnamese girl., dancer and artiste, worked for twenty years in Los Angeles and New York, had enough, now running the restaurant and working on dance and choreography for a number of groups, specialises in music videos, Reggie, opening up in the UK soon, I could have sat and talked for hours, but time to go, head on, once again, getting tired, getting late, still baking hot, most of the day has been 40 C, 104F. hot.
Drive to Capital Reef National Park, link up with an Aussie biker, Paul, driving from the northern most point of the continental Us, Pradoe Bay, to the sourthern most tip of south America, Driving a Suzuki V-Strom, he's been riding since whenever and believes it is the best bike for this kind of job, very much recommends it as a combination tourer, off roader, city bike. But time to have a coffee and head on, it is still running wonderful. Regards to all, Phil
Phil Edmonds
Enroute across the USA
Was a real relief to escape from West Yellowstone, camped in the National Park, Indian River, nice and quiet, about five miles from Mammoth, drove up and had a decent dinner for once, actually it was pretty fast foody but better than my interminable half sandwich, fish and chips it was pretty good.
Dennis, remember Dennis, he had this Vietnam girlfriend, clearly Sarah hated her, thought she was a gold digger, well, I guess she was, he used to go motorbike camping with her, the Vietnam girlfriend, that is, he towed a trailer behind the bike., very common, and had an electric generator on board for the electric blanket, the rice boiler and the sound system. When he had his stroke she left him, selling with her the house that he had apparently bought for her and vanishing with the money. He still has the generator and the electric blanket and tells every one about it. Sarah sat and looked ready to spit. Yellowstone was interesting, since the last earthquake many of the areas have stopped steaming and are now blindingly white salt formations.
Early the next morning, about seven, I drove off to old Faithful, round one of the many bends a herd of Elk was cluttering up the road, I stopped for them (not enough "situational awareness", sorry Mark, my fault). The road was very steeply cambered, before I got my right foot down the bike was into rotation, she went over like a rock, narrowly missed trapping my right foot under the crash bar, badly bruised my foot, fortunately the boots, thanks again Philip, saved me. It hurt for a couple of hours but apart form a skin scrape is fine. not good.
A couple miles further down the road I came across a bison broadside, astride the double yellow. I slowed, assessed the situation, the creature was huge, they are the size of a medium sized car, decided not to try creeping past, by now I was maybe twenty feet away, slowing, the beast turned ponderously towards me, Enough of this, I stopped dead, no time for details, laid the bike down deliberately on the left side and retreated, keeping poor Leslie between me and the Bison, sad to say I didn't have the camera with me, the bison slowly walked past the bike, appeared totally indifferent to anything but keeping a clear sight of me, I crossed the road the cautiously walked back past it, it turned its enormous head as I passed but made no attempt to divert its relentless walk up the road, it was totally farcical, you see this kind of thing in the comics, but actually near to terrifying, just me on foot and this wild creature, they can easily hit thirty miles an hour in a charge, I was very relieved when it went on its way, I hauled Les back up, the left side is a lot easier a lift, we headed off, I was thinking, dropped her twice, not good.
A couple miles further on I stopped just to get my breath back, put her on the kick stand, in neutral, let up the clutch, she was still in gear, bang, over she went again. The neutral light came on even though she was in gear. Three times in one morning, and I had been doing so well.
Never mind, on we went, had a coffee to settle things down, watched Old Faithful throw thousands of gallons of steam and boiling water in the air, then headed on out and south. Meanwhile I've been having a bit of trouble with Leslie, just after Lava Beds, one morning, I noticed the rear tire appeared a bit low, I decided to head on to the next town and check it where there was a compressed air line, well, on the first serious curve the entire bike went into this slow side to side wobble, most alarming, I straightened up and slowed up and it went away, I stopped in the next widening of the road, by a tree that was covered in shoes, apparently the locals to celebrate or whatever, drive over to this tree, tie the laces of a pair of shoes, sneakers, boots, together and then throw it high into the tree, there must have been hundreds, the tree was totally covered in them. I checked the tire pressure, it was down to 25 psi, should be 33, clearly a problem. Fortunately the bike has a built in inflator, it is very slow and often I end up with less than when i started, but no time ot complain, after about twenty minutes of futching I had it up to about 35 psi, drove on to the next town and filled it to 39 psi, which was the setting when I first got the bike.
On again but aware, after lunch checked, down to mid thirties, add air. This went on for several days, no place to get it fixed, I met a lovely biker from a town just north of salt lake city, Pociletto or something, he said there was a Honda shop in his town but it would take them at least a week to get around to taking the rear wheel off and fixing it as they were totally overloaded, I just kept on and hoped I wasn't being too reckless. Adding air morning, noon and night.
Outside the cafeteria by old Faithful I met a group of cyclists, they had cycled all the way from Maryland, forty five days, and planned to make the West coast on Aug 15th. Wow, the slim slip of a girl I was chatting to told me they make about 800 miles a day. I was in awe, my longest day in recent history has been 620 and it left both of us totally destroyed, imagine getting up the next day and doing it all over a gain.
South and along Rte 89, lovely riding country, in the mountain sand in the high desert, endless views of endless plains and mountains in the distance, mostly no water and deserted, whenever there is any water massive circular irrigation and green fields everywhere, all seems to be winter fodder, enormously loaded trucks pas in the other direction loaded with huge bales of dried grass. Getting late, getting tired, maybe this should be my logo, I drive past Bear Lake and an a winding route through a national forest with many campsites shown on the map, well, the first site is packed, then nothing until just a few miles before the end of the park, it is now about seven and I've been going, on and off, since seven, another site, as I enter i meet a couple on a lovely Yamaha Venture coming out, I ask if I can share their site, they look surprise but agree, I park the bike and collapse for half an hour.
The site is alongside the river and quite lovely, we are getting lower and it is pretty hot, the day running around ninety five, now down to mid eighties, I drink a can of beer, eat my sandwich, marvel at the rig the people I met have, he is Mike and she is Becky, she is very quiet, he is a technician at a rocketry plant where he is decommissioning the rockets, apparently this will take a long time, recovering the fuels, etc. They have a monster fifth wheel, towed behind a huge pickup, I discover the fifth wheel has a ramp at the back and they can roll up the carpet in the living room, move the furniture, lower the ramp, ride the bike up into the trailer, tie it down, raise the ramp, off to Yellowstone. Unbelievable, they get 12 miles per gallon if he drives carefully. All that junk.
I'm off early, finally get away unless than thirty minutes, including air in the tire, drive on to Bingham City, add more air at the gas station, have an egg and cheese sandwich, then hammer down the interstate through Salt Lake City, doing seventy five, terrified about my rear wheel, but in close traffic, then about sixty miles down the high Occupancy lane, not much traffic but impatient with my slow speed, I exit south of the City and drive through the town of Nephi, drive past a Honda Bike shop, wait a minute, make a one eighty, back drive in, the mechanic, a young mechanic nicknamed Beaker because of his prominent nose, comes out to greet me, we haul Leslie onto the centre stand, he checks the wheel, finds a small puncture Right tin the tread center, but never mind that, he says the tire is right at end of life, the normal round contour now has a flat strip at the centre which is about an inch and a half wide, tread worn down to a mere memory, he suggests that I should get a new tire as soon as possible, is surprised when I propose, let's do it now, I'm tired of the apprehension and worry, he checks, they do have a suitable replacement, every one is so helpful, they drag all the other jobs out of the shop, raise Les on the lift, after two hours she is back on the road, proud with a new tire. The book said, $45 for the job and that is what they charged me, over my protestation, two mechanics worked on the bike for two hours. Well, thanks, wonderful folk.
On towards Bryce, a little late, in the town of Garrison I stop for lunch, a very nice diner, run by a lovely, half Vietnamese girl., dancer and artiste, worked for twenty years in Los Angeles and New York, had enough, now running the restaurant and working on dance and choreography for a number of groups, specialises in music videos, Reggie, opening up in the UK soon, I could have sat and talked for hours, but time to go, head on, once again, getting tired, getting late, still baking hot, most of the day has been 40 C, 104F. hot.
Drive to Capital Reef National Park, link up with an Aussie biker, Paul, driving from the northern most point of the continental Us, Pradoe Bay, to the sourthern most tip of south America, Driving a Suzuki V-Strom, he's been riding since whenever and believes it is the best bike for this kind of job, very much recommends it as a combination tourer, off roader, city bike. But time to have a coffee and head on, it is still running wonderful. Regards to all, Phil
Phil Edmonds
Enroute across the USA
Wednesday, 18 July 2007
West Yellowstone
Been really out of touch the last five or so days, long days, up around six, out and riding by seven or seven thirty, then stop for coffee around ten thirty, then on till about two, pick up provisions for the rest of the day, a deli sandwich for lunch and dinner, I eat half as soon as I leave the shop and have the other half for dinner, milk for tea, orange juice for breakfast, breakfast includes a granola bar, some days I pick up a can of beer for luxury. Most nights I plan to bivouac and then end up pitching the tent as either mossies, cold or threat of rain.
Driving up the West coast, stopped just past Fort Bragg at a no name no features state campsite, right on the cliffs looking west, a rather seedy couple came to visit, Dennis and Sarah with son Colin, they are from Truckee, somewhere near Sacramento, he used to be a truck driver, then had an infection of one of his heart valves, apparently from a gum infection, ended up with two aneurysms in his brain, had his skull opened, seems to be the fashion, and had them fixed, however He is essentially blind in one eye, this doesn't seem to slow him down, he was brimming over with energy, bought a rolled Goldwing and fixed it up, had a Vietnam girlfriend who took him for everything when he became sick, Sarah was his somewhat slovenly daughter, an even more slovenly daughter from a previous marriage andtwo sons from her present marriage to a Swedish man.
Still and all they added a lot of entertainment to the evening, next morning off north, to the Humbolt Redwoods National Park, really wonderful, I went for a longish walk, quiet, magic. Then back on Leslie and a longish run to Lassen Volcano Nat Park. Just past the entrance there was a major roadworks and we waited for about fifteen minutes, I was sitting listening to the tapes on the speakers and the Flag girl came over to me and told me to look behind me, the couple in the car had got out and were dancing to Jimmy Lee Tucker, quite a few people gathered together, we had a very pleasant street party. Then there was about nine miles of brutal new gravel, we tiptoed along and no problems. over the pass at the top, the road improved, 8,500 feet, good old Leslie, stopped at the first campsite, it looked full but there was a fellow with a motorcycle so I asked him if I could join, Mike, he is a computer technician and has taken the summer off, bought a fine Honda, hasn't ridden for twenty years, we had a very pleasant evening. I'm getting pretty grotty as none of the sites have showers.
Next morning off early, East, stopped in a town called Neubieben, had a chat with a farmer who wants to get back into motorcycling and touring, as we were talking a woman came over and said I had to stop off at her husbands garage in Outlook, he collects vintage bikes and has n old pre-war English bike he is restoring. I missed the turn and took a break for coffee. The owner of the cafe goes on cruises for his recreation, and all over the world, Australia, China, Hong Kong, the Pacific, he had a world map and it was just covered in the tracks of his voyages. I asked him how to get to Outlook and a State Trooper who was having a coffee as well, interrupted to say, "Yes, you have to take that road, it is straight as a die and no traffic, you can drive at 100, it's great. So emboldened I headed up it, stopped off to meet bob, the motorcycle collector, his shop is out of some historic movie, he has a beautiful daughter who stood around then went out, Bob wanted a photo of me on the bike so I got on it and did a short circuit, when we finished I stopped to have a final chat and like an apparition his daughter appeared, sitting on a snow white pony, bare back, halter, no bit. Classic, they are both the same age and she reckons they probably ride together three or four hours most days.
On again, I'd been told I had to drive to Lava Bed National Monument or similar so stopped off there, pretty terrible road getting to it bit brand spanking new inside the park, went for a walk down one of the lava tube caves and banged my head so hard I saw stars, ouch. Had my lunch surrounded by wildflowers and small grey birds. On to Crater Lake, at the campsite I met up with Mike again, we went to the Ranger talk, it was terrible. Decided to wash myself so walked the half mile to the nearest shower station, it was closed, on to the next, needed fifty cents which I didn't have so disgruntled returned to the campsite and stripped down and rinsed off at the standpipe. Literally seconds after I wrapped myself up in the towel the ranger drove by. That would have been hard to explain.
Up early in the morning, drove around the rim, visibility was so poor in a brownish haze that I couldn't see across, with hindsight I think it was a combination of a front coming in and smoke from the wildfires which are burning up the entire state. Off again, planned to take a very minor road eastwards but bad fuel management and I had to make a thirty mile there and back, an hour total, to get fuel, then east on lonely roads for the rest of the day, Approaching the town Burns, at the small village Ripley, the entire northern horizon was ablaze, spectacular columns of grey and orange smoke reaching up into the stratosphere where it turns to bright whit clouds which drift downwind for hundreds of miles before dissipating in isolated Lennies. There was a French cyclist there heading for Yellowstone, where I am now; it will take him eight to ten days, minimum, across the high desert, a long lonely ride.
Spent the night in a very isolated Forest campsite, the lower flats were filled with a dozen or so pup tents belonging to the night shift fire fighters, I saw no sign of them. Off again early next morning, had hoped to make it to Yellowstone but far too far, ended up camping in "Craters of the moon" Nat Park. Met a couple at the next campsite, David and Sonny, she was typically weird, he is a programmer who has quit to ride around the world on an old motorbike, it blew up in New Zealand, he is having it shipped back here where he will have it repaired and start over, Eastwards.
He was at a Bikers meeting of long distance drivers, he told this story of this couple riding in the Amazon jungle, crossing a bridge, carefully pushing the heavy BMWs as the bridge looks unsafe, it collapses and dumps him in the river bed, under the bike. His partner manages to get it off him, he is barely conscious, his left side is part paralyzed, they ride twelve days back to the nearest hospital, every hour or so he blacks out and falls off, crash. At the hospital they x-ray him and he has broken a vertebra in his neck, he now has a metal plate and is back on his bike. People are so strong.
Now in Yellowstone, an absolute zoo, at the library, then on to Mammoth springs, tonight may be a problem, the place is absolutely packed with tourists, we'll see, love to all,
Phil --
Phil Edmonds
Enroute across the USA
Driving up the West coast, stopped just past Fort Bragg at a no name no features state campsite, right on the cliffs looking west, a rather seedy couple came to visit, Dennis and Sarah with son Colin, they are from Truckee, somewhere near Sacramento, he used to be a truck driver, then had an infection of one of his heart valves, apparently from a gum infection, ended up with two aneurysms in his brain, had his skull opened, seems to be the fashion, and had them fixed, however He is essentially blind in one eye, this doesn't seem to slow him down, he was brimming over with energy, bought a rolled Goldwing and fixed it up, had a Vietnam girlfriend who took him for everything when he became sick, Sarah was his somewhat slovenly daughter, an even more slovenly daughter from a previous marriage andtwo sons from her present marriage to a Swedish man.
Still and all they added a lot of entertainment to the evening, next morning off north, to the Humbolt Redwoods National Park, really wonderful, I went for a longish walk, quiet, magic. Then back on Leslie and a longish run to Lassen Volcano Nat Park. Just past the entrance there was a major roadworks and we waited for about fifteen minutes, I was sitting listening to the tapes on the speakers and the Flag girl came over to me and told me to look behind me, the couple in the car had got out and were dancing to Jimmy Lee Tucker, quite a few people gathered together, we had a very pleasant street party. Then there was about nine miles of brutal new gravel, we tiptoed along and no problems. over the pass at the top, the road improved, 8,500 feet, good old Leslie, stopped at the first campsite, it looked full but there was a fellow with a motorcycle so I asked him if I could join, Mike, he is a computer technician and has taken the summer off, bought a fine Honda, hasn't ridden for twenty years, we had a very pleasant evening. I'm getting pretty grotty as none of the sites have showers.
Next morning off early, East, stopped in a town called Neubieben, had a chat with a farmer who wants to get back into motorcycling and touring, as we were talking a woman came over and said I had to stop off at her husbands garage in Outlook, he collects vintage bikes and has n old pre-war English bike he is restoring. I missed the turn and took a break for coffee. The owner of the cafe goes on cruises for his recreation, and all over the world, Australia, China, Hong Kong, the Pacific, he had a world map and it was just covered in the tracks of his voyages. I asked him how to get to Outlook and a State Trooper who was having a coffee as well, interrupted to say, "Yes, you have to take that road, it is straight as a die and no traffic, you can drive at 100, it's great. So emboldened I headed up it, stopped off to meet bob, the motorcycle collector, his shop is out of some historic movie, he has a beautiful daughter who stood around then went out, Bob wanted a photo of me on the bike so I got on it and did a short circuit, when we finished I stopped to have a final chat and like an apparition his daughter appeared, sitting on a snow white pony, bare back, halter, no bit. Classic, they are both the same age and she reckons they probably ride together three or four hours most days.
On again, I'd been told I had to drive to Lava Bed National Monument or similar so stopped off there, pretty terrible road getting to it bit brand spanking new inside the park, went for a walk down one of the lava tube caves and banged my head so hard I saw stars, ouch. Had my lunch surrounded by wildflowers and small grey birds. On to Crater Lake, at the campsite I met up with Mike again, we went to the Ranger talk, it was terrible. Decided to wash myself so walked the half mile to the nearest shower station, it was closed, on to the next, needed fifty cents which I didn't have so disgruntled returned to the campsite and stripped down and rinsed off at the standpipe. Literally seconds after I wrapped myself up in the towel the ranger drove by. That would have been hard to explain.
Up early in the morning, drove around the rim, visibility was so poor in a brownish haze that I couldn't see across, with hindsight I think it was a combination of a front coming in and smoke from the wildfires which are burning up the entire state. Off again, planned to take a very minor road eastwards but bad fuel management and I had to make a thirty mile there and back, an hour total, to get fuel, then east on lonely roads for the rest of the day, Approaching the town Burns, at the small village Ripley, the entire northern horizon was ablaze, spectacular columns of grey and orange smoke reaching up into the stratosphere where it turns to bright whit clouds which drift downwind for hundreds of miles before dissipating in isolated Lennies. There was a French cyclist there heading for Yellowstone, where I am now; it will take him eight to ten days, minimum, across the high desert, a long lonely ride.
Spent the night in a very isolated Forest campsite, the lower flats were filled with a dozen or so pup tents belonging to the night shift fire fighters, I saw no sign of them. Off again early next morning, had hoped to make it to Yellowstone but far too far, ended up camping in "Craters of the moon" Nat Park. Met a couple at the next campsite, David and Sonny, she was typically weird, he is a programmer who has quit to ride around the world on an old motorbike, it blew up in New Zealand, he is having it shipped back here where he will have it repaired and start over, Eastwards.
He was at a Bikers meeting of long distance drivers, he told this story of this couple riding in the Amazon jungle, crossing a bridge, carefully pushing the heavy BMWs as the bridge looks unsafe, it collapses and dumps him in the river bed, under the bike. His partner manages to get it off him, he is barely conscious, his left side is part paralyzed, they ride twelve days back to the nearest hospital, every hour or so he blacks out and falls off, crash. At the hospital they x-ray him and he has broken a vertebra in his neck, he now has a metal plate and is back on his bike. People are so strong.
Now in Yellowstone, an absolute zoo, at the library, then on to Mammoth springs, tonight may be a problem, the place is absolutely packed with tourists, we'll see, love to all,
Phil --
Phil Edmonds
Enroute across the USA
Friday, 13 July 2007
Fort Bragg, California, July 11
The last two days driving up the coast have been sensational, a real learning experience for me as I'm now really learning how to handle curves, the road winds back and forth, up and down, endlessly. I spent the first night in a campsite on the coast near Morro, Montana del Oro, when I arrived it was full but there was no one on duty so I cruised around the campsite till I found a likely looking couple, one car, a small tent, and I asked them if they would mind adopting me for the night, Jim and Sarah were delighted so I set up the tent, drove the quarter mile to the beach, practice on gravel, getting better, sat and had tea watching the gulls watching me, then ate dinner which was the other half of the sandwich I bought for lunch, I'm reading the latest Wednesday Next novel, as always totally obscure, then at dusk back to the camp site, I had bought a bottle of 9% microbrew and drank that as darkness fell, slept like a log.
Jim used to run a window installation company, always had headaches then one day he fell into a coma, he had a benign tumour, they took the top of his skull off, removed the tumour, several weeks later he came to and over the next six or so years slowly recovered most of his memory, sad to say he ran his company into the ground, his wife divorced him which he felt was not what the original agreement was about, namely, to look after him, he is remarried, very cheerful, loses the occasional word or memory, so what is new? Now, like most of us, his knees are going and he will have surgery in a few months. I made a pot of tea for breakfast and he was happy to share it, so generous. Then back on the bike, a long, long day, scenery really indescribable, through San Francisco alongside another tourer, he was on a BMW, a very clean route runs over the Golden Gate bridge, stopped for a rest and photos, put two quarters into the machine and it jammed, no worry, then on to the John Muir Woods with the huge, huge, California redwoods, theoldest about a thousand years old, wow, and just reaching up into the sky.
No camping so went on a really hairy mountain road to find a teeny state park with a deserted campsite, buried in the woods, they must be a rainforest as everything was mossy and soaked, height about five thousand feet, I guess, and I damn near froze. Met a string theorist in the parking lot, he spends his summers driving around the with his five kids, they've been doing it for years and have an old US map with all their routes marked on it, the map was just covered. He is from Durham, which is North Carolina, then it turned out the two coeds in the next campsite were also from NC, Wilmington, we were entertained by the coincidence.
Then back on the road, another lovely day, the countryside is pastorial, forests, fields, cattle, sheep, in the plains next to the coast, then the mountains reach back and we wind our way up and down the hills. tons of cyclists, all going south, I met a girl at breakfast yesterday, she has been on the road for three weeks, started in Norfolk, Oregon, and will make San Diego in another two, she looked fit and brown and ate two breakfasts, just like that, obviously the way to lose weight. Now time to get back on Leslie, she is running superbly, about thirty or forty miles to my target campsite, hope it is not full.
Regards to all,
Phil Edmonds
Enroute across the USA
Jim used to run a window installation company, always had headaches then one day he fell into a coma, he had a benign tumour, they took the top of his skull off, removed the tumour, several weeks later he came to and over the next six or so years slowly recovered most of his memory, sad to say he ran his company into the ground, his wife divorced him which he felt was not what the original agreement was about, namely, to look after him, he is remarried, very cheerful, loses the occasional word or memory, so what is new? Now, like most of us, his knees are going and he will have surgery in a few months. I made a pot of tea for breakfast and he was happy to share it, so generous. Then back on the bike, a long, long day, scenery really indescribable, through San Francisco alongside another tourer, he was on a BMW, a very clean route runs over the Golden Gate bridge, stopped for a rest and photos, put two quarters into the machine and it jammed, no worry, then on to the John Muir Woods with the huge, huge, California redwoods, theoldest about a thousand years old, wow, and just reaching up into the sky.
No camping so went on a really hairy mountain road to find a teeny state park with a deserted campsite, buried in the woods, they must be a rainforest as everything was mossy and soaked, height about five thousand feet, I guess, and I damn near froze. Met a string theorist in the parking lot, he spends his summers driving around the with his five kids, they've been doing it for years and have an old US map with all their routes marked on it, the map was just covered. He is from Durham, which is North Carolina, then it turned out the two coeds in the next campsite were also from NC, Wilmington, we were entertained by the coincidence.
Then back on the road, another lovely day, the countryside is pastorial, forests, fields, cattle, sheep, in the plains next to the coast, then the mountains reach back and we wind our way up and down the hills. tons of cyclists, all going south, I met a girl at breakfast yesterday, she has been on the road for three weeks, started in Norfolk, Oregon, and will make San Diego in another two, she looked fit and brown and ate two breakfasts, just like that, obviously the way to lose weight. Now time to get back on Leslie, she is running superbly, about thirty or forty miles to my target campsite, hope it is not full.
Regards to all,
Phil Edmonds
Enroute across the USA
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
