#12 Of Strange Places To Sleep
Canada is officially over, and I have now begun my journey through the United States of America, along with my "interpreter" and fellow cyclist, Paul Dorr, who contacted me in the interest of biking to texas with me.
So the last few weeks have been very entertaining, all the while I have been crossing my fingers in hopes that I wouldn't get snowed on while I was still up north here. I almost lucked out if not for the blizzard Paul and I pedalled trough on Dec 4. I left Halifax on my way to the border and headed up Highway 1 towards the Bay of Fundy. My first night was spent in a bed in Newport, NS after a difficult time finding a spot to lay my head. The difficulty may have started when I started asking people if I could sleep in thier sheds, as opposed to pitching my tent in thier yards, as I have done al summer. The reason for this is when I wake up in the morning, my tent is almost always frozen, heavy and hard to stuff back in the bag.
The next night was worse for finding a spot to sleep. I knocked on several doors until I found some people who told me about a youth group in town at one of the churches that would have a spot for me. I biked in there, well after dark (which was only about 5pm...) to be told that it wasn't church policy to allow travellers to sleep in thier walls. In the Bible it clearly states, several times, that it is in fact, church policy to give safe haven to travellers. I was turned away to the night and approched several houses before finding a shed to sleep in. At least it was a roof over my head. That night, Ashleigh, who owned the house, asked me if I wanted to sleep inside on a couch, but I was in no mood for telling stories, much less to people. I agreed to join them for breakfast though, and ended up staying for 5 days. Ashleigh had some very interesting ideas about living simpler and back to the land. I also got a chance to go back to high school for a day. It was like a flash back. I realized that all high schools in Canada are the same. I talked briefly to some of the classes there, in small groups, about my trip. I also got corraled into helping out with a church group full of little kids, and I got to attend a university class at the Divinity College. It was a busy couple of days to say the least, but definitely spent with good people. They had tried to convince me to stay for Christmas, but i knew by then there would be snow on the ground, and they were not planning on letting me leave in the snow.
The night after leaving Ashleigh's house in Walton I found myself soundly sleeping in a dairy barn, snuggled up with some cats and chickens. If anything, the barn strengthened my resolve to stop eating meat, which I have been experimenting with for the last 7 months. It can't be all that fun for a cow to live in its own excrement.
Another day down the road I managed to find a spot in a wood shed behind a tire shop, on top of some stacked up tires to sleep. It was cozy, with not much room to roll around and thrash about in my sleep. The logs in the shed were also stacked perilously as though they could fall at any moment. I tried hard not to sneeze near them all night.
One thing that I have noticed, living with the hospitality of people is even though some people might not feel comfortable letting a traveller sleep in thier garage, they always want to talk to me, and sometimes won't let me leave. This was the case on a particularly dark cloudy night, my last in Nova Scotia. The lady there insisted on me waiting at her door until her son and husband came home, then wouldn't let me get back on my bike. She proceeded to borrow a freinds truck, help me take the bags off my bike and drive me to gas station against my reassurances that I would be fine and would find some place to sleep or pitch my tent. I ended up sleeping in the truckers lounge of that gas station on the floor where I couldn't turn the lights off.
I slept on 2 more couches on my way into Fredricton, New Brunswick, and once more in my tent high up on a hill so the sun would wake me up early in the morning. When I passed through Moncton, which is a very nice city, especially on a Sunday morning when there is no traffic on its cobble stone streets between glass buildings and under glass pedways, I stopped in at Magnetic Hill. This hill is fabled to pull cars backwards up the hill. As I arrived, a car was in the process of rolling up the hill, and before I left another car did the same thing. I myself felt no need to pedal from the bottom to the top as I magically rolled, albeit slowly, to the top. Some say it is caused by Ghosts, others by aliens, and some think it is massive iron deposits. For the most part I think it is an optical illusion, but maybe it is magic. Who knows?
In Fredricton i stayed 2 nights in the Hostel there, meeting travellers and students as the Hostel doubles as a residence, and cooking marvelous foods. Fredricton is a very nice city as well, although it is very conservative on the outside. You really have to look hard for eccentric people. Very neat rows of elm trees line the streets, and gardens adorn the middle of the roads.
My first night out of Fredricton, on the final push to the border landed me on a couch of yet another dairy farm. The next night I was driven into a Wreath factory ebcause of the rain and ice falling from the sky. I spent the night there making Christmas wreaths, then I slept on a a table covered in tree boughs.
On December 2nd I crossed my first border of this trip into the USA. The border guard gave me a rough time after I told him my age and what I was doing. He was especially confused about the fact that I was a teen from British Columbia, and I didn't have any drugs on me. He didn't search my bags, but he felt the need to scare my mom by phoning home and telling her they had me in thier custody. Finally, I proved to them that I had enough money to sustain myself, and he let me pass on a 3 month visitor visa. I met Paul in Calais, just 10 minutes after crossing the border into Maine. We pedalled all afternoon and slept my first night in the states in a Baseball Dugout.
That night we camped in the trees under a quickly built lean-to, made of some logs and my tent fly. In the morning we woke up with several liters of rain water pooled precariously above us on top of the lean-to. We made oatmeal out of it, and the warm porridge motivated us to get back to biking in the cold. That's about the time it started to snow. We stopped in at a Blueberry farm for water, and only an hour later found ourselves in a slushy white mess. The roads became like skating rinks and cars repeatedly pulled over to warn us that it only got worse up the road. Then Pauls rear tire exploded. He quickly fixed it and we hurried to the next town to find shelter from the storm. We were flagged down by Jeff, who brought us to his house 4 miles away and housed us for the night. In the morning it was very bright, but also very white, with 5 inches of freshly falled snow on the roads. It was a very cold day for biking, and most of our gears were frozen in place, making riding up and down hills interesting.
Our next night found us in Lyman and Jean's garage, curled up by the wood stove. They treated us to a delicous breakfast of porridge, bagels and orange juice before we left on the final push into Rockland, Maine, where Paul lives. We pushed all day in the cold wind and arrived after dark, in rush hour, in the rain, tired cold and hungry, and blinded by the lights of hundreds of cars on thier way home. Paul almost got run over, it was very close.
So here I am in Rockland now. We have taken a day off to get Pauls bike worked on and stock up on food, so tomorow we can start out south towards warmer climates where we can start riding again in shorts and tee shirts, as opposed to several layers of thermal clothing and coats. Today I went and talked to the local radio station and did a 15 minute show on my trip, and in about a half hour I am going to talk to the local newspaper. It's time to start getting the word out to the people. Well, here's to warm weather and no snow till we hit Florida.
Peace
Steve Fox
#13 A Short and Sweet Merry christmas
Hey everyone. Just wanted to wish you all a very happy holiday, filled with food and love and friends and family. Everything on the road is great. Any impressions and prejudices I may have had about the USA have been turned right around. The people down here, and the hospitality have been amazing, in some cases better than Canada. I am so impressed with the kindness of strangers. Everyone has been amazing. But, there will be a more in depth update later, when I have more time to write, because a lot has been happening in the last few weeks. I hope everyone has a great holiday, and remember to keep those new years resolutions to get on your bike and visit some place new. Keep the rubber side down on the slippery roads, and pass crazy bikers like myself as wide as you can.
Peace Out.
Steve Fox
#14 The Kindness of Strangers
December 30, 2006
As a warning, you may want to take some time off work to read this update, it’s kinda long. Sorry.
"Be careful in the States Steve, they practice paranoia down there", my Mom said over the phone. This was not the first time I had heard similar words about Americans. Most people I talked to in Canada had really nothing nice to say about it. I was going to be turned away every time I approached anyone, I was going to be robbed, flogged, tarred and feathered, before being told to leave. So naturally, with all these people telling me to be so careful, I was a little apprehensive about crossing the border into this new and foreign country. But, what about all the Americans I met in Canada? What about Richard and Carole, the couple who rescued me from the bear in Dryden? What about the slightly unorthodox, but very friendly people I met in Niagra Falls? I met several Americans traveling in Canada, and not once did I have a bad experience. Nevertheless, I was a little worried.
So, the last time I left you I was in Rockland, Maine, at Paul Dorr’s house. We woke up the next morning faced with about a foot of white stuff on the ground. With the slippery roads and bad weather, we decided to wait another day till the snow plows made the rounds. The day after that was spent with my bike in Bikesenjava, the local bike shop/café with a horribly bent chain, and several other broken, misshapen pieces after sliding around in the snow a little too much. My hat is off to Chris at Bikesenjava for the great job he did, and for setting up the newspaper interview.
We finally left Rockland via route 1 along the coast. We arrived in Woolwich that night, and after asking Darrell and Denny if we could sleep in their shop, we were given our own rooms in their house, each with massive beds. I really didn’t know what to do with all the foot room. In the morning we left around 6 AM, long before the sun was thinking about coming up. We stopped that afternoon to visit Eartha, the world’s largest operating globe, which is slowly spinning all the time, making a full days revolution in about 10 minutes. We wild camped that night in a water shed area.
Early the next morning, December 12th, we crossed over the border into New Hampshire. Only 18 miles (30 km’s or so) we crossed into Massachusetts. That night, and the next was spent at Paul’s sister’s house in Haverhill, Mass.
A very quick ride into Boston turned into a long day when we got quite lost in one of its suburbs. We eventually found our way to Needham, at the very south of the Boston area, where Paul knew more people, who he worked with last summer on one of the ships. We arrived quite unannounced to find them not home. So we sat on their door step till they got there, which didn’t happen until long after the sun went down. At that point everything I had heard about Americans was beginning to cross my mind. I was pretty sure they would find us there and tell us to leave, but much to my disbelief, when they arrived, we were welcomed with very open arms, fed some delicious food, and given a room inside to sleep for the night.
I left the Sandlers house the next morning on foot, bound for the commuter train. $3.50 got me into Boston for a chance to check out the sights and do the tourist thing at the Harvard University. If you’re ever in Boston, the Museum of Natural History is an amazing thing to see. One exhibit includes over 4000 hand crafted glass plants made in the 1800’s with very rudimentary tools. The plants look perfectly real. They also have a large gallery of stuffed animals, of every imaginable species. I was mentally exhausted by the end and slept through most of the train ride home. I arrived back at the Sandler’s house just in time to start eating a Sadar dinner, which is for Hanukah. It was an excellent dinner followed by relaxing and playing card games.
After a late start the next day, and many stops to talk to interested people we made it to Cumberland, Rhode Island, following an address given to us by the Sandlers. As we got closer to their house, a car pulled up to me and a man inside asked if we were biking across the country, because we were staying at his house. He directed us to his house which was at the bottom of a massive hill, then drove off. We got there to a note telling us they had gone to a Christmas party, and wouldn’t be back till late that night, to make our selves at home and to sleep in the porch. This was a huge leap of faith that really bamboozled me. Not once had people in Canada done such a thing, to leave two perfect strangers in a house alone. We had a very nice dinner of curry space food that Paul was itching to stop carrying around, watched the news and some silly sitcoms that really have a way of hypnotizing you, and then went to bed. I woke up that morning when the family came back to talk to them before they went to bed as well.
The next day we met another amazing person. As we biked across a causeway over a reservoir, a cyclist stopped to talk to us. He asked us if we needed anything, but since we were quite content with how much out bikes weighed, we declined any offers. We did need water though, which we mentioned, and he immediately turned around and escorted us to a friend’s house down the road. Once there they insisted on plying off their day old pizza with us, which amounted to about a large pizza before sending us off. We camped for free that night at the River Bend campground.
The next two nights found us in East Haddam, staying with more friends of Paul’s. Paul used to be their chef, and eagerly fell back into that role, cooking up a storm for 2 days. While there I took a leisurely walk through the surrounding forests, which included wading twice through waist deep swamps with my pants held above my head, a tree climb from one side of a creek to the other where it was too deep to walk, and several run ins with deer. It was quite entertaining.
One thing I have noticed as well is that every time Pauls bike breaks, someone always stops to ask if we are ok, drawn to his bike flipped upside down, usually as he fixes a flat tire. I only mention Paul’s bike, because mine doesn’t seem to ever break. In Pauls defense though, his bike is older than I am…
Then we met Mr. Mic. Our destination was a closed state park down the road in Clinton, Connecticut, until we saw a man waving his arms at us from the side of the road. He flagged us down and asked where we were staying that night. Before we could say anything he explained that he was a teacher in town for 22 years, that he knew a lot of people, and that we weren’t camping that night. He told us to follow him and before we could even think to object, we were following his car into town. We pulled up in front of a massive house. He knocked on the door and a young girl, whom he taught in school, opened the door. He introduced us all, and we were invited in. Her parents were not home, but he insisted on us waiting there until someone arrived. He commanded the situation very well. Mrs. Gordon arrived shortly after that with a very surprised look. Mr. Mic explained the whole situation and the Gordon Family took us in for a night. They were an amazingly friendly family. The next morning Paul and I went to the school to thank Mr. Mic for what he did, and ended up staying 2 hours to talk to his class about what we were doing. Mr. Mic is an avid bike tourist and has logged about 100, 000 miles on a tandem with his wife.
The next friendly person we met was the next day at Bully Dog Bikes in Guilford, Conn. We stopped in there to get Paul a new tire, and ended up having both bikes serviced, tuned and lubed, as well as 4 brake pads for me and a new tire and tubes for Paul for the low price of 10$ each. Our bikes could be heard purring at that point. We spent the night camped in a Wal-Mart parking lot, and had our first “bad” run in with someone, a worker at the store who didn’t like us camping there and threatened to phone the police if we didn’t leave. It was soon rectified when he talked to the manager, whom we had talked to before setting up camp, and only had to move farther away from the building. Everything worked out in the end.
In New Haven, Conn. We met up briefly for coffee with another one of Paul’s friends, and then went to the local bike shop where I traded in my low rider rack for one that I can attach things to the top of, which has helped to take some of the weight off the back tire. Then we headed up one very large hill. About half way up, we stopped to celebrate having climbed that hill, only to bike around the corner and realize we were no where near the top. At the top were a lot of very nice, but very huge and very similar houses. Knocking on these monotone behemoths proved to be useless, as no one could spare 1 out of 3 of their garage doors, or 4 square meters of their several acre back yards for some travelers. We eventually found the Sibley’s house. They put us in their garage, then left to go to a Christmas party, the second time that has happened. They came back later that night and we shared travel stories.
We spent 2 more days fighting hills and headwinds in New York State and Connecticut. The hills there are massive, and there are a lot of them. We camped one night at a resort at Bear Mountain state park and the next in a yard with a nice fire place before arriving at the much anticipated Delaware River. The road there follows the river and it is almost perfectly flat, except one very hilly section where the road goes inland. Christmas night was spent in a plastic garage in Bushkill, Pennsylvania in the pouring rain and making play dough animals for the little guy in the house. The real treat for us was Christmas morning. We left without eating and by the time we got to the next town, my stomach was beginning to eat itself, but it was all worth the excellent pancake breakfast we had.
At this point we entered into one of the most beautiful spots I have been to in the states yet, the Delaware Water gap. The Delaware River carved huge cliffs along its banks so you can see all the individual layers of rock from millions of years past. I met a man there who was quite vulgar and told me some jokes not worth repeating, but he let me in on the location of a cave that I found off to the side of the road and explored. It only went about 40 meters back, but was still fun to explore. It remains 38 F all year long.
Paul’s tire popped once again in Easton outside an apartment building. As we were sitting there a woman called down to us from the second floor asking if we wanted a beer. We declined, but at the offer of cookies, I couldn’t resist. By the time Paul finished with his tire I had secured us a place to stay on their floor for the night. We had vegetarian pizza and Stella beers for supper with our hosts.
We carried on through the water gap and crossed a small ped bridge into New Jersey to follow a lovely tow path along the Delaware canal. We camped that night in Washington Crossing state park, which is at the stop on the river where General Washington, who later became the first President, crossed the river on Christmas night in the snow and the cold to launch a surprise attack on the British in Trenton, which he won. We left the flatness of the river banks the next morning to find a bike shop for Paul’s wheel, which was now falling apart. We ended up in Etra that night camped in a very nice forest with a small camp fire. I slept outside that night by the fire watching the stars and the orange clouds floating passed.
We are now staying in Brick, NJ, at one more friend of Pauls. We met Ian last night at a Scottish Fish and Chip shop where he works, and spent several hours in Barnes and Noble reading a book waiting for him to get off work. Last night was very entertaining, with about 7 people (I think) and several cases of beer. Needless to say we have decided to stay a day in favor of writing this update as to biking with a hangover.
So as you may be able to see, you can’t really believe everything people tell you, especially those who have never been to the place they are talking about. It may sound strange, and even most Americans I tell this to are surprised, but it has been easier to find places to sleep and to meet people in the States than in Canada. People really are good if you just look hard enough, and smile pretty while they are eyeing you up on their door step.
Till next time, may your hills be small and few.
Peace Out
Steve Fox
#15 Out of the Northern states
So, it's been a few days since my last update. I have been really busy biking, covering lots of ground in an attempt to get to the Mexican border before my visa expires, which is getting closer and closer. I am now in Spartanburg, South Carolina staying with some amazing people I met on the Outer Banks in North Carolina.
I last left you in Brick, New Jersey on Dec 30th. Paul and I left his friends house that morning heading south along the coast. We ended up in Stafford, New Jersey and made camp in a forest in the middle of town. While setting up my tent I managed to break one of the poles in half, so I picked up some logs off the ground and threw a lean to together, with my tent draped over it. It worked well until the rain started. I was very wet the next morning. Just as we went to bed in the lean to I heard some screeching tires and the sound of metal on metal and glass breaking. I grabbed my little first aid kit and dodged out of the bushes to see if I could help out and found a head on collision. No one was hurt, just a little shaken up, but it really made me want to stay out of cars as much as possible. That night instead of going to sleep I went out wandering down to the beach, watched some New Years fire works and stumbled into a garage party. I stayed there most of the night doing keg stands and bringing in the new year, stumbling home (to the tent) around 7 am to find Paul getting ready to leave. We agreed that since I was in no fit condition to bicycle that day, and because I had been offered some work by the guy whose party I was at last night, that I should stay and sleep and go make some money, and that we may meet up somewhere down the road. I think I asleep before Paul left. I didn't get to go to work however. I broke camp after a few hours of being rained on and made my way to the house in Manahawkin. When I got there I found some Jewish Apple Cake in the refrigerator, so I had a small piece. That small piece left me very sweaty and shivery on the couch, and several times wrapped around the toilet that night. The cake was not so great...
I left the next day as I had the feeling I had outstayed my welcome, although i was kind of delirious all day. Late in the afternoon I pedaled passed a bike shop on the side of the road. I didn't pay any attention at first, but after getting down the road in my delirium, realized I needed water, so i turned around. A few minutes of taking with Quas and Terry in the shop and I was invited to stay in their yard in Seaville, just down the road. I met them there and was put up on their couch for the night. In the morning Quas rode with me for half the day to the ferry terminal at Cape May. I took that ferry to Lewes in Delaware and found a very nice camp site near the beach in Henlopen State Park. I spent the night outside by my fire playing by drum.
I left late the next morning because of a long walk I took to the beach and a quick swim in the icy water. It also began to rain soon after I left, so rather than fight the weather I found a beach house to hole up in under the roof. It rained pretty hard all day and into the night, but the next day riding into Ocean City, Maryland was gorgeous. it was +20 degrees Celsius all day, which is amazing weather for January. In Ocean City I stopped in at Continental Cycle where the guy there told me about a restaurant called SeaCrets and that they had a radio show. I found my way there and was invited in to do a quick radio show for the guys there, then was treated to an excellent meal. the cool thing about this place was the floor was made of sand. It was like walking on the beach. They had a lot of plants and greenery in there as well. Very cool resturant. I made my camp in a farmers yard that night.
I had a very uneventful day on January 7th, aside from a flat tire which i fixed in the rain. I started again in the morning but right away I had a blow out on my back tire that shredded most of my sidewall, and conveniently enough for me, there were no bike shops to be heard of in the area. I left my bike near where the blow out happened and hitch hiked into the nearest store that had tires to pick one up and bring it back to my bike, but the girl who picked me up took me back to my bike and took everything to the shop so as to not let it sit in the rain. I get the tire fixed, but had very little will to move that day in the pouring rain, so I chilled out in the store talking to all the customers that came in. A big thanks to Jason Kirby at the Western Auto store for letting me hang out there and letting me camp in this back yard.
I spent most of the next day hitch hiking again, this time to cross a bridge tunnel into Virginia Beach. I had no luck until I got a flat about 1 mile from the tunnel and someone picked me up in their truck. I would have liked to bike the bridge tunnel, but it is 20 miles long and has no shoulders to speak of. It's also illegal for bikes, pedestrians, tractors and horses. I met a very nice guy shortly after that as he was walking his dog down a path. He immediately invited me to sleep in his back yard and spent the night in his beach-front island-house resort/fire watch tower of a tree house in his back yard.
I left Will's house in Virginia Beach after an excellent breakfast of pancakes and made my way south to Knot ts Island to catch a ferry. This was kind of by accident as I had made a wrong turn, but it worked out in the end and I don't think I lost any time in the process. I got a sunset ferry ride out of the deal. I camped in the Waddels house that night.
From there I followed the coast to the outer banks, which was an amazing ride. I spent about 5 days cycling down a perfectly flat road with sand dunes on both sides. The outer Banks are simply a long sand dune pushed up by hurricanes about 20 miles off shore. The first night out there was spent at Kitty Hawk, the site of the Wright Bros. first flight. The second night there I met some very amazing people, who I am staying with in Spartanburg now. It was under some strange coincidences that I found them, too. I first talked to a man named Richard, asking if I could camp in his yard. the problem there was that he didn't have a yard, but he told me about a nice camp site his friend owned, so I went to find it. i saw the sign, but saw no vehicles there, so I guessed no one was around to ask and carried on. The next spot I stopped was apparently an auto shop. There were a lot of broken VW's in the yard. I asked the guy there and he said OK, but as I was setting up my tent, I realized I didn't want to camp near all the broken cars, so I packed up again and went a little farther down the road. That's when I stumbled into the Fort's home. Before I could ask to camp in their yard, John explained that he had seen me biking on the road, and Tricia asked me if i needed a place to sleep and a meal. Within 2 minutes I was being hugged, and escorted to the kitchen where supper was almost ready. It's always amazing to meet people like the Forts who are so good to people. I was even treated to a bubble bath, which was excellent. I stayed with them an extra day.
I had a ferry to catch the next day, so I boogied to Hatteras to catch the 4 o'clock one. I biked late that night so as to be in the right spot for the very early morning ferry to get me off Ocracoke Island and back onto the mainland. I camped right at the ferry terminal and got up for the 7 AM departure.
I have now entered the Bible belt. I have also had better luck with sleeping at churches than ever before. I camped under one of their picnic areas, then I was sent to a church to sleep inside the next night, and the following night was spent pitched behind another church. One reflection I have so far of the south is that most people are very nice, but some are extremely rude when approached. For instance, I ran out of water at one point and knocked on a door to fill my bottles. The lady there told me to drink out of the ditch...I have also had more doors slammed on me and more people yell at me than ever before. It is very strange. In the end I always manage to find nice people though.
This past week has been one of many bike problems. I broke my chain twice, have had no luck with derailleurs, and I have discovered that I have two very loose wheels. In Lumberton, North Carolina I had to fix my very broken chain in a tire shop, and turned my bike into a one speed for a while, till it broke again. Thanks to the guys at the shop for letting me hang out in the dry warm shop for a while. I ended up staying in a motel that night after it broke the second time and hitched a ride to Fayetteville to get a new chain and sort out some other bike troubles.
I made it to Laurinville that night and stayed in the Hester's yard with their goats. After another uneventful day crossing into South Carolina I made it into Chester where I stopped at the fire department to warm by bones, as i saw a light on in there. The man there called some people and eventually got me a place to stay in another hotel and police escort through the rain.
January 22nd was a very solid day. I made it into Spartanburg in a hurry, and barely stopped all day, except to eat, and get more water. I arrived around 2:30 PM at the Forts house after 8 days of riding from their beach house in Salvo on the Outer Banks. they have a huge house, big enough to get lost in for several days at a time. Being in Spartanburg also means that i am back into the mountains. From the time Paul and I got to the Delaware river till about 4 days ago, the roads were perfectly flat with no more than a 2-3% grade at any given time. It's been very nice riding. Back in the hills though, it's much different.
Well, to cut this short, I have a newspaper meeting to make it to in about an hour and a bike that really needs some work done to it, so I need to get to work. thanks for tuning in my friends.
Peace Steve
Fox in Spartanburg, South Carolina
#16 Of Southern Hospitality…
Last I left you, I was in Spartanburg, NC. I had planned to take a day or two off to work on the bike, get some laundry done and relax. A week later I was back on the road. I had a lot of fun in Spartanburg, hanging out with Emily and her friends, cooking amazing food and doing some very heavy relaxing. I managed to fix the bike eventually and get back on the road around Jan. 30th as the Mexican border was calling me. Given more time, I would have stayed longer. The Fort Family was truly amazing to me, and I’m not sure I have met nicer people.
Back on the road I caught wind of a news report or two forecasting heavy rain and a good possibility of snow. With this in mind I knocked on a door around 7 pm, well after the sun had set and asked if they could help me out. I was invited in by the son, and soon after the father arrived and I ran my request passed him. He didn’t really say anything, but walked out the door with hid phone in his hand, leaving me with his 2 kids in their 20’s and his frail old mother who looked about 80. Within 20 minutes or so 3 police officers walked through the back door, all packin’, and almost arrested me, but I was so cooperative in getting my ID and explaining what I was doing that they really couldn’t take me in. They gave me to ultimatum that I could go get a hotel room 10 miles down the road (keep in mind its already after 8 pm and very dark) or they could arrest me and I could sleep in a cell. My budget and sense of adventure told me I should go with them, but my better half told me to carry on down the road and not cause trouble. I ended up following a pastor (everyone down south is a pastor) to the Salvation Army where I got a bed to sleep in.
7 AM in the pouring rain and heavy, sticky snow, the Salvation Army kicked me out. Within an hour or so I was drenched, as the moisture permeates even the heaviest of rain gear. I stopped at a church and asked if I could warm up, then pedaled to the pastors house where I was able to dry out a bit and get some food. I crossed the Savannah River later that afternoon after the snow had stopped falling and went to TG’s house to fill up on water. He quickly invited me inside, fed me, and insisted on getting me a hotel room for the night. TG is another pastor, and they hand out hotel rooms like they hand out socks in Newfoundland, which is often.
In the morning I met with TG and a very eccentric reporter who took all day to get my story, which included taking me out for Mexican food and giving me the grand tour of the town of Lincolnton. We finished up late in the afternoon, and with the sun on its way down, I asked if I could stay with one of the reporters, who took me home and took me out to karaoke that night.
The next afternoon I pulled down a little back road and found a nice place to eat lunch on a fallen tree. I reclined after that and had a little power nap until the wind picked up suddenly and almost knocked me off the tree. I packed up quickly and just as I was pulling out of the road a man with a gun pulled up asking what I was doing on his property. I explained my lunch situation and he put the gun down and let me go. I passed through Greensboro that day and camped in a hunting blind 15 meters in the air.
The next 2 days were uneventful aside from having a cup of soda thrown at me from a passing vehicle. On Feb. 6th I stopped at a beautiful house and asked if I could camp in the yard, but they invited me inside, so I cooked them supper of salmon steaks and rice. They were very impressed so they gave me the address of their niece in Tallahassee, Florida.
While in Albany, Georgia, I passed a little shop called BioBuzz and spent most of the afternoon there hanging out. It’s a very cool little store, if you’re a little left wing. I camped in a Pecan grove near Camilla that night.
The next morning I made it into Florida and headed straight into Tallahassee. I phoned the contacts I had there to find a place to crash and ended up following the address of Eve, the niece of the people I cooked for. Her room mate was a little leary about me staying there, but I turned down their offer to take me out to supper and cooked for them instead, after which they agreed to let me stay. The next day I left, bound for a bike shop to fix my cones again, as I didn’t get them fixed properly in Spartanburg. I ended up going to Krank It Up a free community bike shop where I fixed almost every thing, until I found out that my chain had popped off the gears at some point and tore the spokes on my rear wheel to pieces. Luckily it held together long enough for me to get to a bike shop the next day. I was invited to a pot luck dinner that night and enjoyed a very cool game of bike polo. That was a lot of fun. Bike polo is like polo on horses, only on bikes. I went to Joes Bikes where I got a new wheel and had my bike looked after.
While in Joes bike shop I met Jason, who had just hobbled back form mountain biking on a broken bike. He had toured across the states last year and knew how cool it was for locals to approach him with cool ideas about things to do in town, so he asked if I wanted to go spelunking, or caving. I agreed so we grabbed some food and took off to the caves. We spent about 3 hours under ground wading through creeks and crawling through mud and tiny holes. It was really a beautiful cave with lots of stalactites and a very nice fissure. I also went for a swim in the little under ground lake. That night we went to a Sheesha bar in town and smoked a hookah. I met the owner and told a lot of people about what I was doing.
Jason and I left the next morning and headed west. Jason came with me for about 30 miles then caught the tail wind back into Tallahassee. I camped that night on the banks of the Chipola River and had a near run in with what I thought was an alligator…turned out to be fish jumping in the river. If only I had known that the night before, I would have slept better.
I stopped at a natural spring the next morning and met chuck who gave me a fishing rod. I caught a little bass but nothing worth keeping. That night I stopped at Remonia’s house, and she insisted that instead of camping in her yard that I should stay in the motel in Ebro, courtesy of her. I had no choice, so I went. That night I over heard a man come into the hotel looking for a room after the lobby had closed for the night. The cranky lady at the front desk told him to leave so he offered her cash and said he could go sleep in his truck. She told him to leave again, so I asked him if he needed some help. He had run out of gas and needed to phone home to let his family know what was going on, so I let him use my room phone. He gave me his phone # before he left and told me to stop in the next day when I got to Destin. In the morning I went to thank her and got corralled into some tea, and just as I was getting ready thunder cracked the air and the rain started, so I opted out of riding and went to the race track to watch some dogs run around in circles all day long. Fun stuff…
I made Destin the next day and stayed with Tim, the guy I met the night before. He owns a barber shop in Destin, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t make me beautiful. No point fighting a losing battle. Travelling into and out of destin along highway 98 is insane. It’s nothing but tourists behind the wheel and they drive like animals, but I survived. I ended up that night camped beside a lake in someones back yard.
Into Mississippi the next day and headed into Mobile. I caught my first Mardi Gras Parade there and loaded up on all sorts of different colored beads and things. In Mobile is Africatown, which is where the last ship of slaves landed after slavery was abolished, so they set up the first free town in America there.
I made it into Biloxi the next day with some difficulty. The bridge on highway 90 was out from Hurricane Katrina and the detour took me to the Interstate. I got pulled over there within 2 miles and was told to go back to the exit I took to get there. So I tried hitch hiking across. I stood there in the baking sun covered in Mardi Gras beads looking for someone going to New Orleans for about an hour before another cop pulled over and tried to arrest me before I talked my way out of it, playing the dumb tourist. He told me hitch hiking was illegal and that I had to go back a mile and take a back road, which took me to the parade. I tried passing the parade until I got pulled off to the side by yet another officer of the law and told I couldn’t ride my bike. I gave him the excuse that my visa was running out but he didn’t care. So I sat there under police surveillance for 3 hours while the parade slowly floated by. Around 4 I managed to get out of town and around the washed out bridge. I ended up in Free port at the Gospel Singers Of America’s house sleeping on the floor of a spare room.
I had banked on making it to New Orleans that day, but I ran into some bike trouble with my chain near Slidell, Louisiana and had to take highway 190 as opposed to 90 into New Orleans. The bike shops were all closed that day for Mardi Gras. So I had no choice but to keep on keepin’ on. Highway 190 is a bad road. Heavy traffic, no paved shoulder and what shoulder there is is covered in debris which resulted in 4 flats that day and I ran out of patches. I also had an interesting run in with a trucker. I was riding the white line and he didn’t like that so he honked, his way of telling me that he wasn’t going to move and I had to. So I dove off the road and he followed me into the shoulder, going about 70 miles per hour in traffic. I wasn’t ready to take that, so I flipped him off. So he stopped. Then he started backing up. I dove into the ditch and he stopped a few feet short of me. Then he got out, sporting a large knife on his belt. We had some words, he approached me and I quickly talked my way out of the situation by subtly telling him to piss off as I hid behind my bike. He left and as he pulled out he spun his tires, spraying my with gravel. It must have been soon after that when he got on his CB and told every trucker in Louisiana that some biker was being disrespectful, because all the truckers honked at me and gave me dirty looks. Its not a good thing to get on the bad side of the truckers. I ended up with my last flat of that rough day and pushed my bike to a gas station to inquire about buses bound for Mexico, of there were few. I ended up staying that night and the next with Jim at his house while I worked the kinks out of my bike and washed everything I had. I sent a large box of things home, mostly Mardi Gras souviners and junk from the bottom of my bags that I had been carting around uselessly. My bike is much lighter now.
I left Jims on the bike trail, which was a nice change from the horrible 190. I took highway 22 out of town bound for Baton Rouge. That night I stopped in at Mikes yard and left the next morning back on 190, which had gotten much better although there were some patchy spots. I found a strawberry stand around noon and had some berries for lunch, then continued on to Baton Rouge. I got into town late in the day and had no choice but to push it late that night to get out. Crossing the bridge over the Mississippi River was insane. It was about a kilometer across with no shoulder, very heavy traffic and fading sunlight. Most people there were very respectful, thankfully, and gave me a lot of room. On the other side of the bridge I started looking for a spot to camp and took the first driveway I saw, only to be chased out by a very angry old man who called me several nasty names and followed very close behind me out of his driveway in his car, honking all the way. I managed to find a very nice lady who let me camp in her yard a little way down the road. One thing about camping down south here is the humidity at night. I often wake up in the morning very damp and sometimes very cold, even in the sleeping bag. This would explain why I got sick about a week ago. Being sick while riding isn’t fun at all, when your body aches more than it normally would.
I left her house around noon after a very entertaining conversation. A few miles down the road I met up with 2 hitch hikers. I stopped and talked to them for about an hour, and found out that they were from Seattle and were headed to Florida. They also said they had never had a more difficult time thumbing than in the Southern states. I hope they made it across that bride in Baton Rouge alright. Later that day however, I was in their shoes when my chain broke outside of Krotz Springs…and so did my chain tool…making it impossible to fix. I stuck out my thumb and stood around for about an hour until Art picked me and took me into Opelousas where he had some tools. Last night we tried to fix it but decided it was best to head to a bike shop and get the parts I needed to do it right. So I stayed at his house, camped in his back yard. I also go the opportunity to sample some local Louisiana food, known and crawfish. They are little lobster looking bugs that like in the mud and are kind of like shrimp. We got 10 lbs of them and between the 2 of us, we killed the whole bag of deliciously seasoned mud bugs. They are a lot of fun to eat and if you really get into them, you can make some gross sounds as you suck the juice out of their heads and crush their shells to squirt the succulent innards out. MMMM. We watched the movie Cars last night as well. This is for you Art: The word of the day today is Mallow Mint Marsh Pepper…also known as Marshmallow Peppermint spelled sideways. Just for you, man.
So now it is today. My visa expires In 6 days and I am still 400 miles from the Mexican border. 400 miles converts to about 640 KM, so I would need to put on some huge days to make it on time. So here I am, cruising down I 10 going about 70 miles an hour bound for the Texas Line, courtesy of Art, who drove me to Laffeyette to Precision Bikes where Josh hooked me up with some great service. I normally wouldn’t take rides, but this 100 mile head start will save me a lot of time, and possibly put me back on track to making the border in time. It will be tight, but there’s a good chance ill be on time. Hopefully.
I would just like to say a little bit about the “Southern Hospitality”. It doesn’t exists anymore. After Hurrican Katrina blew through it has taken a turn for the worst. People no longer open doors. I have had more guns pointed at me in the last week than in my entire life. I have had more people yell at me and call me names and be out right rude than on this entire trip. I have had more things thrown at me from vehicles in the last few weeks than I ever had. People have become paranoid. If you recall in my last email I said that all the stereotypes and opinions I had about Americans were completely backwards, I still hold true to that. I was told by everyone that the south would be better than the north, but it is a changed place. People just don’t like people anymore. This is not to discourage anyone from coming to the swamp. It is a lovely place full of panthers and gators and skeeters oh my, and there are still a lot of people who are friendly and helpful and very nice, but there are many scared people. Now, to try to discourage people, my advice for traveling by bike is: Don’t. Its rough. Especially the roads. Save yourself some gray hairs. However, I urge you to do what I do. Don’t take peoples advice seriously and do it any way. Mexico here I come.
Peace and love, and happy Mardi Gras
Steve Fox
