Goin’ Out West! - Tales from the Trans-Am
A year ago I decided that I needed a change. I’d been living overseas for 13 years, and was ready to head back to my homeland of New Zealand. After quitting the band I was in, cutting my hair, and handing in my notice I figured some cycle touring was a good way to mark the start of this new chapter. In the last week of April 2017 I bode farewell to London before myself, and a friend from my cycling club, rode the epic Lands End to John ‘O Groats… in reverse. Starting up north we wound our way down the U.K, mirroring the Deloitte Ride Across Britain route. A touch over 1,000 Miles, 9 days of great weather, average food, and sunburn (in the U.K, no less!) I arrived at Lands End. The ride was tough with constant undulations, and healthy mileage for a fully loaded touring bike, but proved to be the ideal pre-cursor to what lay ahead.
The Trans America Cycle route was born in 1976 and is considered one of ‘the’ great touring rides for cyclists the world over. At 4000 Miles on the official route, I had decided to add an extra thousand by finishing my ride in San Francisco, which meant I could experience the famous Pacific Coast Highway. I planned for 12 weeks starting on the east coast and Goin’ Out West… like Tom Waits said. The planned schedule required me to cover an average of 55 Miles daily but I wanted to have some relaxation time in San Fran at the end, so was going to ride an average of 65 miles daily, allowing the freedom to go off-piste/enjoy a rest day as and when. The official Trans Am maps are brilliant, with easy to follow (even for a directional imbecile such as me) routes, as well as information on places to pitch up tent, find food, get repairs, and locate supplies along the way. So with these, a compass, blissful ignorance and an open mind, I touched down at Williamsburg International on May 12th. It was set to be a summer to remember.
Arriving in Virginia at 11pm on Friday night it was raining, it was raining cats and dogs. Looking on the bright side, I figured this was an opportunity to test my wet weather gear for the 20-mile ride to Yorktown. After locating my bike and un-boxing with the trepidation all cyclists’ can relate to when transporting their loved ones, I assembled her, and set off on a sketchy nocturnal mission. Trying to remember to stay on the correct side of the road, I made it to Yorktown with 2 near head-on collisions avoided. I was hoping to stay at a church, which is indicated on the maps as providing accommodation for touring cyclists, but the doors were locked and there was no sign of anyone (I should have called in advance), so I pitched up tent where nobody would bother me - in the graveyard, with rain lashing down.
Day 1: Yorktown to Mechanicsville, VA. 130km
Cold, wet, and hungry (Boo Hoo!) I rolled out after the obligatory photo taken at Yorktown Victory monument, which is the official start of the Trans Am.
5km down the road my chain slipped into the small ring with no help from me… Oh dear!, As I was battling a head wind in the rain I decided to press on, and change the cable when I could find a dry spot. I stopped in Williamsburg for food supplies and ate peanut butter and Jam sandwiches, with some bananas for good measure (those who know me will know of my chequered history with banana consumption). This combo was set to be my staple diet for the duration of the ride. I would eat vegetables whenever possible, and as much fresh fruit as I could. I was told that being Vegan on this ride was going to be tough… and this advice proved to be correct. As such, I never want to see another peanut butter and jam sandwich ever again.
Near Charles City there’s a lovely cycle path to ride on, stretching for 60km or so. There was also a cycle sportive event being held that day, so I was able to talk with some locals while battling the wind. The sun did come out in the afternoon, thankfully! Arriving in Mechanicsville I noted that there were no mechanics, for bicycles anyway. The problem, which I thought was a broken cable, was actually the cable pulling through the internal routing on the down-tube. The little nubbin which held it in place was gone.. :-/ So for the foreseeable future I was stuck in the little ring. I stayed the night at an old hippy guy’s farm called ‘Trip’. He was an interesting dude, and has a huge Irish wolfhound called Murphy. We had a few beers in the evening around the fire and he told me about his life. His parents had built the place back in the 30’s, and he’s lived there his whole life. He mentioned that there were a lot of snakes on the farm so be careful where I trod. The Black Racers being non-venomous, but the Copperheads were. Trip shares his house with a family of black racers, but they don’t bother him, so he isn’t bothered either!
Day 2: Mechanicsville to Palmyra, VA. 141km
I had breakfast with Trip & Murphy (muesli w peanut butter/jam/banana sandwiches) and packed up for a 9am departure. Trip told me that the previous night there was a Copperhead in his woodshed. His neighbour came over with a shovel and chopped the Copperhead’s copper-head right off :-/
The day was sunny and 26 degrees, which was a nice contrast from the previous, and I got through a lot of water. Near Coatesville I got flipped the bird by a passing Dodge pick up truck, this being the only instance of animosity I encountered from any motorists during the whole ride. I try to remain calm when dealing with potential road rage, especially in a country where people carry guns… (I found that pick-up trucks were most definitely ‘de rigueur’ in Virginia, Kentucky, and through to Kansas.
The afternoon’s riding was tough with more headwind, and heat to battle with. As it was Mother’s Day, and I was spinning through America’s Bible Belt, I took this picture and sent it to my Ma.
Road kill throughout the ride was vast and varied. On this day I saw 1 dead racer snake, 3 squirrels and a raccoon… I hoped that I wouldn’t join their leagues in the coming months. I went past my first other Trans-Am cyclist today, Kathy, who was also heading west - albeit at a slightly more leisurely pace than I. We chatted about roads, hills, dogs and food, before wishing each other luck and saying goodbye.
I rolled into Palmyra at 3pm and scored a place to sleep in the United Methodist Church. The lady was super friendly, and ensured I was all set for the night. I had the place to myself, and after a wash in a local swimming hole bought some canned beans for dinner from the local store, and then entertained myself for the evening with the churches musical instruments. They also had ample supplies of Mint Tea, so I was pretty happy!
Day 3: Palmyra to Love, VA. 120km
The maps showed a bicycle shop in Charlottesville only 30km away, so I headed out from the church after a solid breakfast at 8:30am. Charlottesville is quite a big place, and I managed to get lost en route to the bike shop. Making it there, they were able to fix the issue for me without hassle meaning I was back in the big ring, which was fantastic! I tried finding camping gas fuel everywhere to no avail, but did find a very well stocked grocery store:
Onwards west, the day was hot and sunny, and I had already been burnt the previous day, so burn was compacting upon burn. I was trying to stay as lightweight as possible and figured my skin would get used to the barrage of sun and turn brown… which wasn’t quite what eventuated. Cyclists are an odd bunch, and take pride in razor sharp tan-lines, so I figured I didn’t need any sunscreen. This was a big mistake!
100km into the day’s ride I went through a little place called Afton. From there the road started going upwards… and kept going. I had entered the Appalachian mountain range on the Blue Ridge Parkway, which seemed to go on forever, and had me wishing I had more gears.
As the road levelled out I glanced across to my right and saw a black figure in the forest about 100M away. I stopped and could see that this was a small black bear foraging for food. I watched for a few minutes, wary that mother bear could be close, and pressed on. The road was butter smooth, traffic free and had fantastic views to the north.
I finally made ‘Love’ (by myself) around 5pm, and found a camping site just off the route. There I met Mike & Malcolm from Virginia, who were also riding west. We swapped stories of how things had gone so far. Mike has done the Trans Am previously, and mentioned that Kentucky would be tough due to the risk of dog attacks. In lieu of this, Mike has what looks like a hand pump secured to his bike’s frame, but what on closer inspection is actually a solid wooden baton! He’s happy to carry the added weight, and has no qualms at wielding the baton at any canine that dares cross him. I had read about the famed ‘Dogs of Kentucky’ before, but hadn’t thought of any potential strategy in dealing with them by this point. Malcolm and I built a fire and we all had dinner (beans & bread for me). The campsite had a shower and a proper toilet, which was a real treat after three day’s riding. I did manage to block the toilet however, and unfortunately Mike was left with no option but to poop in the forest… I hoped that he wasn’t angry or I might be on the receiving end of a baton beating...
Day 4: Love to Troutville, VA. 121km
Had a decent night’s sleep in the tent (Wild Country Zephyros) and had breakfast with M&M before heading out at half 8. Another sunny day had dawned, and I left M&M taking photos on the scenic Blue Ridge parkway.
The road was now heading downwards which was a nice change, and heading into Vesuvius there was a very quick, and technical descent that I was glad to have new disc brake pads on for. The chain bounced off the big ring on the way down which required a slightly messy roadside fix. At the bottom of the hill I met 2 east bounders, Tuan & Lance who were packed super light, credit card touring style! They warned me of the Kentucky dogs… A few miles further down the road I met another east bounder, a Vietnam vet who was commemorating 50 years since his tour of duty by touring Trans Am. I think cycling is probably a better way to tour. Getting very warm again, I stopped in Lexington for a Veggie burger in a cafe. Just out of a place called Buchanan, I came across two girls from Texas getting a hand mending a puncture from a local cyclist. They had no previous cycling experience and were slowly heading west, armed with youthful vigour and big smiles. They were also heading to Troutville for the night, so I would see them later on. The last 20km riding got really hot, and I was happy to roll into Troutville at 3:30pm. I managed a Hobo-wash under a tap, and stocked up on lots of canned delights from the local store for dinner.
Also staying in the park were Dave & Laura from Winchester, U.K who were heading west, and loving the ride so far. The Texans arrived at 9:30pm and explained they had been held up with even more punctures, and also by a snake!? This snake was evidently not happy, rearing up towards them not allowing them to get by. Eventually the girls flagged down a passing trucker and asked if he could do something. He lined up the snake in his rig, and ran over the poor thing before reversing over it for good measure, then tossed the corpse into the roadside scrub :-/
Day 5: Troutville to Wytheville, VA. 164km
I slept under the shelter, as it was so humid I decided not to bother with the tent. The Zephyros is a well-made piece of kit, but the one-man version was a fraction small for me, to the point that it felt claustrophobic at times. I was learning that a comfortable night’s sleep is as important as anything else, so in hindsight I should have opted for the two-man version with additional space, and lived with the extra 200G-weight disadvantage. With only one mosquito bite under the shelter, I rolled out of town at 8am after wishing the Texans all the best for their adventure. I caught up with Dave & Laura in the first hour and rode with them for a little while. This was a tough day in the Appalachians with the hills and the heat. I stopped for lunch in Christiansburg, which was the end point for Trans Am Map 12! A sense of achievement one gets with the start of a new map. I lunched regally under a tree on the side of the road until I realised I’d been sat on an ant nest… my poor backside. The afternoon got super hot, and I spent it riding from town to town for water stops, and also managed two swims in roadside rivers in an attempt to cool off.
Bottled water was relatively inexpensive to buy along the route, and as the majority of states in the U.S add fluoride I was happy to pay for spring water. Today was a bit of a grind, with the body starting to feel the effects of the hot miles, but I finally made Wytheville at 5:30pm and found a supermarket where I bought some aloe vera cream, as the sunburn on my hands and arms was getting bad:
Subway was had for dinner, and I slept in the city park next to a fence containing a yappy dog. I sometimes felt a little uneasy sleeping in urban parks, and often thought someone with unsavoury intentions may be lurking outside the tent, but they never were…
Day 6: Wytheville to Meadowview, VA. 118km
Thankfully, the weather was cooler and the sun less intense than previous days, and I moved out at 8:30am. Living without an alarm clock was fantastic, and I totally endorse it. I’d generally wake up with the sun, and leisurely get my things in order before breakfast. This usually made for a half 8, or 9am roll out.
The climb that morning between Sugar Grove and Konnarock was spectacular, with trees shading the shoulder of the road, a smooth as silk surface, and virtually no traffic (normal people have jobs to go to J) I spoke with a road crew guy who asked where I was headed, ‘San Fran, man’ I replied. He looked a little concerned, and stated that he ‘wouldn’t even drive to San Fran!’ I’ve got to say that virtually everyone I came in contact with during the ride was interested, supportive, friendly and engaging. I’d built up an idea about America, and Americans based mainly on what I saw in the news, or the times I was in New York, or L.A, but I found that seeing the real America was a total eye opener, and the people are very cool.
What goes up must come down, and the 30km descent from Konnarock to Damascus was one of the loveliest stretches of road I’ve ridden. A gentle, winding affair, with a river and waterfalls flowing right next to you with forest either side on a brilliant surface. It’s moments like this on a bike that make it all worthwhile.
I stopped at Damascus, which is a crossroads for both the Trans Am, and the Appalachian Hiking Trail, so there are a lot of hostels teeming with smelly adventurer types. Making use of the restaurant Wi-Fi I spoke with Nadia, who is someone I’d known for quite a while, but who more recently had become more than just a friend. (Horrible timing, as is the story of my life!) . I’d previously boasted to her that if I kept eating the miles as I had been, then I would be arriving in San Fran early July rather than early August. She’d taken this information on board and booked herself a flight to San Fran for June 30th! So, feeling a little sheepish, I did the calculations as to how far I would now need to ride in order to make the date, and it worked out to 156km per day without rest days. Mental note: Never boast to lady friend! She was currently in Amsterdam with her band, which years back I was playing in before leaving, and subsequently being replaced by her! Funny how you meet people...
Even though the required mileage was going to be challenging, it felt good to have a definite date I had to get there by. And being able to hang out with Nadia in California for a few weeks at the end of the adventure would be way cool. Or perhaps the prospect of not getting there on time, and suffering a woman’s scorn was the bigger motivator! My tan lines would be well in order by that time, and I was looking forward to showing them off ;-)
I made it to Meadowview that afternoon, and found a church shelter open to Trans Am’ers. There was a notice asking cyclists to call the church folk and let them know we were there, but I duly disregarded this and fell asleep with a belly full of Nacho chips and Salsa. (Local truck stop vegan options being fairly limited)
Day 7: Meadowview, VA to Hindman, KY. 220km
The sheriff woke me at around midnight. We called the pastor and squared up the whole deal. I should have adhered to the rules… a habitual rule flaunter I am!
I managed an early start, and was on the road for 7:15am. It had rained overnight and the roads were wet, but there was very little traffic and a favourable wind, so I got busy chewing up the miles. There was a fair amount of climbing early on, and the sun came out which made for good riding conditions. As I approached the Kentucky border the rain started coming down, biblically!
I was descending by this time through the Breaks Interstate Park with rain streaming across the road. The descent was long and the brakes got a solid workout, but thankfully it was warm enough for me not to suffer too badly. The road surface by now had worsened and the sun peeked out again. I careered past a country school at speed, with kids on recess getting excited and cheering me onwards. They must look forward to the occasional mad Trans Am’er rolling by.
Three quarters of the way up a really punchy climb, I looked ahead and saw 3 dogs on the road in the distance. A pit bull, a labrador, and one that looked like a wolf. Â As I went past they surrounded me, with the pit bull and the wolf snapping at my legs. I kicked out at them, and employed some fairly serious language, but they persisted. At this point I got off the bike, as I was still going uphill at a negligible rate anyway, and faced up to the ambush party. The little wolf was a real nasty character with different coloured eyes, like Bowie! He kept going at me, so I picked up a tree branch and swung for the little bastard a few times, to let him know I was serious. With this, he backed off a fraction, so I started walking the bike away, keeping an eye on him. Time and time again he would swoop in for some more. Very het up, he followed me for almost a mile up the road before thankfully losing interest. Welcome to Kentucky!
The afternoon was spent ascending and descending over narrow roads with bad surfaces. I rescued a turtle which had been knocked onto it’s back by a car. The poor thing was bleeding, but seemed grateful.
Further on I saw a few not-so-lucky counterparts of his, often surrounded by birds pecking at them. There were also dead snakes, raccoons, woodchucks, and a skunk. With this, I felt like I’d finally arrived, and it was going to be proper riding from this point on.
I rolled into Hindman at 5pm. It had been a big day, and I was knackered. The maps showed that there was a cyclist hostel there, and as I was looking for the place I met Matt from Washington, who was raising money for Syrian refugees on his Trans Am ride. He showed me up the hill to the hostel, but mentioned the owner wasn’t around. His two riding buddies, Justin & Charlie were also there, and we all went and got pizza and talked of dog encounters. The same dogs had also ambushed them the previous day, which made me feel a little less victimised! You mustn’t take these things personally. The owner of the hostel was a little eccentric by their accounts, and I wasn’t sure whether to call him. I hoped to catch him in the evening and OK me staying in the marquee he’d set up on the lawn specifically for cyclists, but he didn’t get in until after I had gone to bed. As happens in the mountains, a lightning storm came out of nowhere and I heard the owner walking towards the marquee. He yelled out to the guys that the lightning ‘comes up from the ground too’, and that they should probably sleep inside the house. Matt answered him in the affirmative, but nobody went in. I was a little freaked out by this stage, as I’d learned that the owner had a lot of guns, and liked to point them at people. He’d also told the fellas that there was a family of Black Bears on the property, so not to leave any food in pannier bags, or the marquee. I had stashed my peanut butter, jam, bread & Clif bars in a dry bag underneath the front porch of his house. So, with thoughts of being struck by lightning, eaten by bears, or shot at by an 80 year old man for trespassing, I enjoyed a very patchy night’s sleep.
Day 8: Hindman to Berea, KY. 188km
I woke up early and got my things together to make a quick exit. It was about 6am, and I said goodbye to Matt and the boys before leaving the marquee and fetching my bike. Now, all that was left for me to do was collect the stash bag and get going. As I was stealthily heading down towards the house, I could hear classical music being played at quite a volume… it seemed the old boy was an early riser. I weighed up leaving the food there, but I was hungry! Sneaking up to the porch to retrieve the bag, I found it was gone… My thought was that the bag had been moved inside, and I would now need to knock on the door and ask for my peanut butter & bananas back, which I really didn’t want to do! I could see something down the driveway however, and on inspection discovered this to be the remnants of the dry bag. The bears had feasted on my food, but had left me a single banana, and a Clif bar, which I thought admirable of them. I picked up the strewn artefacts, breathed a sigh of relief and hit the road.
Making the most of the early start and cooler conditions I rolled west, managing to avoid any further dog conflict… for the morning at least. They were back that afternoon, however. As the temperature soared above 30 degrees, a trio of what looked to be large corgi’s rushed across the road when I was bombing through a small town. With zero regard for their own safety, they crossed a lane of traffic and were in hot pursuit. Luckily, I had some speed up and clear, flat road ahead so thanked them for their efforts, and pushed a little harder on the pedals until they gave up the chase. The rest of the afternoon was spent trying to stay hydrated, and worrying about the next potential attack. I learnt that the smart dogs don’t bark at you until the last possible moment, i.e. when they’re right on top of you, which gives them the element of surprise and scares the hell out of a man if you didn’t see them coming! Some of them seemed friendly-ish, and gave the impression they were just after a bit of a stretch of the legs, but the majority had the hair sticking up on the back of their necks, and were snarling like wolves. Kentucky was living up to it’s reputation on this front, which was a shame as this perpetual fear detracted from the riding.
Coming upon a gas station in Booneville, I noticed there were 2 touring bikes out front. I went in, bought a PowerAde and met ‘Air’ Jordan & Lincoln from Vermont, who were decked out in Team USA cycling kit & flags on their vintage steel touring bikes. They were characters, and also heading to Berea that night to stay at the local fire station (which is open for cyclist camping). I said I would see them there and pushed on, suffering in the heat, and from the constant hills. I rolled in about 4pm and set up at the fire station. The fire guys were super cool, and let me use their shower room and kitchen. I also found a laundrette nearby which was brilliant, as personal hygiene standards had slipped a little by this stage. Jordan & Linc’ rolled in at 6pm and entertained me with their crazy positivity, and accounts of their ride so far. They had also been ‘dogged’ by the same canine issues as everyone else, and had invested in a plastic horsewhip from a hardware store in Virginia. Upon spotting a potential aggressor, the whip would be struck against a pannier bag letting off a loud ‘Crack!’ This would be enough to send the dog hightailing in the opposite direction, and team USA chalking up yet another victory! When asked if they still had concerns about the road up ahead, Jordan replied ‘No way, man. The more dogs the better!’ Ha!
Day 9: Berea to Hodgenville, KY. 193km
I had the best night’s sleep so far, and rolled out of Berea at 8am riding the first 5km in the wrong direction! Turning around, and back on route, I made good progress under cloudy grey skies and drizzle, which made for a nice change after the warmth of previous days.
The sun did come out in the afternoon, and brought with it the heat. I managed to miss my planned lunch stop in Springfield, and had minimal supplies so was forced to continue on towards Loretto. The road I was following on the route map had ‘Road Closed Ahead’ signs on it, but I risked staying on anyway, and was able to wheel the bike over a half finished bridge, which was the cause of the signage.
Outside the Loretto Fruit & Veg store, I met Joe from New York. He was also headed to Hodgenville City Park for the night and vowed to catch me later, as he was taking a slight detour. I was now riding through Abraham Lincoln country; with the house he was born and raised in flashing by.
The roads were quiet, smooth, and wind was negligible, so I enjoyed the final 50km, pedalling in to the destination late afternoon. The park manager happened to be there when I arrived, and was really accommodating in opening up the gymnasium for me to stay in, as he’d heard there was going to be a storm that night. Things were looking good in there, with showers, and basketballs to play with, badly.
New York Joe rolled in a little later, and we headed to the local Subway for dinner. There was a basketball match happening when we got back, which was good entertainment, and they left about 9pm. One friendly guy asking where we were headed, and warning of the ‘drunk rednecks who won’t hesitate to mow you down and sell your stuff on eBay’ I think he was serious, and he couldn’t believe that neither Joe or I were carrying a gun. He then said, in all seriousness that he had an old shotgun at his place, and would we like to have it!
The body by this stage was feeling ok, as long as I was able to eat and sleep well. I’d been alternating cycling bib-shorts from day to day, but one pair wasn’t cutting it, and had caused a big saddle sore, which I managed to burst in the shower. Saddle sores can get bad enough to keep you off the bike, so I was glad for the pressure release, although this meant I had to ensure the wound stayed clean using disinfectant.
Day 10: Hodgenville to Sebree, KY. 202km
I was woken sometime round 3am to the sound of shouting… the previous night was really humid, and Joe and I decided to leave the roll-a-door of the gym open to allow some air flow. A sheriff’s officer had seen the open door while on patrol, and was now aggressively standing over Joe asking ‘Who let you in here!’ He had his hand ready to pull his gun. ‘Keep your hands where I can see ‘em!’ Oh dear. The lights got turned on, I.D’s checked, the park manager called, and everything sorted out, with even an apology from the deputy! Joe didn’t seem too bothered, or surprised, and was soon snoring.
We got on the road at 7:30am and I spun the first 30km with Joe, who was heading to the Mammoth Caves.
We said our goodbye at the turnoff, and I then got my first real tailwind push as I rocketed towards Sonora for breakfast.
The bike, plus kit weighed in at nearly 50kg, meaning going uphill was never quick, but also meaning that all that mass went downhill like a brick, and once you had speed up on the flats, it was possible to cruise along at 40km/h plus. I had lunch on the roadside at Falls of Rough, and spoke with Nadia for a little while which was great, her being one of those positive, uplifting types!
The original plan for the day was to stop for the evening in Glenville, which on the map showed cyclist only lodging behind the general store, but when I got there, the store had been closed. Not to worry, I consulted the map and saw that there was a church in Sebree with Trans Am provisions, only 40km away. During that stretch, the cable issue reared its ugly head again, and I was back in the little ring! After some frustrating miles, legs spinning like a crazy person, I managed to bodge a fix by gaffer taping the cable to the frame, which stopped it pulling through for the time being.
I met Violet at the Sebree First Baptist Church who was a really genuine, and lovely lady. She’s from California, but is enjoying the quiet life in Kentucky now. She and her husband like to fuss over the touring cyclists as they roll through town, and she insisted on cooking for me… until I explained what veganism entailed, after which she said I should probably just head down to Subway. The church had a dedicated cyclist’s room, with laundry, shower, and a lounge with a pool table and guitars, so I was well catered for.
There was a zumba class on that evening, but nobody showed up for it so I had a chat with the church zumba instructor, to offer her some consolation. I also met the pastor, Tony, who was mowing the lawns, and complimented me on my Beatles ‘Revolver’ shirt, as he is also a big fan. Super people, offering fantastic hospitality for touring cyclists.
Day 11: Sebree, KY to Goreville, IL. 182km
After an average night’s sleep, but a decent breakfast and chat with Nadia on the phone ensuring her that yes, I was on track to make our California connection!, rolling out of Sebree at 8:30am. The first few hours flew by, and I was feeling really good on the bike, making the most of a cooler morning, and flat roads. I stopped at Marion for some fruit, and had my ear chewed off by a local who did the Trans Am back in ’81. He reckoned I was over the worst of the dogs by this point, but mentioned that the upcoming Ozarks were a tough mountain range, much tougher than the Rockies! Back on the bike, I smashed out 45mins and made the Cave-in-Rock ferry, which shuttles cars and bikes across the Ohio river into Illinois! I talked with a nice couple in their pickup truck during the crossing, whose son was in the army. They thought I was nuts. As had been a common theme, the Kentucky people were brilliant, the roads made for great riding, but I was happy to leave the dogs behind.
The first Illinois section from Cave-in-Rock to Elizabethtown was tough, with the road constantly going up and down, (like Cornwall) and my feet got hot and sore. I lunched on chilli bean sandwiches and plenty of fluids, as the temperature was on the up. The afternoon stint was a suffer-fest, but I did gain an hour in time difference, so tried to slow the pace down. I rolled into Goreville at 4pm and headed to the Methodist Church (indicated on map), but there was nobody home, so feeling peckish I wandered down to Subway but didn’t make it, as a car pulled up next to me and out jumped Pastor Andy who asked ‘are you looking for somewhere to stay?’ I met him back at the church and he showed me around. He said that he and his wife would take me to dinner that evening and returned a little while later which gave me time to clean up, hobo style. (A hobo wash is undertaken either in a sink, or using an outside water tap with a flannel and soap) Andy and his wife Rebecca were great, and we enjoyed good conversation over dinner. The church also doubled as the scout meeting centre, and he thought there might be some people there later on, but this didn’t eventuate and I had the place to myself for the night.
Day 12: Goreville, IL to Farmington, MO. 202km
Had a great night’s sleep on the comfy church sofas, and rolled out of town at 8am to the Family Dollar store, where I set about demolishing an entire box of Raisin Bran for breakfast while chatting with an old cowboy in a Jeep. A little later I was riding on a lakeside road when the unthinkable occurred… a bloody puncture! I was using Schwalbe Marathon tyres, which I’d heard reports of people getting 20,000km out of without incident, but a small shard of glass had gone and rained on my parade. I administered a quick patch job, a deer bounding by while the repair was going on. A few miles down the road I could feel the rear was getting bouncy again so, feeling totally ‘deflated’, I stopped at Murphysboro to change tubes… and eat bananas.
Hoping I wouldn’t be ‘let down’ by the Schwalbe’s again, I noted that the route map showed a ‘Mississippi Levee Alternate’ option, which was a few miles longer, but took you through some scenic roads so I decided to roll with it. The wind came on strong, and the levee roads were completely exposed which made for slow progress. While planning the trip, a lot of people had mentioned that in going east to west, I was going to be predominantly riding into the wind… that was a suggestion I promptly dismissed. In hindsight I do have to admit that if the wind was up, it was generally coming right at me. Up ahead, also battling the invisible enemy, I met Tim from Vermont. We chatted for a bit, complaining about the dogs, and the winds, before I went ahead passing by more ominous ‘Road Closed Ahead’ signage. The reason for these soon became quite apparent… the levee had burst, and the road now looked like a river. I’d come too far on the alternate to give up without a fight, so off came the shoes and socks, and I started wheeling the bike through knee-deep water, thankful for the waterproof pannier bags which were half submerged.
The water soon turned to mud, and I was now getting a little fed up, wishing I’d checked road statuses beforehand. As an added indignity, the Led Zeppelin tune ‘When the Levee Breaks’ started playing on repeat inside my head… Finally getting onto actual rideable (it’ll be rideable if I ride it) gravel roads, I pressed on into the wind with my personal soundtrack playing on. I met a kid of about 8 on a full sized quad bike. He looked at my mud-caked lower section curiously and asked where I was headed, and did I need any water? Back onto the main route now, there was a really dodgy 30km slog between Cora and Chester. The road is filled with trucks carrying coal from a riverside port, and when two of these big-boys pass each other, there’s very little space for anyone else.
Happy to make it into Chester alive, (home of Popeye) I looked for somewhere to eat, but was too dirty to sit down anywhere inside, therefore opted for peanut butter sandwiches on a park bench. Off again, and over the mighty Mississippi, I was heading south for a stretch, meaning I had a momentary taste of tailwind! Tearing past the ‘Welcome to Missouri’ sign I wasn’t prepared to stop for any photos, and kept the hammer down on a super smooth stretch of road. All over much too quickly, I soon made a north west turn back into the headwind, and onto an absolute rollercoaster of a road which didn’t let up for the remaining 46km into Farmington, which I hit at 6pm.
There’s a cycling hostel in Farmington called ‘Al’s’, which I was made aware of by the fire station (this was noted on the maps addendum, something I generally didn’t remember to look at until things went awry). I got the door code from the police station and found this fully stocked, cycling oasis a few blocks down the street. Lots of cycling gear inside, but the occupants nowhere to be found, so I explored the town and bought some pasta which I cooked up back at the hostel. Back there, I met Bobby, Jim, Patrick & Keith who were also aiming for the west coast, and were a great ensemble of characters. Patrick had unfortunately been bitten by a dog in Kentucky, and was therefore riding between hospitals for a course of rabies vaccinations. He said the owner of the dog who but him wasn’t terribly helpful, and had stated ‘I ain’t got no money!’ first and foremost, leaving him to foot the $1500 bill for the vaccines :-/ He had also been blown into the roadside drain when two coal-trucks had passed him the previous day, and was sporting some serious road-rash. I told him that the cycling gods would certainly shine down on him soon, hopefully bringing Karma back around.
Day 13: Farmington to Summersville to Houston, MO. 213km
An early start and to a pancake house for breakfast with Mike, Keith, Bobby and bad-luck Patrick, who enjoyed mountains of food, while I sipped a mint tea and ate toast. Being Vegan isn’t terribly social when it comes to eating out at the best of times, and in the middle of America you can forget it! Spoke with the lady friend while the boys packed up and moved out. She, as they tend to, was getting excited for the Californian holiday, and planning what we were going to do already. I shipped out of the hostel and caught the crew about 10miles up the road. Bobby and I rode together for a way, and talked about what was ahead. The Ozarks, the Rockies, Wyoming, Yellowstone & Grand Teton to name a few highlights. It was exciting when you took a step back, and thought about what we were all doing, and everyone I met doing the ride was automatically on the same level as I was. You made great friends in such a short time, shared stories, had some laughs and then wished each other well as you rode off into the sunset. I have a weird thing happen whenever I’m on a bike, in that I only really have the one speed – laying it down! I almost feel more tired if I consciously try and take it easy, so generally cruise at around 30km/h, which is a bit quick for others. Eddy Merckx spoke of the same oddity, so at least I’m in good company with this affliction!
Further along, I had to stop and clear out the dried Mississippi mud from my wheels & mudguards, which I’m sure the bike appreciated. It’s easy to forget this machine is going to get to you wherever you’re going, and she needs to be looked after, and appreciated as much as you do. I’d try and undertake a maintenance check most mornings before setting out, checking bolts, pressures, cable tension etc.
I came across a very tired looking east bounder as I was going downhill, and stopped to say hello. Gert was from the Netherlands, and after being stuck in the Rockies due to snow for a few weeks, was now looking forward to finishing the ride. He’d gotten bored with the massive straight stretches of road in Kansas, and had hired a car for a day to extract himself from them!
The afternoon got really warm again, coinciding with me getting into the Ozark ranges. The riding was tough, but the scenery spectacular, which made for a pleasant distraction.
Rolling through a town called Eminence, I met Alex from Belgium and we rode together to my end destination of Summersville. Alex was heading another 40km down the route to Houston, but I was fairly cooked by that stage so decided not to join him.
I had been experiencing a sharp pain in my quadricep that day, and I found a good store, and ate well before setting up camp in the city park. I was getting a strange vibe from the place, and people had gone by and seemingly scowled at me. At 7:30pm I checked the addendum and saw that camping was no longer allowed there, oh dear! Begrudgingly, I got my dirty cycling gear back on and time trialled it to Houston while the sun was going down. It was a memorable ride, with zero traffic, a nice road, and me hauling arse to beat the impending darkness (I did also have very good lights on, but felt a little uneasy on the road after dark).
Making Houston at 9pm, I was hoping to catch Alex in the city park, but I’m not sure I managed to find it, and ended up in some random place sleeping under the stars on a kid’s playground. There comes a point when you’re too exhausted to care, and can sleep anywhere.
Day 14: Houston to Fairgrove, MO. 128km
The heavens opened early in the morning, and I was forced to move from my night-perch to an undercover arrangement. I figured I was well and truly awake after that, so might as well get on the road. An hour in to the ride I came across a west bound posse, including a couple on a tandem! I stopped and chatted for 15 minutes, noting there was a 3-legged beagle over the road barking like crazy. As I rolled away the little guy raced after me, and to my surprise could really shift! I had to stand on the pedals and put in a dig to evade him, and I have no idea what happened to the couple on the tandem… they might well have become beagle-breakfast. I’m not sure riding across the states on the same bike as somebody else would be all that much fun… imagine if the person on the front had wind!
The scenery was superb, and the leg didn’t give me any more grief that afternoon, although I was feeling a little lack-lustre overall, so tried to go easy on the climbs. I hit Fairgrove at 3pm, and the lady in charge of the park opened up the shower block for me, which was super. More Subway for dinner… I should request sponsorship, a la Happy Gilmore. The road kill was changing as I got further west, with armadillo now particularly prevalent. In some respects it was a little tragic to see the volumes of dead animals on the side of the roads.
Day 15: Fairgrove, MO to Pittsburgh KS. 159km
I had a rough night in the tent after inadvertently leaving the flap open, letting an army of bugs in! Silly amounts of humidity also :-/ Somehow, I managed to get up at 6am and on the bike by half past. Quiet roads, and a gentle tailwind helped push me over the rolling hills. By this stage I was completely done with the hills, and was looking forward to hitting Kansas for some nice flat roads… unless those came with headwinds, in which case I’d hire a car, like Gert!
The roads started flattening out, but a storm was raging, and hailstones falling. I took shelter in the doorway of a farm building, rolling out again once it had settled but half an hour down the road Mother Nature really let loose.
Rain was coming in horizontally, and there was so much wind that I was expecting a cow to fly past. I found a generator shed on highway 126 in the middle of a field, and took refuge for almost an hour. I don’t think I’ve ever seen weather like that.
Half an hour later, I was basking in the sun again. Welcome to Kansas!
Pittsburgh has a fantastic bike shop called Tailwind Cycles, and Roger was able to fix the cable issue for me once and for all, and lube the shifting cables so they were running like new again. He pointed me in the direction of the R.V Park, which acts as the cyclist camping area, and also boasts a shower block, sweet! I found a supermarket, pitched up tent, and was set for a quiet night, when this surfer dude on a touring bike rolled up, introducing in a southern drawl, ‘I’m Biff’.
Biff is a bit of a legend, and I’d heard rumours of him from the riders I’d met previously. He’s one of those people you don’t forget too easy. Born 51 years ago in Virginia, he joined the army at 15 so he could travel and surf. He’s been pretty much everywhere with a surfboard, sung in a Washington Punk Band in the early 80’s, and used to hang out with Pearl Jam before they were Pearl Jam. An incredibly laid back, spiritual hippy who also makes jewellery, we talked about our romantic interests (Biff gets through ladies at alarming rates), and he convinced me that if I was serious about my current relationship, I should bite the bullet and get her an engagement ring, which he would design & craft for me of course! Before I knew it he was doodling potential designs, which involved the Aries constellation in diamonds being embedded into a white gold ring… This all sounds very cool Biff, but ah… how much is it likely to cost? His response, ‘C’mon, man! Do you love this girl, or what?’ I thought about what he was saying, and it actually, kinda made sense! And after further consideration, I vowed to take his advice on board, and propose to Nadia in California! Thanks for the pep talk, Biff. If it feels good, do it!
Day 16: Pittsburgh to Toronto, KS. 158km
Biff was talking about this great place to eat in town called Harry’s Diner, so we got there for 8am, and had some decent food. Inside, we met 94-year-old WWII veteran, Homer, who dropped bombs on Dresden in ’45 before being shot out of the sky. He could tell a good story, and he and Biff soon had the diner listening in to their campfire of communication. On the way out, as we were paying, we were told that our bill had already been taken care of by a fellow breakfast goer, and wished well for our journeys. We then rolled on to Girard together, which is a historic little town and marks the end of that section of Trans Am maps. Biff wanted to check out some memorials, so we said our goodbyes and parted ways. I was happy to have hung out with him, the slightly unhinged uncle everyone wishes they had.
Finally I got to ride on the flat, straight roads I had been pining for after the onslaught of hills. The wind was playing ball, and I had a great morning’s riding. The Kansas roads being mainly traffic-free, I was able to finally perfect the art of peeing without getting off the bike, which I consider to be about as ‘Pro’ as it gets!
The wind had now turned head on, and with the mercury rising I was running low on food and water supplies, so had to go off route for a few miles to a tiny place called Erie, which, as per the maps had a general store. The ‘store’, was a converted house, half falling down, which was reminiscent of the place in the film ‘Deliverance’. I went on in to find nobody there, but did find a bunch of old interesting things, and fridges and shelves with mainly out of date foodstuffs. Out of nowhere appeared Joe, who had been mowing the lawns. Joe’s 74, and has chalked up 7 heart attacks, and 3 strokes. A proper character, and a fundamental Jewish minister in the town synagogue, (which he happens to own) I gave him a serious listening to for an hour and a half! He gets a few Trans Am riders coming by, and wanted a picture and for me to show him on the map where I was from. Joe was still in full swing when a couple of local kids came in wanting fishing bait, so I was off ‘the hook’, and made for the exit but wasn’t allowed to leave until he had taken me in hand, and delivered a very long prayer, which he assured would guarantee safe passage for me all the way to California.
Joe’s store didn’t have a lot for me to eat, so I’d stocked up on water & juice (which Joe wouldn’t allow me to pay for), but I figured the night’s end destination would have food available, so pressed on. It was a lovely evening by that time, very scenic as I approached Toronto lakes. A coyote ambled across the road a little way ahead of me, scampering off when she noticed my approach, (perhaps sensing my hunger) and I rolled into Toronto at 6pm. The gas station was shut, and the rest of the town looked abandoned.
I made for the camping ground, hoping there would be some food available… but was sadly out of luck.
Subsequently, dinner comprised of a bottle of fruit juice, and a third of a jar of peanut butter. But the campground had a good shower, and I managed a dip in the lake. The next town was about 40km off, so I manned up and went to bed hungry, vowing to hit the road early the next day in pursuit of a well-earned breakfast.
Day 17: Toronto Lakes to Newton, KS. 156km
During the night I got out of the tent for a pee (stationary), and saw the most amount of stars I ever have… ever. I craned my head up to the sky for a long time, in awe of the view. The ancient Egyptians believed that a person could receive wisdom direct from the stars, like a direct download to the brain. I was therefore hoping to wake in the morning with newfound genius… but all I woke up with was the hunger, so I packed up quickly and got on the road at 7am, Eureka bound. What looked to be a west to east coast RAAM racer blasted by in the opposite direction, with no time for talk. (The Race Across America has been held since 1982, with these guys & gals often riding 24-hour stints without a break! The record is 7days, 15hours, and 56mins)
Eureka!!!, I cried out as the town came into view. The Dollar General store was open, and I feasted on cereal, canned fruit & sandwiches. I met a nice lady from San Jose, Hope, who was working in a care home next to the store. She and the residents often sat out on the lawn and cheered on passing cyclists, and she told me to stay safe, and enjoy the rest of the ride! I checked Google Maps and could see that I’d made a lot of progress on the bigger scale, coming up to the middle point of the country, on a bike no less!
The flat, hot and windy road to Newton that afternoon had me suffering. At the last service point, 50km out, I met a hip couple who were riding to a mountain bike race in Kentucky, predominantly on dirt & gravel roads. They were both rocking Ray-Ban’s & Rapha, and looked almost as worn out as I felt. The guy had a sweet beard, and told me they had been chased off a farm by a shotgun wielding hillbilly :-/
15km out of Newton I saw signs for a lake at the Harvey County Park, so peeled off route for a swim, which recharged the batteries.
Rolling into Newton at 3pm there was a really good supermarket near the city park, so I stocked up on healthy food, found a tent pitch under some trees, and relaxed for the evening.
Day 18: Newton to Larned, KS. 169km
As was becoming standard, I was woken at 3am with a torch flashing in my eyes and two police officers asking me to show myself. They wanted to know who I was, why I was there, and whether I knew anything about two runaway girls from a nearby youth home. They checked my I.D and the tent, in case I was hiding the escapees miraculously in the already full-to-the-brim Zephyros! (When I was eleven I was involved in an event where you had to get as many kids into a Mini Cooper as possible. I think we squeezed in fourteen, and I imagine three in that tent would’ve been similarly impossible) The police were cool about it, and wished me a good rest of the night’s sleep as they left.
At 6am I was woken again, this time by high volume music pumping out of what sounded like a P.A system. The local high school football team were practising, complete with cheerleaders, and high-fives being thrown about. This signalled it was time for me to get up, before a quarterback came flying through the nylon.
The first hour of riding was superb, with a gentle breeze from behind, but as the heat came on, the wind switched direction and things got tough. I was on a 90km straight piece of road, so straight that you couldn’t see the end of it, it just kept going.
The surface in parts was horrendous, and a small piece of glass found itself embedded in the rear tyre, causing puncture number two. As well as this, my other quad muscle was now failing me, with sharp pain periodically shooting through it. Feeling a touch exasperated, I replaced the inner tube while contemplating the situation. I had probably built up enough of a buffer to justify a rest day, and the signs indicated that the body needed it. I got back on the bike after some food, and rode as gently as possible with the pain only occurring when power was being put down. At this point I had to take stock, reminding myself that the adventure was meant to be fun, I wasn’t racing anyone, and I needed to back off the gas for at least the rest of the day, and try to enjoy it. I was still on target, but it’s mental positivity that gets you through every time.
I hit Larned at 4pm, and it was blistering hot. Checked in with the local police and got authorisation for camping in the city park. A hobo wash in the bathroom, and entertainment in the form of a little league baseball match. There was also a skate park there, and I fell asleep to the sound of the skate-rats doing their thing.
May 31: Larned to Dighton, KS. 155km
A patchy night’s sleep was had, as the skate park went late under floodlights. I had a big breakfast and hit the road for 8:15am. I got a weird vibe from that place, and was happy to get out of town. I was blessed with a small tailwind (any self respecting cyclist will never admit to a large one), making good progress into the morning. I stopped at Alexandria to start on a new map, and met the grounds keeper at the park, Nick. He was really interested in what I was doing, and I think I just about talked him into quitting his job, buying a bike, and riding off into the wilds. I’m not sure his wife and children would have been so enthusiastic, but he may have even returned to them one day, richer for the experience…
By this stage I was checking the addendum (updated info given with the map set which details any changes, road closures, things to consider) regularly, and saw that it recommended an alternate route in a section, due to the original road’s shoulder having recently been rumble-stripped, which forced cyclists into the centre. It noted that the alternate section was gravel/dirt, but I was up for something new, so headed north for what was to be a 16km stretch of off-road fun. There was a good tailwind push, and speeds cranked up to over 50km/h at times, until I felt the front wheel shifting in the gravel and backed off. A crash at that speed could easily result in a broken collar bone or worse, and insurance for cycle touring is virtually impossible to find anywhere, so I had to remind myself to be responsible!
Back on the route there had been a traffic accident, and vehicles were stopped to wait for a rescue helicopter’s lift off. I chatted with a couple of portly police officers who said I was crazy, but wished me luck.
The afternoon stretch got warm, as was becoming the norm, and the left leg today was the one giving me pain. I had decided to keep on riding, and enjoy a rest day in Yellowstone, where I could arrange a day trip and hopefully see some natural wonders. Good news was that the saddle sore was under control, thanks largely to exclusive use of the other pair of bib shorts. These expensive, Italian made beauties were seeing a lot of action, and worth every penny in ensuring a comfortable under-carriage. On the road I met Mike from Manchester, and his friend from Amsterdam who were Virginia bound. They had also been snowed in through Colorado, and gave me a hot tip for a diner in Dighton, which was only 30km away. I found the place, had some fries and pasta, shot the breeze with the friendly Filipino lady there, and then made my way to the local swimming pool for a well earned dip (free for Trans Am’ers) Home for the night was the Dighton City Park, which had been squared away with the sheriff. Happiness!
June 1st: Dighton, KS to Sheridan Lake, CO. 160km.
A second bad night’s sleep on the trot, I rushed to the local gas station to answer nature’s call early in the morning, and buy cinnamon flavoured Cheerio’s for breakfast – delicious. I struggled to get comfortable early on in the ride, with the nagging headwind already blowing at me. Just out of Scott City I met two east bounders, Richard from California, and an older guy, Jim. Jim had started his ride in Pueblo, so was only 3 days deep, and told me of this Cycling hostel in a place called Ordway that was run by a lady from New Zealand. He said the place was very off-grid, and there were animals everywhere, and I should call in on my way through. Jim was a real character, and had a mouth like a sailor. By this stage I was riding on Highway 96, and was doing it tough with big trucks blasting past frequently, and the unrelenting headwinds of torment.  The road surface in parts was also not helping, and I was still feeling sharp pains in the legs sporadically. I didn’t realise at the time, but I was set to be riding down this same stretch of highway for the next 500km!
I made the Colorado State line at 3pm, stopping for a photo (by this point, any reason to stop was reason enough) and entered the Mountain Time Zone, signalling my days of flat roads were soon to be over. Cruising into Sheridan Lake I found Monty at the local garage, whose family own the camping site. He said I must be nuts to be doing this ride, and let me set up camp without charge. A refreshing hobo wash was had (something I was becoming expert at), and a raid of the gas station netted some canned beans, canned spinach, and canned beetroot which was eaten for dinner. I hadn’t had coverage on my phone for a few days, and was missing the contact with friends and family.Â
Day 21: Sheridan Lake to Ordway, CO. 143km
Finally a good night’s sleep, interspersed with more star-gazing – the desired effects I was expecting anytime soon! I was on the road at half past 6, and made good headway with the breeze on my back. Being out of food and water, I had to make do with slender pickings at Haswell Gas station. The station attendant told me there was a popular cyclist’s bathroom stop just down the road in Arlington, so I thought I should visit. You’ve got to check out local attractions, after all. The infamous loo, complete with scrawling on the walls from decades of passing RAAM & Trans Am riders, I found to be in need of a good clean, and the mosquitoes were everywhere…
Pressing on, the wind got nasty and the road got rough, but coming into view were the Rocky Mountains, which spurred me onward. I passed through Sugar City, hoping to find something to eat, but the town had seen better days…
Not to worry, with Ordway being just up the road. I rolled in at 1pm finding a brilliant store with loads of fresh fruit and vegetables, as well as Hank Williams blaring out the sound system – Jambalaya! Following Jim’s advice, received a few days earlier, I found the cycling hostel and met the owner, Gillian, who turned out to be from the same town as me! She’s been in Colorado for 20 years and now takes in people for WWOOF (World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms) on her farm.
In order to stay the night in the cyclist hostel you have to work for a whole 15mins, so I set about taping Elm tree trunks, which stops bugs climbing up and eating the leaves. Gillian has two huge Huskies she rescued, and are about the worst guard dogs I’ve encountered, charging at me on arrival with tails wagging, and slobber flying. She told me the father of the pair was an actual Wolf, which I thought was pretty bad-ass.
I cooked a mountain of pasta in Gillian’s kitchen, and we talked about our old hometown over dinner. I then got busy booking hotels, and a vehicle (A Dodge Ram – if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em) for the California excursion. San Fran, Big Sur, the coast, and the desert with Nadia was going to be epic!
I went to bed with a renewed sense of positivity. Tomorrow, I would be back into the mountains.
Day 22: Ordway to Canon City, CO. 160km
There was a lightning storm in the night, and I slept like a baby. I was up early for breakfast before saying farewell to Gillian, who gave me a big hug goodbye. I was on the bike at half 7 in good weather, on clear roads, and with a slight headwind. Halfway to Pueblo I met a really nice older couple, and their support driver who told me of a brilliant campsite in Frisco, which I would be going through the following day. They tried to off-load a bunch of power bars to me, but I was fully stocked with Bananas, so had to say no, thanks. Five minutes later I met another east bounder from west London, Mark. He was on the last stretch of a yearlong round-the-world cycling mission! We talked bike-touring nerdy stuff for a while, him reckoning New Zealand was the worst place he’d been for near misses on the roads… but he loved the natural beauty, and the people.
Soon after I was on a motorway section that runs into Pueblo, and was gifted a tailwind, which made for some serious rubber burning. I ran over a snake here, unfortunately, not paying as much attention to the road as I should have been. The rain came pouring down in Pueblo, so I waited it out under a shop front until the sun was shining, making my move out of the city and back onto highway 96. The road now was very good, and the tailwind persisted, making for an hour of 45km/h speeds. The scenery at this stage too was on the up, with magnificent views of the Rockies getting closer with each pedal stroke.
I had a break in a nice town called Florence, and spoke with Nadia on the phone while basking in the sun, eating peanut butter sandwiches – doesn’t get much better :-)
I’d made good time, so went easy for the final stretch into Canon City, riding for a way with a kid on a BMX, who did a sweet jump off a curb. ‘You got like 3 foot of air that time!’ – I told him, but he was too young to recognise the Napoleon Dynamite reference. He told me that he was born in San Fran, and it was ‘a real long way to ride’… tell me about it, buddy! There was an Abbey in Canon City, which was the venue to camp, and I arrived at 2pm. Looking at the maps elevation profile, I was deceptively at 5,500ft already, not realising that with the very slight gradient through Kansas, I’d been climbing for the last 700miles. I stocked up on healthy food at a nearby Walmart, and got set for an early night.
Tomorrow, I would hit the high point of the ride over Hoosier Pass, which is 11,542ft! It was set to be a day to remember.
I left Canon City at 6am, keen to get an early start for the mountains. The road was going up and I was ready for it, settling into a steady rhythm and feeling great, I eased into Hartsel for an early lunch break.
From there I enjoyed some nice roads heading towards Fairplay, with lots of bikers rumbling past on Harley’s. The pick-up trucks had been replaced by swanky SUV’s, which looked to be par for the course in Colorado. After passing through Alma, a car pulled over and a middle-aged woman got out. Her name was Marcy, a keen cyclist wanting to say hello, and ask about my ride. She was into long distance off-road races, and wanted to ride the Trans Am some day. We had a good chat for 20 minutes before she bid me adieu, telling me to be careful on the ascent up over Hoosier Pass, as the road narrowed. I was less than 5km from the pass by then, and 40km out of Frisco, where I would be camping.
I started racing bikes aged 5, and riding on the roads soon after. I’ve rolled the dice for three decades, and eventually everyone’s number comes up…
I remember coming to, but must’ve been dreaming, because I swear I was in the back of a helicopter… then to sleep again. The next time I woke, I was in a room with a lot of people wearing masks, looking down on me. They said I was in hospital in Denver, and that I’d been in an accident…
I later learned that an SUV had drifted into the shoulder of the road and hit me from behind, travelling at 55mph. The driver had stopped, and done everything she could to help keep me comfortable until help arrived. I’d been airlifted to Denver in the ‘Flight for Life’ helicopter, with some fairly serious injuries:
11 broken vertebrae (L2-4, T2-9)
Brain haemorrhage, with scalp lacerations requiring 13 staples
3 broken teeth, and I’d also bitten through my tongue
I couldn’t feel much pain due to the medication, and a doctor checked I still had feeling in my lower half using a fairly obtuse technique (latex glove treatment), so I guess things could have been worse. They were unsure as to the extent of the brain bleed with potential long-term problems as it was too early to say, and further scans were needed.
My phone survived, but my clothing, and those wonderful bib-shorts had been cut off of me. I called my sister, but she didn’t pick up, as it was the middle of the night in London. I left a message telling her what happened, and that I was OK. I got hold of Nadia, and delivered the bad news… no more California… she was devastated! She wanted to fly over but I felt awful about what had happened, and didn’t want to cause a fuss, so I said she couldn’t. That same line didn’t work on my mother however, who arrived at my hospital bed a few days later.
We had to hang around Denver for weeks, waiting on flight clearance to get back to New Zealand (damaged lungs can potentially collapse at altitude), which was tough. Trying to sleep in neck and back braces was impossible, and I was sore all over. Standing up, or sitting down would result in a horrible spell of vertigo, eyes darting all over the place, and I couldn’t walk more than a few steps before exhaustion set in. Headaches would come out of nowhere, and I would feel agitated and/or nauseous without reason. My mother was brilliant, and didn’t complain at the burden of her 35-year-old boy depending on her for everything.
During this time, word of the accident had made its way through to Matt Boelter, who I had met way back in Kentucky (while hiding in a marquee, avoiding bears) Matt set up a gofundme page to help out with expenses, and medical bills, which was an incredibly thoughtful touch. (A huge thank you goes out to everyone who contributed - it was truly humbling) In subsequently getting to know Matt, I can only hope to emulate his generous, warm, positive outlook on life. An exceptional guy!
Medical treatment in the U.S is crazy expensive. Even though I wasn’t at fault, with the driver being charged by police, I was liable to pay the near $200,000 bottom line until such a time as lawyers agree on who pays what… which can take years.  Insurance for cycle touring in America was impossible to get, with the only options being coverage for stolen or damaged bikes, and no personal injury or liability cover.
A few weeks later we finally landed in New Zealand, which was a huge relief. Back at the family home I could sleep lots, eat well, play guitar, and enjoy brilliant weather. Once I was able to get up and about more Nadia came to visit, and we had three fantastic weeks together. During this time I asked her the big question of whether she would marry me… and she said yes! Must be even crazier than I am!Â
I’m truly, very fortunate to have found her, to have such great friends, and my brilliant family. Recovery has been a slow process, but I’m feeling better each day, and confident that I’ll be back on a bicycle in time. I heard that the driver of the SUV was really affected by what had happened, and has trouble reconciling with herself how it came to be. I hope that she’s able to move on, as I am fortunately able to, and wish her no ill feeling.
I’ll remember the brilliant characters I met, the incredible times I had, and the crazy adventure embarked upon… and will be back to finish the ride another day.
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