Posts
I have set myself the utterly arbitrary goal of riding 200 miles per week this summer. So far, so good. I originally thought I'd allow myself to average 200 miles, which means that I could apply overages to the underages, but that hasn't been necessary, so far. I had to ride around town for three miles one week, but I made my 200.
Update, August 17: I have done it. Last week was my last full week before the semester resumes. I put in at least 200 miles every week all summer. Yay me.
Sunday, July 6, 2014
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Mini-Tour, 2014 (USBR 35, etc)
In all the touring I have done in the last ten years, I have had very little rain. Some torrential rain last summer (a few hours), and a few hours here and there in past years. But nothing epic. This year's rain was epic; torrential; biblical. It rained and rained, steadily, for eight hours on the third and final day of this experimental trip.
I was almost prepared for the rain. The plastic sheet wrapped around my back bag worked perfectly. The contents were bone dry. The plastic sheet draped over the handlebar bag worked and then didn't work. There was a hole where the strap went through, and I think it let in enough water during the day that the contents in the bag got wet. Rain preparedness can only be tested in the rain, and you can't prove that your rain-proofing works; you can only prove that it doesn't work. My handlebar bag was totally dry on the first morning of rain, but that proved nothing. During the deluge, it succumbed, letting in water where it hadn't before. Back to the drawing board.
Anyway, more about rain later. First the details of the trip:
Instead of a long, heroic voyage (see previous posts), I opted for short and functional, commuting (as it were) from northwest to central Michigan, down the west coast of the state, to meet my wife. Three days, 290 miles. Motels all the way. This was to be an experiment in credit card touring.
I wanted to find out if I could happily sustain long (90+ mile) days over three or four days, staying in motels with reservations each night so that I knew what I was headed for, and not trying to cook. It seemed appropriate that when staying in motels I would go long days. I could arrive, take a bath, look for a restaurant or grocery store with prepared food, watch a little TV, go to bed. Rolling in at 6:00 PM or later was ideal, which meant that I had 10+ hours or so to ride. Even with regular breaks, I can do 100 miles in 10 hours.
I followed US Bicycle Route 35 from Empire to Muskegon, then I jumped on to the Muskegon-Detroit route as mapped out by the League of Michigan Bicyclists (LMB). (I jumped off the route on the third day, since I had already ridden most of it, and it was slightly less direct than I wanted.) I rode my Bike Friday New World Tourist, which has become my go-to touring bike, it seems. My old Trek 620 is actually better suited to touring, with its beefier racks and just overall beefiness, but I didn't have it at my starting point. It's easy to have the NWT at all times, because it's so easy to transport. And it rides like a dream, with super easy gears for whopper hills (which I didn't encounter this year), and it's easy to carry up stairs at motels without elevators. Rather than a full rear rack, I opted for a seatpost rack, which is much easier to make fit on the NWT. (Plus, when I need to travel with it, the rack goes on and off much easier.)
I had already ridden all of the USBR 35 route on previous trips to and from Ludington, but it is the most direct route (and quite beautiful). So down M-22, through Frankfort, Elberta, up and down four significant hills between Elberta and Manistee, then back roads to Ludington. The most beautiful stretch is from Arcadia to Manistee along the coast. (Well, my regular ride between Empire and Frankfort is awfully nice, but I do that at least once a week.)
This first day was the hardest of the three. Perhaps because it was a well known route, perhaps because it was the first day, perhaps because my saddle wasn't set right at first, perhaps because of the hills. Probably all of those. It was only 84 miles, but it felt long. I cheered up after Manistee. (Probably the McDonald's milkshake helped.) Ironic that the hardest day had the nicest weather.
I stayed in the Baymont Motel in Ludington, right on US 31 at the beginning of the freeway. Not a very scenic neighborhood three miles outside of town, but then, I wasn't after scenery. I was after convenience, a bathtub, an ice machine, and a grocery store nearby. I found all of those. I'm not very picky about motels; as long as they're reasonably clean and don't smell bad, I'm satisfied. This was actually pretty nice, for such an old place. They're trying to fix it up; I appreciated the effort they are making.
Dinner from the grocery store while watching old movies. Beats eating baked beans from a mess kit while fighting off mosquitos.
The next morning was the first rain of the trip. After an adequate motel breakfast, I set out in full rain gear: Marmot Precip raincoat (protected me from two hours of rain on this first rainy day), Rivendell "splats"
covering my shoes (mostly worked this day), and 6 mil plastic sheeting covering my bag on the back rack and my handlebar bag. As I mentioned above, my rain gear worked fine for the two hours of steady but fairly light rain. I was wet from condensation inside my raincoat, but that's hard to avoid. One shoe was wet at the toe from the splat being set wrong. Ominously, though, the insides of the splats were saturated by the end of the day. Despite Riv's claims, the canvas is not even remotely water proof. What would a full day of rain do to them? Not too hard to guess; I confirmed my guess the next day.
But the ride was beautiful south of Ludington, even in the rain. Right along Lake Michigan (which I mostly couldn't see because of trees and fog), quiet riding, little traffic. I don't mind rain, as long as the riding is nice. My first break was in Pentwater, right on Pentwater Lake, at a picnic table in a nice covered pavilion. It was nice to get out of the rain, take off my raincoat, adjust my splats, have some trail mix. If there had been a coffee shop nearby, I would have gotten a cup of coffee, making the stop perfect. Alternately, if I had carried my mini-stove and pot, I could have made myself some coffee. Even instant coffee would have been good. Must consider for the future.
Once I made it around Pentwater Lake and crossed under the freeway (US-31), I was ready to jump on the Hart-Montegue bicycle trail, which runs for 22 miles from Hart (in the north) to Montegue (Whitehall). The trail loops far to the west at the beginning, so I thought I'd outsmart it by staying on the road across the loop. I soon discovered the reason for the detour. There was some significant climbing. I don't mind hills, but there was probably no time savings by going the shorter route.
In any case, starting in Shelby, I followed paved rail-trails most of the way to Muskegon. Obviously, this was easy riding. In Montegue, the trail turns in to the White Lake Trail, which goes through Whitehall. The map at this point proved to be out of date. According to the USBR route map and the maps along the trail, the trail was supposed to end at White Lake Dr. But it just kept going beyond where it was supposed to end. Naturally, there were no signs identifying the roads the trail crossed (one of my pet peeves), so I didn't really know where I was until I checked GPS. Turns out the White Lake Trail has been extended! Beautiful new pavement heading toward Muskegon. But how far? They need some signs.
There were no signs, no indication of where the paved trail might end. So I took my chances and followed it to the end. I was not amused when it ended on a dirt (sand, really) road. I don't mind dirt roads when they're dry, but this one was still nicely moist from the recent rain. I didn't need to ride very far on it, but it was far enough to make my bike a sandy mess. And then I found myself on the busiest road between Whitehall and Muskegon. Sigh. Not pleasant. I could have detoured farther west to a quieter road, but I chose to take my chances with the traffic. I know I shouldn't have the attitude that the cars (and trucks) will just need to avoid me, not my problem. Because, really, it IS my problem if they don't avoid me. But they did avoid me, so I guess it paid off.
I have never liked riding through Muskegon, and I didn't like it this time either. I hate to besmirch a city's reputation with unfair words, but Muskegon has always seemed grungy to me. They have this beautiful lake that they lined with factories, power plants, and used tire heaps. Ick. I bought a nasty sandwich in a nasty convenience store and ate it at a nasty picnic table in a nasty little park across from a nasty used tire dump. Get me outa here! Rather than follow the USBR 35 route all the way around the lake to where the LMB route starts, I set off cross-city on Marquette Ave. I wanted out as quick as possible.
Once across the freeway, I found a nice Arby's and had a jamocha shake. From Muskegon, the route guide suggested that I should jump on to the Musketawa Trail, which I had never heard of. Turned out to be a very nice paved trail that runs much of the way to Grand Rapids. I got off after 10 miles to head down to Coopersville and my motel for the night (the fairly grubby Rodeway Inn). Total mileage: 92 miles.
After a bath, dinner at yet another Arby's (I like their Reuben Sandwiches), and a little TV, I was asleep by 11:00. Breakfast the next day was awful except for the waffle maker (Fruit Loops, Cheerios, and Rice Krispies were the cereal choices, for example). And when I got out the door, I discovered rain. An ark floated by, animals two-by-two, cluing me in to the nature of this rain.
Oh, it rained. Rained and rained. Eight hours of steady, at times heavy, rain. Here was what worked: the plastic tarp covering my back bag. Totally dry. Success. Here is what didn't work: Everything else. My top was soaking, my shoes were soaking, my handlebar bag was partly soaking. I was sopping, soggy, sloppy. The air was warm, so at least I wasn't freezing. But I was thoroughly wet.
The biggest failure were the splats: Waterproof? Hah! Not even remotely. By mid-day, my feet were exactly as wet as they would have been without covers. The splats work ok for brief rain; I'll use them for commuting, I guess. But for long rides in the rain, I won't bother. Perhaps an equivalent design in visqueen would work? I'll try it.
I trudged (the bike equivalent of trudged, at least) through the rain, heading toward Grand Rapids. I was not amused after 10 miles to find my road closed for construction, with a several mile detour. In a car, such detours are annoying. On a bike, they can be catastrophic. (The detour Jon and I were forced to take around the Cut River Bridge in the UP comes to mind.) This one was mostly just annoying; a little extra riding in the rain.
The LMB route through Grand Rapids worked well. In fact, crossing the city on Three Mile Rd. was one of the highlights of the trip, thanks to the adorable little houses all along that street. Even in the rain, this was a nicer experience than riding across Muskegon in the sunshine.
When I got to Ada (home of Amway!) on Grand River Ave, I decided to leave the LMB cross-state route. It was going to take me farther south than I wanted, to roads I had already ridden. Instead, I just stayed on the river road, as far as Saranac. It rained like crazy, but the road was nice, and the traffic was very light.
I stopped once at a park that had a nice covered pavillion, thinking I could get out of the rain. I got out of the rain, all right, but into clouds of mosquitos. Even with repellent on, I was overwhelmed. I immediately headed back out into the rain.
By this point, I had been riding in the rain for six hours. It had not stopped for even a minute. I needed someplace to get something to eat and dry off a bit. The route I had planning to take, David Highway 30 miles straight across to near St. Johns, had no real towns on it that were likely to have fast food. So I altered course and went down to Grand River Ave, which paralleled I-96. More traffic, probably, but also more direct, and guaranteed to have fast food and convenience stores.
Mostly, this was an acceptable route. Traffic was relatively light, and the road was mostly in good shape. I did find a truck stop with a Subway, where I gratefully got out of the rain and got something to eat. Unfortunately, the air conditioning was turned up so high, I couldn't stay very long. I was sopping wet, and the last thing I wanted to do was hang out in a refrigerator. I went back outside and hung out under the gas station canopy for a while to warm up, then I headed back in to the rain. Surely it would let up soon.
But no. I followed Grand River Ave through Portland, not even stopping for the many fast food choices, and continued on Grand River Ave south of the freeway. This is where my route choice proved problematic. Grand River between Portland and Eagle was pretty awful. Narrow, potholes, lots of traffic. One of those roads where I constantly watch in my mirror for overtaking cars, ready to preemptively pull off the road if there's oncoming traffic (which I did several times).
Beyond Eagle, the road widened again, but the rain didn't stop, even though the sky was getting markedly brighter. The sun was almost out, and the rain was coming down harder than ever. I believe I said, "NOT FAIR!" a number of times. And worse.
By the time the road crossed M-100, the rain had finally stopped. I squished in to McDonald's, had a chocolate shake, and started the final drying out process.
From there, all was sunshine and warmth. Continuing down Grand River, straight into Lansing past the airport, I didn't care about traffic. It was the most direct way into the city, so I was going to take it.
I turned off at the Turner Dodge Mansion on to the River Trail. Less direct, but always fun riding. This was my normal riding turf. I arrived home at 5:30. Total mileage: 102 soggy miles.
Was the trip a success? Yes. Despite the rain. Was the new motel-hopping, high-mileage format a good alternative to the old camping model? I hate to say it, but yes. More about that in a future post. Will I do it again? I'd like to ride Empire to Okemos down the east side of the state at the end of the summer.
I was almost prepared for the rain. The plastic sheet wrapped around my back bag worked perfectly. The contents were bone dry. The plastic sheet draped over the handlebar bag worked and then didn't work. There was a hole where the strap went through, and I think it let in enough water during the day that the contents in the bag got wet. Rain preparedness can only be tested in the rain, and you can't prove that your rain-proofing works; you can only prove that it doesn't work. My handlebar bag was totally dry on the first morning of rain, but that proved nothing. During the deluge, it succumbed, letting in water where it hadn't before. Back to the drawing board.
Anyway, more about rain later. First the details of the trip:
Instead of a long, heroic voyage (see previous posts), I opted for short and functional, commuting (as it were) from northwest to central Michigan, down the west coast of the state, to meet my wife. Three days, 290 miles. Motels all the way. This was to be an experiment in credit card touring.
I wanted to find out if I could happily sustain long (90+ mile) days over three or four days, staying in motels with reservations each night so that I knew what I was headed for, and not trying to cook. It seemed appropriate that when staying in motels I would go long days. I could arrive, take a bath, look for a restaurant or grocery store with prepared food, watch a little TV, go to bed. Rolling in at 6:00 PM or later was ideal, which meant that I had 10+ hours or so to ride. Even with regular breaks, I can do 100 miles in 10 hours.
I followed US Bicycle Route 35 from Empire to Muskegon, then I jumped on to the Muskegon-Detroit route as mapped out by the League of Michigan Bicyclists (LMB). (I jumped off the route on the third day, since I had already ridden most of it, and it was slightly less direct than I wanted.) I rode my Bike Friday New World Tourist, which has become my go-to touring bike, it seems. My old Trek 620 is actually better suited to touring, with its beefier racks and just overall beefiness, but I didn't have it at my starting point. It's easy to have the NWT at all times, because it's so easy to transport. And it rides like a dream, with super easy gears for whopper hills (which I didn't encounter this year), and it's easy to carry up stairs at motels without elevators. Rather than a full rear rack, I opted for a seatpost rack, which is much easier to make fit on the NWT. (Plus, when I need to travel with it, the rack goes on and off much easier.)
 |
| Velo Orange handlebar bag (with homemade bag support) and Riv ShopSack on a seatpost rack |
I had already ridden all of the USBR 35 route on previous trips to and from Ludington, but it is the most direct route (and quite beautiful). So down M-22, through Frankfort, Elberta, up and down four significant hills between Elberta and Manistee, then back roads to Ludington. The most beautiful stretch is from Arcadia to Manistee along the coast. (Well, my regular ride between Empire and Frankfort is awfully nice, but I do that at least once a week.)
This first day was the hardest of the three. Perhaps because it was a well known route, perhaps because it was the first day, perhaps because my saddle wasn't set right at first, perhaps because of the hills. Probably all of those. It was only 84 miles, but it felt long. I cheered up after Manistee. (Probably the McDonald's milkshake helped.) Ironic that the hardest day had the nicest weather.
I stayed in the Baymont Motel in Ludington, right on US 31 at the beginning of the freeway. Not a very scenic neighborhood three miles outside of town, but then, I wasn't after scenery. I was after convenience, a bathtub, an ice machine, and a grocery store nearby. I found all of those. I'm not very picky about motels; as long as they're reasonably clean and don't smell bad, I'm satisfied. This was actually pretty nice, for such an old place. They're trying to fix it up; I appreciated the effort they are making.
Dinner from the grocery store while watching old movies. Beats eating baked beans from a mess kit while fighting off mosquitos.
The next morning was the first rain of the trip. After an adequate motel breakfast, I set out in full rain gear: Marmot Precip raincoat (protected me from two hours of rain on this first rainy day), Rivendell "splats"
 |
| "Splats" |
But the ride was beautiful south of Ludington, even in the rain. Right along Lake Michigan (which I mostly couldn't see because of trees and fog), quiet riding, little traffic. I don't mind rain, as long as the riding is nice. My first break was in Pentwater, right on Pentwater Lake, at a picnic table in a nice covered pavilion. It was nice to get out of the rain, take off my raincoat, adjust my splats, have some trail mix. If there had been a coffee shop nearby, I would have gotten a cup of coffee, making the stop perfect. Alternately, if I had carried my mini-stove and pot, I could have made myself some coffee. Even instant coffee would have been good. Must consider for the future.
Once I made it around Pentwater Lake and crossed under the freeway (US-31), I was ready to jump on the Hart-Montegue bicycle trail, which runs for 22 miles from Hart (in the north) to Montegue (Whitehall). The trail loops far to the west at the beginning, so I thought I'd outsmart it by staying on the road across the loop. I soon discovered the reason for the detour. There was some significant climbing. I don't mind hills, but there was probably no time savings by going the shorter route.
In any case, starting in Shelby, I followed paved rail-trails most of the way to Muskegon. Obviously, this was easy riding. In Montegue, the trail turns in to the White Lake Trail, which goes through Whitehall. The map at this point proved to be out of date. According to the USBR route map and the maps along the trail, the trail was supposed to end at White Lake Dr. But it just kept going beyond where it was supposed to end. Naturally, there were no signs identifying the roads the trail crossed (one of my pet peeves), so I didn't really know where I was until I checked GPS. Turns out the White Lake Trail has been extended! Beautiful new pavement heading toward Muskegon. But how far? They need some signs.
There were no signs, no indication of where the paved trail might end. So I took my chances and followed it to the end. I was not amused when it ended on a dirt (sand, really) road. I don't mind dirt roads when they're dry, but this one was still nicely moist from the recent rain. I didn't need to ride very far on it, but it was far enough to make my bike a sandy mess. And then I found myself on the busiest road between Whitehall and Muskegon. Sigh. Not pleasant. I could have detoured farther west to a quieter road, but I chose to take my chances with the traffic. I know I shouldn't have the attitude that the cars (and trucks) will just need to avoid me, not my problem. Because, really, it IS my problem if they don't avoid me. But they did avoid me, so I guess it paid off.
I have never liked riding through Muskegon, and I didn't like it this time either. I hate to besmirch a city's reputation with unfair words, but Muskegon has always seemed grungy to me. They have this beautiful lake that they lined with factories, power plants, and used tire heaps. Ick. I bought a nasty sandwich in a nasty convenience store and ate it at a nasty picnic table in a nasty little park across from a nasty used tire dump. Get me outa here! Rather than follow the USBR 35 route all the way around the lake to where the LMB route starts, I set off cross-city on Marquette Ave. I wanted out as quick as possible.
Once across the freeway, I found a nice Arby's and had a jamocha shake. From Muskegon, the route guide suggested that I should jump on to the Musketawa Trail, which I had never heard of. Turned out to be a very nice paved trail that runs much of the way to Grand Rapids. I got off after 10 miles to head down to Coopersville and my motel for the night (the fairly grubby Rodeway Inn). Total mileage: 92 miles.
After a bath, dinner at yet another Arby's (I like their Reuben Sandwiches), and a little TV, I was asleep by 11:00. Breakfast the next day was awful except for the waffle maker (Fruit Loops, Cheerios, and Rice Krispies were the cereal choices, for example). And when I got out the door, I discovered rain. An ark floated by, animals two-by-two, cluing me in to the nature of this rain.
Oh, it rained. Rained and rained. Eight hours of steady, at times heavy, rain. Here was what worked: the plastic tarp covering my back bag. Totally dry. Success. Here is what didn't work: Everything else. My top was soaking, my shoes were soaking, my handlebar bag was partly soaking. I was sopping, soggy, sloppy. The air was warm, so at least I wasn't freezing. But I was thoroughly wet.
The biggest failure were the splats: Waterproof? Hah! Not even remotely. By mid-day, my feet were exactly as wet as they would have been without covers. The splats work ok for brief rain; I'll use them for commuting, I guess. But for long rides in the rain, I won't bother. Perhaps an equivalent design in visqueen would work? I'll try it.
I trudged (the bike equivalent of trudged, at least) through the rain, heading toward Grand Rapids. I was not amused after 10 miles to find my road closed for construction, with a several mile detour. In a car, such detours are annoying. On a bike, they can be catastrophic. (The detour Jon and I were forced to take around the Cut River Bridge in the UP comes to mind.) This one was mostly just annoying; a little extra riding in the rain.
The LMB route through Grand Rapids worked well. In fact, crossing the city on Three Mile Rd. was one of the highlights of the trip, thanks to the adorable little houses all along that street. Even in the rain, this was a nicer experience than riding across Muskegon in the sunshine.
When I got to Ada (home of Amway!) on Grand River Ave, I decided to leave the LMB cross-state route. It was going to take me farther south than I wanted, to roads I had already ridden. Instead, I just stayed on the river road, as far as Saranac. It rained like crazy, but the road was nice, and the traffic was very light.
I stopped once at a park that had a nice covered pavillion, thinking I could get out of the rain. I got out of the rain, all right, but into clouds of mosquitos. Even with repellent on, I was overwhelmed. I immediately headed back out into the rain.
By this point, I had been riding in the rain for six hours. It had not stopped for even a minute. I needed someplace to get something to eat and dry off a bit. The route I had planning to take, David Highway 30 miles straight across to near St. Johns, had no real towns on it that were likely to have fast food. So I altered course and went down to Grand River Ave, which paralleled I-96. More traffic, probably, but also more direct, and guaranteed to have fast food and convenience stores.
Mostly, this was an acceptable route. Traffic was relatively light, and the road was mostly in good shape. I did find a truck stop with a Subway, where I gratefully got out of the rain and got something to eat. Unfortunately, the air conditioning was turned up so high, I couldn't stay very long. I was sopping wet, and the last thing I wanted to do was hang out in a refrigerator. I went back outside and hung out under the gas station canopy for a while to warm up, then I headed back in to the rain. Surely it would let up soon.
But no. I followed Grand River Ave through Portland, not even stopping for the many fast food choices, and continued on Grand River Ave south of the freeway. This is where my route choice proved problematic. Grand River between Portland and Eagle was pretty awful. Narrow, potholes, lots of traffic. One of those roads where I constantly watch in my mirror for overtaking cars, ready to preemptively pull off the road if there's oncoming traffic (which I did several times).
Beyond Eagle, the road widened again, but the rain didn't stop, even though the sky was getting markedly brighter. The sun was almost out, and the rain was coming down harder than ever. I believe I said, "NOT FAIR!" a number of times. And worse.
By the time the road crossed M-100, the rain had finally stopped. I squished in to McDonald's, had a chocolate shake, and started the final drying out process.
From there, all was sunshine and warmth. Continuing down Grand River, straight into Lansing past the airport, I didn't care about traffic. It was the most direct way into the city, so I was going to take it.
I turned off at the Turner Dodge Mansion on to the River Trail. Less direct, but always fun riding. This was my normal riding turf. I arrived home at 5:30. Total mileage: 102 soggy miles.
Was the trip a success? Yes. Despite the rain. Was the new motel-hopping, high-mileage format a good alternative to the old camping model? I hate to say it, but yes. More about that in a future post. Will I do it again? I'd like to ride Empire to Okemos down the east side of the state at the end of the summer.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
USBR 35
Pleased as I am that the US Bicycle Route planners chose to run USBR through Empire, I am startled and appalled at their choice of route between Mackinaw City and Empire. (The maps can be found here.) For example, it takes riders on one of the busiest roads—a commercial artery—in northern Michigan, US-31 between Eastport and Elk Rapids, which has virtually no shoulder, rather than routing it on beautiful quiet roads along Torch Lake. It takes riders on a treacherous stretch of M-22 (Manitou Trail) between Leland and Glen Arbor (again, heavy traffic, no shoulder), rather than routing them on a gorgeous stretch along Lake Lelanau, then through Cedar and Maple City. These are stretches of road that I avoid at all costs because they are so dangerous.
What's the point of the bicycle route system if the routes they choose are unfit for bicycling? If I'm a bike tourist, I want a route that I can trust to be safe, such as the Adventure Cycling routes, which are reliably safe. The USBR system isn't reliably safe, at least not in northwest Michigan.
What's the point of the bicycle route system if the routes they choose are unfit for bicycling? If I'm a bike tourist, I want a route that I can trust to be safe, such as the Adventure Cycling routes, which are reliably safe. The USBR system isn't reliably safe, at least not in northwest Michigan.
Friday, April 11, 2014
The Evolving Model of Bike Touring
Winter is finally over, although it didn't give up without a fight. Single digits right through March. Near record snow. We will touch 70 for the first time tomorrow (April 12). We were consistently 20˚ below normal for highs and lows all winter.
In any case, warm weather brings thoughts of summer tours. It looks I'll be touring by myself, again. Last year, I thought I was going to follow the old model of going from campground to campground, but it didn't work. I only camped once. Partly because there were few convenient campgrounds, partly because camping by myself isn't much fun, and partly because I could afford to stay in motels with showers and TV. And because motels tend to be near restaurants.
So the new model for touring is motel-centric, with camping secondary. I was going to abandon camping altogether, but one possible trip takes me across the north shore of Lake Erie, where there are more provincial parks than motels.
But no cooking gear, no extra cold gear, minimal extra tarpage, etc. The goal is ease of transport. All my trips will probably involve mass transit in at least one direction. Last summer's awful experience hauling the folding bike and a full set of camp-touring gear convinced me that I should never do it again. Even when I camp, no more cooking, no more Be Prepared For Everything. Small enough, light enough, that walking a few blocks while carrying it all should be possible. (OMG, the nightmare of hauling my gear through the Boston train station last summer. Never again.)
Camping is to be the exception, only if a campground is exactly on the route and desirable. I'll take a tent, pad, and sleeping bag. And flashlight. And that's about it. But mostly, hotels. And reservations ahead of time, so there's no worry about where I'm going to stay. That will allow for longer days, since I can take my time, knowing that I won't get stranded.
Stay tuned. Planning is in progress for a potentially longish (800 mile) trip. Maybe with the new philosophy of touring, I can do it.
UPDATE MAY 24
Still debating. I have a trip planned out: Okemos to Rome, NY, which would continue the cross-country-by-installments endeavor. I'd camp for three nights in Canada (right on Lake Erie), then stay in motels and B&Bs. Seven days of riding, 500 miles or so. I was originally going to go all the way to NYC, but that seems unlikely. As I think about the shorter trip, it's starting to seem unlikely, too. Do I want to do it? Reading last year's trip log, it seemed about 50% worth doing. The first three days were fine, despite the heat. Nice scenery, adequate towns, pleasant roads. The days in the Adirondacks were less nice. Too desolate. Not enough convenience stores.
Isn't that pathetic? Not enough convenience stores? Is that why I do it? For the convenience stores? Partly. Maybe that's not a good enough reason to do it. Just saying.
I have been wrestling with the question of why I bike tour as I decide whether to embark on another one this summer. It's not just for the biking. I can do that in northern Michigan, which is significantly more beautiful and better biking than in the ugly stretch between Buffalo and Syracuse. It's not really for the sight-seeing. I don't actually see that much, at least not after the first 40 miles. The camping isn't fun.
I think it's for the challenge and sense of accomplishment. Can I ride 500 miles in seven days? I know I can; I've done it numerous times. Can I do it again? The thought of starting at my house and setting off toward Canada is appealing. Taking the ferry across the St. Clair River, riding along Lake Ontario. That all sounds interesting. But is it fun? Hm. This must be answered on two levels.
First, on the lowest level, no, it's often (half the time?) not fun. It can be quite miserable, slogging out mile after mile at the end of the day. Why subject myself to this?
Here's an aside: How do people ride brevets (bike rides of 120, 180, 240, etc, miles)? How do they do it? As to why they do it, that's easy. They do it to prove that they can do it. To accomplish something. We can't all cure cancer or get elected to congress. But we can all set a goal—running a marathon, riding a 400K brevet, riding cross country—and accomplish it. And when we've accomplished it, what do we have to show for it? Nothing. Memories (often painful ones) and bragging rights. And maybe that's enough. Maybe it's all about our deathbeds: Do we want to be able to say that we accomplished things in our lives, even if it's just riding across the country in 500 mile installments? Maybe. (And as an aside to my aside, I have ridden 160 miles in one day, back when I was 16. Rock hard plastic saddle and all. But that doesn't count because 16 year olds aren't human.)
So no, it's often not fun on the lowest level. Is it fun on higher levels? After a good dinner and a few beers? Sure. Having done it is fun. Fun enough to do it again? That's the question.
UPDATE JULY 6
I opted out of the MI-to-NY trip this summer, choosing, instead, to experiment with credit card touring in Michigan. I rode from Empire to Okemos, three long days down the west side of the state, then across (290 miles). I carried everything in a seat bag (or its equivalent) and handlebar bag. No tent, no sleeping bag, no cooking gear. I made reservations so that I knew exactly where I was headed each day. I ate in restaurants or prepared food from grocery stores.
Despite riding 80 miles in drenching rain one day, it was a good trip. I'm not exactly sure why . . . there was no quality communing with nature (other than riding a bike through it, but that's not exactly communing). The motels were cheap and far from being vacation destinations. And yet, it was fun (to answer my question above). I easily could have done one more day. I could imagine doing two more days, even, for a total of 500-ish miles.
As many would ask, why was it fun? Riding 90 miles a day, eating trail mix and fast food milkshakes, getting rained on, what's fun about that? What's fun about anything? For me, it's fun as long as it doesn't hurt. More specifically, as long as my butt doesn't hurt. This trip was a success in that regard. I had a good combination of saddle and shorts, so even after three days, I was relatively saddle-sore free. Perhaps the baths and cortisone cream every night helped. Perhaps that was too much sharing.
In any case, warm weather brings thoughts of summer tours. It looks I'll be touring by myself, again. Last year, I thought I was going to follow the old model of going from campground to campground, but it didn't work. I only camped once. Partly because there were few convenient campgrounds, partly because camping by myself isn't much fun, and partly because I could afford to stay in motels with showers and TV. And because motels tend to be near restaurants.
So the new model for touring is motel-centric, with camping secondary. I was going to abandon camping altogether, but one possible trip takes me across the north shore of Lake Erie, where there are more provincial parks than motels.
But no cooking gear, no extra cold gear, minimal extra tarpage, etc. The goal is ease of transport. All my trips will probably involve mass transit in at least one direction. Last summer's awful experience hauling the folding bike and a full set of camp-touring gear convinced me that I should never do it again. Even when I camp, no more cooking, no more Be Prepared For Everything. Small enough, light enough, that walking a few blocks while carrying it all should be possible. (OMG, the nightmare of hauling my gear through the Boston train station last summer. Never again.)
Camping is to be the exception, only if a campground is exactly on the route and desirable. I'll take a tent, pad, and sleeping bag. And flashlight. And that's about it. But mostly, hotels. And reservations ahead of time, so there's no worry about where I'm going to stay. That will allow for longer days, since I can take my time, knowing that I won't get stranded.
Stay tuned. Planning is in progress for a potentially longish (800 mile) trip. Maybe with the new philosophy of touring, I can do it.
UPDATE MAY 24
Still debating. I have a trip planned out: Okemos to Rome, NY, which would continue the cross-country-by-installments endeavor. I'd camp for three nights in Canada (right on Lake Erie), then stay in motels and B&Bs. Seven days of riding, 500 miles or so. I was originally going to go all the way to NYC, but that seems unlikely. As I think about the shorter trip, it's starting to seem unlikely, too. Do I want to do it? Reading last year's trip log, it seemed about 50% worth doing. The first three days were fine, despite the heat. Nice scenery, adequate towns, pleasant roads. The days in the Adirondacks were less nice. Too desolate. Not enough convenience stores.
Isn't that pathetic? Not enough convenience stores? Is that why I do it? For the convenience stores? Partly. Maybe that's not a good enough reason to do it. Just saying.
I have been wrestling with the question of why I bike tour as I decide whether to embark on another one this summer. It's not just for the biking. I can do that in northern Michigan, which is significantly more beautiful and better biking than in the ugly stretch between Buffalo and Syracuse. It's not really for the sight-seeing. I don't actually see that much, at least not after the first 40 miles. The camping isn't fun.
I think it's for the challenge and sense of accomplishment. Can I ride 500 miles in seven days? I know I can; I've done it numerous times. Can I do it again? The thought of starting at my house and setting off toward Canada is appealing. Taking the ferry across the St. Clair River, riding along Lake Ontario. That all sounds interesting. But is it fun? Hm. This must be answered on two levels.
First, on the lowest level, no, it's often (half the time?) not fun. It can be quite miserable, slogging out mile after mile at the end of the day. Why subject myself to this?
Here's an aside: How do people ride brevets (bike rides of 120, 180, 240, etc, miles)? How do they do it? As to why they do it, that's easy. They do it to prove that they can do it. To accomplish something. We can't all cure cancer or get elected to congress. But we can all set a goal—running a marathon, riding a 400K brevet, riding cross country—and accomplish it. And when we've accomplished it, what do we have to show for it? Nothing. Memories (often painful ones) and bragging rights. And maybe that's enough. Maybe it's all about our deathbeds: Do we want to be able to say that we accomplished things in our lives, even if it's just riding across the country in 500 mile installments? Maybe. (And as an aside to my aside, I have ridden 160 miles in one day, back when I was 16. Rock hard plastic saddle and all. But that doesn't count because 16 year olds aren't human.)
So no, it's often not fun on the lowest level. Is it fun on higher levels? After a good dinner and a few beers? Sure. Having done it is fun. Fun enough to do it again? That's the question.
UPDATE JULY 6
I opted out of the MI-to-NY trip this summer, choosing, instead, to experiment with credit card touring in Michigan. I rode from Empire to Okemos, three long days down the west side of the state, then across (290 miles). I carried everything in a seat bag (or its equivalent) and handlebar bag. No tent, no sleeping bag, no cooking gear. I made reservations so that I knew exactly where I was headed each day. I ate in restaurants or prepared food from grocery stores.
Despite riding 80 miles in drenching rain one day, it was a good trip. I'm not exactly sure why . . . there was no quality communing with nature (other than riding a bike through it, but that's not exactly communing). The motels were cheap and far from being vacation destinations. And yet, it was fun (to answer my question above). I easily could have done one more day. I could imagine doing two more days, even, for a total of 500-ish miles.
As many would ask, why was it fun? Riding 90 miles a day, eating trail mix and fast food milkshakes, getting rained on, what's fun about that? What's fun about anything? For me, it's fun as long as it doesn't hurt. More specifically, as long as my butt doesn't hurt. This trip was a success in that regard. I had a good combination of saddle and shorts, so even after three days, I was relatively saddle-sore free. Perhaps the baths and cortisone cream every night helped. Perhaps that was too much sharing.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
The Epic Winter Continues
The temperature has been consistently in single digits or below zero most mornings this semester. Today was warm at 19˚. Tomorrow they're predicting -1˚. Next week, lots of 0˚ predictions. Sheesh.
It was -9˚ one day last week. I was warm enough (even without the snow pants, just long johns and MUSA pants), but my goggles iced over, almost completely. That's a big problem. You can't see, but you can't take them off. You even hate to expose your hands long enough to take them off and scrape out the ice (on the inside, of course).
Now we're getting 5" of snow on top of the icy, cut-up snow that was already there. That with -1˚ is going to make for an unpleasant ride tomorrow. Sigh. This is the most severe winter of my bike-commuting career. I'm doing it, but I'm not really enjoying it very much. Spring, if it ever comes, will be sweet.
Update: We got 7" today on top of 6" over the weekend, much of which was smashed down by cars and pedestrians rather than plowed up. That kind of conditions, new snow that has been chopped up and smashed down by cars and pedestrians on top of similarly chopped up old snow, makes riding literally impossible. The bike simply doesn't roll through that crap. I had to push my bike the last 1/2 mile. Perhaps my Trek with the studded 38mm (1.5") tires would have been able to cut through the slop better than the 2" tires.
If our street isn't plowed by tomorrow morning, I'm taking the bus.
It was -9˚ one day last week. I was warm enough (even without the snow pants, just long johns and MUSA pants), but my goggles iced over, almost completely. That's a big problem. You can't see, but you can't take them off. You even hate to expose your hands long enough to take them off and scrape out the ice (on the inside, of course).
Now we're getting 5" of snow on top of the icy, cut-up snow that was already there. That with -1˚ is going to make for an unpleasant ride tomorrow. Sigh. This is the most severe winter of my bike-commuting career. I'm doing it, but I'm not really enjoying it very much. Spring, if it ever comes, will be sweet.
Update: We got 7" today on top of 6" over the weekend, much of which was smashed down by cars and pedestrians rather than plowed up. That kind of conditions, new snow that has been chopped up and smashed down by cars and pedestrians on top of similarly chopped up old snow, makes riding literally impossible. The bike simply doesn't roll through that crap. I had to push my bike the last 1/2 mile. Perhaps my Trek with the studded 38mm (1.5") tires would have been able to cut through the slop better than the 2" tires.
If our street isn't plowed by tomorrow morning, I'm taking the bus.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Sub-Zero
First sub-zero ride of the winter. (There have been ample opportunities, including one morning that had -13˚, but I drove to work with my wife those days.) Today was only -1˚, so not cold by recent standards, but definitely cold-ish.
The gear:
Long johns, MUSA pants (thin nylon), insulated snow pants: perfectly warm legs.
Insulated winter boots, thin socks, thick socks: toes were cold by the end.
Thin SmartWool base shirt, thicker wicking Under Armor shirt, fleece vest, wind-breaker: A smidge too warm.
Fleece neck/face gaiter, fleece hat, clear goggles: A smidge too warm, but nice.
Snowmobile gloves covered with rain booties for wind-breakage: Awkward but warm.
This outfit would have been OK down to maybe -10˚. Below that, it's probably time to take a bus.
Later:
I soon realized that the extra snow pants weren't necessary. Just long johns and nylon pants were plenty. The warm snowmobile mittens were also sufficient, without the extra wind-blockage of the rain booties.
The gear:
Long johns, MUSA pants (thin nylon), insulated snow pants: perfectly warm legs.
Insulated winter boots, thin socks, thick socks: toes were cold by the end.
Thin SmartWool base shirt, thicker wicking Under Armor shirt, fleece vest, wind-breaker: A smidge too warm.
Fleece neck/face gaiter, fleece hat, clear goggles: A smidge too warm, but nice.
Snowmobile gloves covered with rain booties for wind-breakage: Awkward but warm.
This outfit would have been OK down to maybe -10˚. Below that, it's probably time to take a bus.
Later:
I soon realized that the extra snow pants weren't necessary. Just long johns and nylon pants were plenty. The warm snowmobile mittens were also sufficient, without the extra wind-blockage of the rain booties.
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