NEW New Touring Model

At the risk of repeating myself, I need to figure out a new model of touring by myself. I probably could have done the last "new" model (100 mile days, motels), but when push came to shove, when the pedals hit the metal, when the piper had to be paid, when it came time to shit or get off the pot, when . . . Well. It didn't happen.

So I slept out in my hammock last night, pretending that I was stealth camping. Actually quite pleasant. The 3/4-size air mattress was the perfect insulator. (All camping hammocks require insulation between your backside and the relatively cool air below; the traditional insulator is a car sunscreen, those foil lined fold-up covers you put on your dashboard to keep your car cool.) But the air mattress is nice because it can be used on the ground, when the hammock is used as a pup tent. 

Could I imagine actually stealth camping?

The funny thing is, I did it numerous times when I was a lad. Jon and I camped along the road on a trip from WI to MI, and another pal and I camped in various places on a trip to Maine, including in cemeteries (which are quite lovely places to pitch a tent). Even back then, I recognized how limiting it was to insist on camping in official campgrounds (or motels) when bike touring. Often, they simply don't exist.

I suspect that, mostly, people don't care when you stealth camp on public property. A few years ago, a group of Rivendell bike tourers were passing through Empire; they asked at the grocery store where they might spend the night, and they were told to just pitch their tents in Johnson's Park. I suspect no one even noticed they were there. (And if they had been questioned, they could have said, "Phil told us to camp here," and they would have been left alone.)

That's the only way to tour: camp in campgrounds when possible and convenient, motels when necessary and convenient, and otherwise stealth camp.

But can I do it by myself, or will I always talk myself out of it?

I'm glad no one other than Chester reads this. Who wants to read the obsessive musings of a self-flagellating failed bike tourist?