Wednesday, September 29, 2010

60 mile sojourn

There is nothing like breakfast at a Bed and Breakfast when you're on a bike tour. Nicole and I woke up at the usual time (7:30 am) with no tent to take down or stove to light. Instead, we walked downstairs into the dining area and had tea and coffee while we waited for our "Breakfast Burritos".

The plush treatment would not last, however. Nicole's ankle had been bothering here. We attributed this problem to the heel of her shoe. Nicole pronates outward with her left foot somewhat. We wondered if her foot was rubbing up against the structure of the shoe. We decided to cut part of the shoe off to see if that would eliminate the problem.

Wiscasset Bay, one 15 million bays along the Maine Coast.
From the Newcastle Inn we backtracked over the Damariscotta River into the town of Damariscotta (no more than a mile away). We purchased an icy hot bandage for Nicole in hopes that she could ride through pain into Portland where we could go to walk-in if things did not improve.

No sooner than we reached route 1 did we see something out of the ordinary: a wild turkey in flight! The bird looked uncharacteristically graceful as he flapped his wings and then glided across the road only to disappear into the nearby woods.

Our next unusual sight was about 20 miles down the road near Bath Iron Works. As impressive it was to see two brand spanking new U.S. Navy destroyers, it paled in comparison to the nearby bridge over the Kennebec River. The photo says more than words ever could.

What's even scarier is that the rail portion of the bridge is still in use today.
It was almost lunch time, but to save money we decided to ride past "downtown" Bath and find someplace more economical on the edge of town. Unfortunately, the "edge" of town had but one restaurant and that was closed on Sunday!

Desperate for any sort of caloric intake to hold us over until we could find real food, our eyes turned immediately to the left of the restaurant: A beer and liquor store. Maybe, just maybe they had a soda or something.

As soon as we walked inside, the clerk's eyes lit up as he saw these two bicycle traveler's walk in.

"Hey" said the heavy set, salt and pepper mustached man. "Where are you going?

We told him of our plans to go to the wedding in Massachusetts and then onward to Florida. "Wow," he said. "That's amazing." Then he added, "I'm hoping to hike the Appalachian Trail once I win PowerBall."

He had questions, lots of questions. Where did we start from, how much are we carrying with us and so on.

"Well God bless you," he said. "And have a safe trip."

With his blessing, and some Gatorade and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, we walked out and refueled, unsure as to when we find our next full meal. After we refilled our water bottles with Gatorade, I looked around to see if there was a place where I could recycle our highly desirable PET plastic. Then I saw the clerk waving me in. Suddenly, I felt silly: I had forgotten that Maine has a bottle deposit on just about every PET bottle on the market, including Gatorade. I gave him our empty 3 bottles and he exchanged me 15 cents. We each said goodbye and farewell one last time and Nicole and I were on our way.
Vintage Maine.


Fortunately, the ride from Bath to Brunswick is quite pleasant, courtesy of the East Coast Greenway. We enjoyed about six and half miles of flat, car free traffic and made terrific time. It's a good thing, because by the time we rode into Brunswick, all the lunch places where within 15 minutes of closing time. That's Sunday for you.

It was a long ride for Nicole into Portland. Her ankle was hurting something nasty. She nearly would have given up if not for some neighborhood kids on the outskirts of town cheering us on. It gave us some much needed moral support as we once again linked up with the East Coast Greenway across Portland's Back Cove and through the center of town. We checked in at a La Quinta and unpacked for the night.

Before we went to bed, I picked up my phone to call Chris and let him know where we were. First I had some unheard messages, all from Chris.

"Kevin," he said. "I stayed on Route 1 the whole time. It turned into the highway at one point. That was an interesting experience."
Delorme's headquarters is just outside Portland.

Luckily, Chris was okay. I called him about it and he told me that in the midst of 70 mile an hour traffic, the drivers were kind enough to give him the right of way--on a left exit no less.

Nicole had chastised me for avoiding Route 1. In retrospect, I think it was worth it.

60 miles down. 205 miles in the last four days . . .

Confusion at the Campground

Sept. 18th

Unbelievable. It's 8:30 pm and it feels like midnight. Here's a recap:

3 o'clock in the morning and Nicole nudges me awake.

"Kevin," she says. "I think there's something near our tent."

I wake up, groggily. It does sound like there is a creature rustling about, and there were signs posted about a skunk infestation in the campground. And obviously we don't want a skunk wandering about.
The source of the confusion: Chris' hammock/tent.

"Do you think it's Chris?"

"Maybe," I say, hopefully. I can definitely feel the presence of a live animal lurking around. Then we hear zippers.

"It's Chris," Nicole says, quite relieved. Not me. Now I start to get paranoid. Is it a thief? Everyone else at the campground has huge RVs and campers. What could they want from us?

Eventually I hear Chris cough  and hear his footsteps trail off towards the restroom. I know it's him, but my fight-or-flight response takes a while to trigger down before I finally go back to sleep.

Come morning, Nicole and I are both sleep deprived. We tell Chris we thought he was  skunk and he is flattered.


A new recruit for our bike trip?
Nicole and I are a bit slow taking the tent down and packing up. We don't roll out of the campground until about 10:30 am--a full two hours later than it took us to pack up and leave from Acadia. Fortunately, downtown Camden is downhill and just a mile and half away. We roll into the center of town and enjoy a nice brunch before we hit the road again.




Even after tourist season has slowed down, downtown Camden is in full swing.
   The road turns out to include more hill climbs than anticipated. The Adventure Cycling map measures inclines 250 feet at a time. What looks like a relatively flat ride on paper turns out to be several climbs to 240 feet. Ouch!

We ride on, but after about 30 miles, Nicole has had enough. I encourage Chris to ride on while Nicole and I take a break. We turn in to nearby Newcastle. We check it an a B&B and eat dinner at the nearby Newcastle Publick House. We each order a haddock sandwich with an appetizer of steamed Prince Edward Island mussels. I don't usually eat shellfish, but they were fresh and delightfully tasty. Oddly enough, they were all out of Newcastle!
The Newcastle Inn (Bed & Breakfast). Newcastle, Maine.



And now it's 8:30, lights out for
Nicole and me . . .

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

We ride with Chris to Camden

Sept. 17th

It rained last night, and unfortunately, tents don't get priority real estate at the RV camp. As soon as I walked out of my tent my feet were greeted with several feet of pure, saturated mud. I gently made my way out of the tent and towards dry land.

Nicole was not so lucky. She took one step out of the tent and the mud swallowed her sandal! Just one step and it vanished in the cream soup-like puddle of Shady Oaks campground.

"That's a trip ender right there," joked Chris. Apparently, he was wise to sleep in a hammock instead of a tent. We all knew we weren't going to let any mud bother us, but Shady Oaks seemed to want to shake its fist at us one last time before we left.

It's good lemonade, but Chris still wants Denny's.
After breakfast, we saddled up and pedaled towards the main gate. It was like a parking lot where you push a button and the gate lifts. Easy enough, right? Except that when we pushed the button, the gate went down as quickly as it went up and poor Nicole got socked on the head! Good thing for helmets, otherwise it would have been a trip ender and worse.


Things got better once we got out of the campground. From Orland we rode to Belfast, Maine, a small town that is practically a major city by Maine standards. It has a harbor and an airport. It also lay claim to Darby's Restaurant and Pub. Nicole and I decided it was the best this city had to offer. Although Chris is a huge fan of miserable dining experiences, he decided to go along with us and give good food a try.

Chris and I take a break at the pedestrian bridge to Belfast.
We saw this sign outside Lincolnville. We decided not to buy it.
From Belfast we pedaled onwards to Camden Hills State Park. I made the mistake of trusting my Garmin 605 GPS for the address of the campground rather than call the place directly. The GPS took us to the State Park allright--just on the other side of a mountain hiking trail! We had to ride an extra 5 miles in total to get back to Route so that we could check in and put and put our stakes down.

Chris refuels while Kevin curses the fallacy of his GPS.
Once we got to the campground, though, it was beautiful. The park itself is huge, as we had already learned the hard way, with hiking trails that go up and down the aptly named Camden Hill. The park also sits on both sides of Route 1, with the eastern side touching the shore and the western side site of the trails and camping area. We arrived with plenty of daylight remaining to rest and cool down.

We've done 90 miles in two days. One week until Caroline and Dave's wedding!
Nicole and Chris coast on Route 1 towards Camden, Maine.

Monday, September 27, 2010

Breakfast and Lunch on Mt. Desert Island

Sept. 16.

We woke up at about 7:30 this morning--about two hours and 15 minutes after the sun's light first touched the peak of Cadillac Mountain. We neglected to purchase any sort of breakfast food the night before, so we resorted to some sort of dehydrated food pack for breakfast. It was chicken risotto. Too my surprise, it tasted all right.

Nicole enjoys early mornings at Acadia Park.
As soon as we got up, I appreciated the cool air that the sea and the woods of Acadia offered. Not so much for Nicole, as she was slightly reluctant to get out of bed this morning. Even after she left the tent, she took her sleeping bag with her. The air was a little too crisp for her taste.

Because we had a friend to meet and a wedding to attend, time didn't allow us much time to dawdle. Shortly after breakfast we packed up and were on our way. Instead of taking Acadia's main road, we initially went south towards the paradoxically named Northeast Harbor, than rode north, sandwiched in between Sargent Mountain and Mt. Desert.
Sargent Mountain as seen from the south. Its rocky face and steep grades are different then anything I've seen in a long time.

The initial ride was almost a dizzying, disorienting experience. The tall crests and sharp jagged rocks looked lest like New England and more like the rocky mountain west to such an inexperienced traveler. Riding up and down hills was also confusing. Every little hill we climbed was well over 250 feet from its base. Whenever we reached the hills summit, we were flummoxed from the physical exertion of the climb, yet with two bona fide mountain peaks on either side of us, we felt as if we hadn't climbed at all. Thus, every time we descended 200 or so literal feet, we felt that that we shouldn't be going downwards at all.
Real Food Good? I think Cookie Monster wrote this sign.

Things flattened out once we approached to town of Bar Harbor. I spotted an interesting sign on the road that boasted, "real good food." Eager to check it out, I signaled to Nicole and we pulled over. Good timing: it was almost noon and time for lunch.


It was restaurant that served almost exclusively, fresh, local food. How local? The garden was in front of the store. Nicole and I each had sandwiches so fresh that we wondered if the lettuce had been picked that very morning (a sidenote: lettuce actually has a distinct taste, although most lettuce is grown in the Arizona desert, hence the taste of solidified, room temperature water that most of us are familiar with).

The just stared at us. The horses down the road treated us the same way.
Just like that, we were on the road again. We were supposed to meet Chris in nearby Ellsworth, but by the time we got there, he had already reached our destination in Orland, about 25 miles away. And so we rode on, through the cute little township of Ellsworth and into rural Maine. We turned off of Route 1 once we left Ellsworth and into some sort of back country. Even though we were just a few miles from the strip malls of the main road (no pun intended), some of the local farm animals stared at us, puzzled at these outsiders in their fancy clothing and strange non-motorized contraptions.

After some amusing animal interactions, we found ourselves pedaling on route 1 again, somewhat exhausted. We had ridden a bit further than was ideal for the first day in order to make the wedding on time. Fortunately, we found Chris at an intersection, complete with his decked out Surly Long Haul Trucker, gear and all.

"What took you guys so long?" he asked, smiling.

"Everything hurts," said Nicole. "We left at 7:30 this morning."

Chris' grin widened. "Yeah, it's when you're spirit is completely broken that you're just about ready to ride!"

We chuckled. The campground was no more than half a mile away. We pedaled in and set up camp for the night at an RV park. A large percentage of the "campgrounds" in Maine are merely seasonal homes with wheels those who spend their summers in Maine and the rest of the year well below the Mason-Dixon Line.

Thus concluded day 1 . . .

Monday, September 20, 2010

Prelude: The drive up

Written Wednesday, Sept. 15

Nicole is driving on I-84 East, and I'm sitting in the passenger seat, looking at all-too familiar scenery as I go by. I marvel at how in just one week, we will be riding bicycles through this corner of Connecticut. How marvelous indeed . . .


We switch drivers in Massachusetts. We pull over at an interstate rest stop. Before the engine gets cold all three of of us (Nicole, her brother Steve and I) have taken our bathroom breaks and the car is back on the road.

Time flies, and yet it feels like eons as we drive through Massachusetts, New Hampshire and southern Maine. We stop in Portland to eat at Becky's Diner. Not fast food--it's good food fast. Becky's opens promptly every morning at 4 am, often serving fish platters to the very workers who do the fishing. Nicole and Steve both order haddock chowder (a popular local catch). I go for my usual tuna melt and we are on our way.


We gas up in what feels like the middle of nowhere. I've had it with driving and ask if anyone else wants a turn at the wheel. Steve, who's been playing with his Smart Phone for four and half hours eagerly agrees. He takes the driver's seat and I move to the back of the car, sit horizontally and put my feet up.

We keep driving. We've left I-95 behind and drive through a small town. Eventually we see a rather stately looking building on our left.

"Is that the capitol?" I ask.
"I don't know," says Nicole.

Steve keeps driving and we see our answer: we are at the intersection of State and Capitol streets!

We approach Bar Harbor. Nicole and I both express excitement--somewhat nervously--that these are roads we will be riding tomorrow.


Sunset over Sargent Mountain--200 feet shorter than its Cadillac cousin.

We reach Acadia. Steve spots our first wild animal of the tour: a striking buck. It crosses the road and disappears into the trees as quickly as we see it. We take some photos of Cadillac Mountain and the sunset on our way to the campground. After some confusion, we finally reach our destination. While there is still daylight left, we stake down our tent and say goodbye to Steve. Nicole is so sad to see her brother (and the car) go away.

Only 7:30 now and it is dark out. To quote Yogi Berra, it gets late early out here.

And so our journey begins . . .
View of Bar Harbor from Acadia's Maine Road just before sunset

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Someone really wants to go with us.


Need a guard cat? Bengals like Emerson are fiercely territorial.
Too bad he's a cat. I don't know how he'd react to traveling on a bicycle, but Emerson has clearly stated his preference. He'd like to go wherever it is that we are going.

He knows something is up. We've moved before, and he does not like to be uprooted, but he has grown accustomed to it with time.

We will see Emma's relatives at Earnest Hemingway's house.
Here's the background: When Nicole and I first moved to Texas, we didn't know anybody. Nicole kept pestering me to get a kitten. Eventually, I buckled. Nicole showed me a photo of some kittens that a local person was giving away. Apparently, They found a stray cat that had given birth to kittens shortly after being taken in.

When we drove to house of said kitten owners, there were only two little ones left. They were beyond tiny. I could fit each one in the palm of my hand. They pierced the air with their incessant, identical meows.

"If you're deciding which cat to go with," the father of the household said, "that one leans more toward his mother, that one [Emerson] is more independent."

Independent. I liked the sound of that. Rugged. Like a Texas cat should be. We chose him.

The independence didn't last long. He clearly missed his litter mates. He viciously attacked us when we wouldn't play with him. And shortly after we got him, we noticed that his tail was longer than his whole body, and his ears were larger than his head. What on Earth did we get?

Apparently, he was a Bengal Cat. That explained the size. He now weighs about 17 pounds (about as much a Trek Madone 5.2, in bicycle terms), and is only slightly overweight for a cat of his breed.

Nicole and I did get a playmate for Emerson--an adult stray his age. The got along swimmingly well, but sadly, the other cat got scared one night and, despite much effort, we never found again.

Enter Emma. When we moved to Maine, it was clear that Emerson needed another cat in his life--he would periodically sink his teeth into my arms if he was bored and wanted someone to play with. We drove to the local animal shelter and found Emma. She was very small for an adult cat and was gray with some off white spots that stood out against her white furry tummy thus the people at the shelter had named her "Dingy". That's the one. Take the cat nobody wants.

Emma and Emerson sort of get along with each other. Emma had been a stray for some time, and is generally uneasy sharing a home with another cat. They do play sometimes, and it keeps Emerson's teeth out of my skin. Literally.

Emma is also unique. She has an extra claw on each foot. This makes her a Hemingway cat. About a hundred or so years ago, sailors all across the Eastern Seaboard took advantage of the cat's ability to hunt mice and took them on ships for pest control. Years of inbreeding these cats resulted in the extra claw on some of these cats. Some sailors in Key West gave a litter to the island's most popular resident, Earnest "Papa" Hemingway. To this day, the Hemingway house in Key West is crawling with cats, many of which show the "extra claw."

Sadly, neither one can come with us on this trip. Emerson clearly wants to go with us, as is evidenced by the photo above. Plus he has let us know that he is onto our plan to leave in another manner, he is constantly under foot and every morning we find him wedged between the two of us in bed purring and snuggling us. Emma has not indicated a strong preference one way or the other.

They will be in good hands, though. In a few minutes, we will drop them off at my sister's house. Alison is a genuine cat lover, and will see that they live well for the duration of the trip. Thank you Alison!

~KM

36 hours until until we ride!!!

The Hardest thing to leave behind . . .

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Wings of Hope-- a ride that is more exciting and important than mine

The days are few and far between, but every once in a while, one experiences a humbling, emotionally moving experience. Today at the bike shop was one such day.

It all started at about 2:30 in the afternoon. The day had been slow up to that point and I had just returned from lunch. A woman abrubtly walked in.

"I need a bike," she said, quite directly.

"Oh, okay. Well,"

"No, I need a bike, any bike will do." She smiled and talked in a fast, excited clip.

"I have a bike ride next week. A charity ride."

"Can I have a bike today?"


Ah, I knew. Deb (the co-owner of Bicycles East) reminded me of the name of said charity ride: The Wings of Hope, this next Sunday, September 19th at Lime Rock Park!

Sharon also told me she wanted a bike she could ride on trails. She owned a Jeep Wrangler X, so we determined that the Trek Skye SL would be just the right bike: an excellent combination of off-road and on-road handling.

Sharon also treated herself to just about every accessory she would ever need so that her bike could be sufficiently decked out for the ride next week. As she was doing so, who else could show up but Eileen Gillan, organizer of said event!

Eileen was picking up some extra bicycles for the event. The ride is humbling, very touching, and very moving. Lime Rock Park in Lakeville is the site of Paul Newman's race track. On Sunday the 19th, The Reach for the Stars Cancer Survivorship program will hold a ride --Doctors and nurses will ride with pediatric cancer patients around the track.


Eileen and Sharon hit it off right away. It's truly a great cause to be a part. Eileen, an oncologist, told me about one of her patients who intended to ride from Connecticut to California after her chemotherapy. She made it as far as Virginia before her legs gave out.

Hey, everybody who fights cancer is a winner in my book. I was just a small part of the equation today. I helped someone find the right bike for their needs, and hearing Eileen's story-- sometimes words fail to describe all the positive energy that took place today.

Eileen knew that if I could, I'd be riding with the Wings of Hope next week. Who wouldn't? Hey, I'll be there next year. It's too important to miss. All are welcome to come and participate. One would be hard pressed to imagine a more noble cause than that. You can register at WingsofHope.Kintera.org.

~KM

Friday, September 10, 2010

Cool Tattoo

I get an e-mail from a friend

I just received an e-mail from my friend Chris Leland, who will be riding with Nicole and me for the first week of the trip:

"I'm going to start my trek to Acadia on Sunday. Gives me 4 days to arrive at Acadia on the 15th. Spend the night then meet with you on the 16th.

I plan stops in Lewiston and Camden and possibly one other depending on how I feel and weather.

I should admit I have never ridden less in my life leading up to this. Ive ridden perhaps 200 miles since the initial planning and haven't ridden a single mile in a month now. After a day of vomiting and pain I should be alright. At least I hope I will be alright.

Should be fun."

Sounds Great!!

I met Chris through Dave (he is the one getting married) when we were in college. By then, Chris had been trained by the United Bicycle Institute in Oregon and had quite a collection of his own bikes: a good road bike (Giant OCR 2), a good mountain bike (a Voodoo Hoodoo), and a cadre of bikes that were constantly being worked on, some built from the frame up, others mere garbage that would be salvaged for parts, sold on craigslist, or merely abandoned on our front doorstep. Chris introduced me to the joys of road biking, and that fall I decided to purchase an OCR touring, in hopes that upon graduation I would ride my bike across the country.

It's been six long years, but within a matter of days, this joy will become a reality. I recommended Chris try some Recoverite, an after-workout drink that works pretty well.

And yes, Nicole is quite relieved to hear that Chris is out of shape.

By this time next week, we will be sleeping under the stars!

Friday, September 3, 2010

Broken spoke

There's a notch on the belt. It seems that even the best laid plans will not be free of mechanical failures.

I left the panniers fully loaded on the bike overnight. When I woke up this morning, I saw one spoke out of place, sheered towards the nipple, just hanging about.

It's a good thing my bike has spare spokes.

I spent my lunch break and some time after work fixing it. It will be good practice for what will hopefully never happen again. Perhaps it was improper weight distribution: I've been putting a little too much weight on the non-drive side of the bike. I'll have to start weighing things to even them out in the future.

13 days to go! I wonder if I'll ride in the hurricane tomorrow . . .

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Riding fully loaded part 2: Commuting to work

I've spent the last four days riding two and from work with my fully loaded bike. It's been quite an experience.

Saturday, day one in this venture, marked the first time riding to work with my new setup. Not knowing what to expect, I left an extra 15 minutes early to give me a hefty buffer.

It took my 40 minutes to arrive, as opposed to my usual 36. Not bad. Later, Nate wanted to weigh the bike to see how much I was hauling.

"51 and half pounds!" He exclaimed.

"God, that's heavy," I said.

"Not really. Most people who are touring have about 75 pounds when all is said and done."

I guess that aircraft grade aluminum silverware set was worth the investment.

Day 2 was Sunday. This time I was fully loaded. I had the tent poles and ground cloth as well as my sleeping bag bungee-ed to the rear rack.  I could camp overnight if I wanted to now.

I certainly turned some heads. As I pulled off the Charter Oak Greenway an onto Manchester Road, a group of about four cyclists saw me and waved. I waved back and pedaled along with them.

"We're you going?" On of them asked.

"Florida," I said.

"Florida! You're going to Florida?"

"Well, " I had to clarify. I let them know that today was just a training to work. We shared stories, exchanged web sites and they wished my luck as I pedaled along.

People in cars noticed me as well. Sunday drivers in their street rods and vintage muscle cars smiled and waved. Everyone gave me the right of way. Such treatment! I felt like a king.

Then came Monday. Again I rode. At the end of the workday, Nicole rode her bike complete with full load to meet me. Instead of riding straight back, we rode to Cotton Hollow Preserve in South Glastonbury and went wading in the water. It was too rocky for standing, though and too shallow for swimming (at least where we were). We decided to head back, knowing that there would be much opportunity for swimming trips in due time. By the time we got back to our apartment, we had each ridden 20 miles--about half what we expect to ride on our first three days.

Tuesday. Yesterday. I woke up feeling like I had a very, very, very slight hangover. I was more worried psychologically than physically. If 20 miles feels like this, what does 60 miles feel like?

I rode to work anyway, but asked that Nicole pick me up in car rather than bike today. She agreed. The forecast called for nearly hundred degree heat, and I wasn't going to risk heat stroke for the sake of training.

When I got to work, John noticed that I was a little bit spacier than normal. I told him how much I'd like to take a nap on the floor and the worry that it caused me.

"Hey," he smiled. "At least your not in pain!"

Well said. Today was Wednesday. To hot to ride. Another day off. Two weeks to go until Nicole and I are greeted by fresh ocean breezes almost daily.

Riding fully loaded part 1

As soon as I installed my front rack, I hastily gathered nearly everything I would take with me and just bundled them up in my panniers. Stove, tent, sleeping bag, casual clothing, bike clothing and multi tool. I tentatively guessed weight distribution. Without testing it, I put the panniers on the racks and rode out the door.

I decided to test to test riding with such a heavy load up Highland Road, the second mile of the Manchester Road Race. Known for it's long hill, Highland Road isn't particularly steep but it is a consistent incline that last about a mile and rises about 300 feet.

I started smiling as I pedaled. Feels great, I thought. Nothing I can't handle. I pushed the lever to downshift into my lowest gear. Nothing happened. I pushed again, smiling at my realization. I already was in my lowest gear, squeezing the lever the a way a b-movie star keeps pulling the trigger even though he realizes he's out of ammo. Oops!

I still managed to climb the hill, but since my cassette is showing signs of wear, I will likely replace it with a cassette that has slightly lower gearing. Either way, I will have legs of steel when this trip is done.