Chapter 1: Leaving Friends

 On April 2nd 1980, I set out on a bicycle trip that would end up covering about 8500 miles, 2000 of it unpaved. Leaving from northwest Connecticut, my goal was Alaska, but on the way I added a 900-mile side trip on a gravel road that took me north of the Arctic Circle. The whole trip lasted almost 6 months. 

I have long thought about putting together a book about the adventure, but that has always seemed too daunting. A blog feels somehow more manageable, so I thought I might post every week or so from now till September, tracking my progress back then "in real time," so to speak.

The entire route

I had considered staying in Alaska, but when I reached Anchorage, winter was already in the air. (It was the end of August!) Some friends were getting married back in Connecticut and I didn't want to miss that, so I decided to go home. With no bus service from Alaska, I rode back into Canada and took a bus to Ottawa. I re-assembled my bike and rode home from there. (not shown)

Some background: I had spent the 3 preceding years living and working at The Connecticut Wilderness School, an outdoor challenge program that sought to help high school students achieve more of their potential by giving them opportunities to push beyond their perceived limits, using backpacking, canoeing, rock climbing and the like as metaphors for the challenges they would face at home or school. The intensity of the work and living together 24/7 in close quarters made for bonds with coworkers that are deep and long-lasting - they are some of my most treasured friendships to this day.

1979 Staff Photo. 

 

Chapter 1: Leaving Friends

Ready to go. Sadly, cameras back then did not have autofocus!

 

 

April 2, Wednesday: 17.2 miles

The trip started off with a ride so short it was mostly symbolic. It was not the bold, romantic scene I might have fantasized: "Our hero rides off at the crack of dawn to bravely face the unknown." With last minute preparations, I didn't head out until afternoon, and with only a couple of hours of sleep the night before, I was too tired to push very far. And I was not feeling brave or heroic; I was filled with doubt and misgivings.

A large part of the purpose of the trip was that I was hoping some distance would help me to mend my broken heart. But getting that distance also meant leaving all the friends I had made in the tightknit community of The Wilderness School, knowing I might never work there again. That was a big deal, so my friends had given me a going-away party the night before. 

Normally at a going-away party, people might give presents to the person who is leaving, but I stood that on its head, by giving gifts to the people I was leaving behind. My friends did give me presents, of course, but they had to be things I could carry on a bike, so very small things, mostly "mad money" to buy myself a treat if I was having a particularly good or particularly bad day on the road. I had no such limitations on what I could give them. 

As a seasonal employee, I had a lot of free time in the winter, so I spent the months leading up to the trip making individualized gifts for my friends: a dulcimer for one, a lap harp for another, a carved wooden sculpture, a wood-inlay portrait, photos with hand-made frames, on and on. As you can imagine, the party was a tsunami of emotions, and to top it off, it was hosted by... wait for it... the woman I was trying to get over! To her lasting credit, she had always made every effort to avoid hurting me unnecessarily in the breakup and to allow us to remain friends, and the party was an example of her kindness. It did, however, re-kindle a small spark of misguided hope that might have been better left extinguished.

Having said my goodbyes, I had to get on the road, even if I could only cover a few miles before stopping. It was a gray, cold, rainy day, which didn't do anything to improve my emotional state. I knew of a campsite along the Appalachian Trail, near where it crossed the road I was taking, so I stayed there the first night, and cried myself to sleep.

 

April 3, Thursday: 68.2 miles (85.4 total)

From my journal: "A beautiful, warm, clear day. Saw some mare's tails that told of rain to come, but not today. I rode northwest, toward the Catskills. On the way, I saw a woman and her daughter struggling with a big metal gate. I stopped and helped them put it back on its hinges. They invited me in, and gave me an egg salad sandwich, some milk, an orange, water in my water bottles, and some friendly conversation. ... I found most people friendly, and many waved to me, especially as I was climbing the 4-mile hill into the Catskills at the end of the day."

April 4, Friday: 35.5 miles. (120.9)

Slept poorly, and it was raining this morning, so I didn't get up until 9:00, and wrote until noon, by which time it was sunny. “I stopped at the ‘Numero Uno Pizza and Hero Shop’ below Hunter Mtn. and had a ‘hero’ and a slice of pizza. The people were very friendly and interested, and sat at the picnic tables outside with me, asking questions and uttering their surprise.”

"In Grand Gorge NY I saw huge black clouds rolling toward me and knew I was in for a downpour. I put on my rain gear, but riding wasn't much fun" so when I saw the Nickerson Family Campground, I pulled in, hoping it would be open. “It was, and the lady was very nice, and gave me coffee, (which I drank to be polite tho' I don't care for coffee!) She told me I could stay in the clubhouse, and only charged me ‘last year’s fee’ of  $5.50.”

From a distance, I expected the clubhouse to be a cold dark lonely place, but inside I found John and Peggy Drum and their 5 kids, Kevin, Kurt, Keith, Karen and Kym, who had a nice fire going and made the place quite lively. “At first I felt like I was intruding, but they treated me so nicely that I felt at home very quickly. They shared their frank and bean dinner with me, and I shared some of my plum preserves with them, and we spent the evening together around the fire talking and laughing.”

 

 April 5, Saturday: 39.2 miles (160.1)

Coffee and then sleeping on cold concrete was not a winning combination. At some point in the night I moved to a picnic table. Another late start, waiting for the rain to end, but happily it did. “Headwind, but a beautiful day; blue skies, puffy white clouds, and [fairly] warm. Met a family this evening who let me stay in their garage, even supplied me with a mattress and blankets!"

 

April 6, Easter Sunday: 69 miles (229.1).

Well rested and well-fed, and nice weather to start the day, I made some miles. "It was a beautiful day for riding (for *anything*!) sunny and except for the wind, warm. I rode through farmland - vast expanses of rolling hills, patchwork pastures, divided by trees as yet showing no leaves, their gray bark made lavender by the distance. And the few oak trees here and there in the fields, huge and strong and sprawling, the way trees grow when they are uninhibited by surrounding trees."

 

In my young Connecticut mind, April meant springtime, so I figured I might have some cool weather and April showers, but I wouldn’t be dealing with anything wintry. I had not adequately considered the fact that I was heading north, and also gaining elevation.

The warm, inviting farmland gave way to cold snow-filled woods when I entered the Adirondacks. All the campgrounds were of course not yet open for the season, but that also meant there was no one around to kick me out! "I hid my bike and went in to use the outhouse. I was surprised to find that it [was immaculate and] didn't smell at all. (It hadn't been used all winter, I'm sure.) It was a 4-holer, with plenty of space outside the stalls, and it didn't take me long to decide it would be a nice place to spend the night."

 

 April 7, Monday: 49.3 miles (278.2)

Cold morning, late start, but some tailwind. A forest service guy told me about a campground, but when I got there it was closed, camping prohibited. I was committed by that time, though, and walked my bike in through the snow. Once again, the prospect of setting up my tent on the snow, plus the added risk of being seen and thrown out, made it an obvious choice to spend another night in a 4-stall "Adirondack Hilton."

My journal does mention having doubts: “I’m a little worried. I’m getting a little case of the 'what am I doing blues' - when I realize how far I am even just from Minnesota, and that can’t be more than a third of the distance to Alaska. I’m starting (just starting) to grasp the magnitude of what I’m undertaking.”

April 8, Tuesday: 79.6 miles (357.8)

“Wow. what an up! I had a strong tailwind much of the time, and the terrain was conducive to making good time. I rode just under 8 hours, making my average speed including stops a whopping 10 mph, good for touring. Stopped for the night at Higley Flow State Park; closed, but the ranger said he would look the other way!”

April 9, Wednesday: 38.8 miles (396.6)

“A mouse pestered me all night, eating the grease out of my frying pan, and, I found out this morning, chewing a hole in a pannier pocket.”

It rained most of the day. I donned my rain gear, and rode to Ogdensburg N.Y., on the Canadian border, the first place I had told people they could send mail to General Delivery. Of course it was too soon for anyone to have sent anything, but Ed and Smitty at the post office were very nice, and suggested I could stay at Mrs. Murphy's - a woman who rents out rooms in the upstairs of her house. "I took a shower and feel like a different person!"

I very much welcome comments, either here, or on fb if that's how you found this, or by email... whatever. The whole point is to connect with friends by having something to chat about, and if no one comments, of course my mind immediately goes to "Everyone hates it!" So let's chat!