FUNNY HOW when you get to Missouri, Kansas, that midway part of America, it feels as if the ride’s over, you’re home. You’re still halfway across the country, but, psychologically it has the feel of a denouement.
That might be why I didn’t bother to sleep much. Rode the final 1,400 miles on a few hours here and there; three and a half on a picnic table in rain-swept Indiana, two on concrete in Ohio, two on a table in Luzerne County, Pennsylvania, just west of the Carbon County line.
Got home to the humble manse in time for breakfast yesterday. It’s funny how the place is so familiar, but surprisingly so; surprising because it’s been out of mind but when you see it again you think, oh, right, that room’s over there, this one’s over here. I stood on the porch and looked at my keys for half a minute before I knew which one opened the front door.
Zuzu the girl cat got big eyes when she saw me, came running like a dog and curled around my boots, rubbing her whiskers on them.
D1D1 was at gymnastics and dance. When she got home I asked her name and whether she goes to school with the little girl who lives here. She giggled and called me Tone.
But… but you’re a big girl. The girl who lives here is a little girl…
Not a bad run. Six weeks on the road, to the day. I dumped the bike twice, once on sand in British Columbia, once on gravel in Utah. We put 9,500-plus miles on the clock without incident. Five weeks ago, in Illinois, the end of the world sped by my left grip and highway peg in the night; a flash of red sheet metal, little econobox out of nowhere. It passed me with inches to spare, taking his lane out of the middle, riding the dotted white line somewhere around 90, a good 30-over, Why you Oedipus Rex, I said aloud… something like that… English translation…
Truth be told, I did a few dumb things myself here and there. But that was fatigue. Yes, that was it.
All’s well that ends well. I had promised to be home for October 9, the day D2 gets married. Made it here September 8. That puts a month and a day of where-are-you leeway in the bank. Will gladly spend it on some future aimless wandering.
Today we all went out to breakfast for SIL1’s birthday (D1’s spouse), and after breakfast I sorted through the traveling gear and stored it away in the shed.
Had a thought: If I were to invest in decent rain gear I might actually wear it in the rain next time, instead of riding wet. As you can see, my duct tape needs to be duct taped…
Ratty old helmet’s falling apart—but, man, it fits! Feels like home. And when I hang it on my highway peg and walk away it’s still there when I come back.
Jan Nelson in Gig Harbor, WA, tried to give me one of his helmets, a $600 Schuberth with bluetooth audio. Which would disappear pronto. I left it on a shelf in his garage.
Mine fell off the bike in Kansas once. Because my head wasn’t in it. Has character now. The helmet, I mean…
One of the after-journey notes I hope to remember: bring less food next time. Just one bear can is all I need. The smaller one.
A bear can, if you don’t know, is a bear-resistant container that you place downwind of your camp at night. Pretty hard to open if you don’t have thumbs. On a cold morning they can be hard to open if you do.
I must have been hungry when I packed up to leave. Two bear cans… that’s way too much food-carrying capacity.
I never went hungry and still dropped 15 pounds in six weeks. Scanning for elk, antelope, deer… My theory (discounted by all at breakfast today) is that the brain burns calories like mad when you’re scooting through the night at speed, processing every pixel of visual workspace for any hint of things you’d rather not hit.
Pulled this out of a saddlebag this morning. My scrubbie must be worn out… missed a spot…
No, what happened was: Friday night I brewed a pot of extra-strong cowboy coffee on the side of I-80, near Snow Shoe, Pennsylvania. Drank the steamy liquid part off the top, got back on, rode until 2 a.m. yesterday, slept two hours on a roadside table, then back on again for the final 300 miles through New Jersey, New York, Connecticut and Little Rhody.
Thought I might need the soggy grounds somewhere along the way. They would have made a second pot of mid-grade octane, just add water.
Tony DePaul, September 9, 2018, Cranston, Rhode Island, USA
Hi Tony, I’m also glad you made it back relatively unscathed. Been wondering about your aches and pains, and your visit to the acupuncture person (acupuncturist?). I probably missed a post or three from you, but last I recall you saw a “seasoned” guy, and from the first poke you had almost miraculous relief. Did you carry on with that guy, and do I assume that the fact you just did 6 weeks on the scooter is evidence that things are much improved on that front?
As usual, great reading.
Rgds,
Chris Whitney
You bet, Chris. The amazing Dr. Luo fixed me up in eight or nine visits. I was at my wits’ end with pain, don’t even give it a second thought now. As always, thanks for following the scribble.
Welcome back, man!
Wow Tony, what an epic ride, your own odyssey. Glad you made it home safely. I’m sure even the bugs in your bike have stories to tell.
I have enjoyed reading about your six-week adventure. Thanks for sharing it. Your helmet reminds me of a Santa Monica friend, a while back, who was rich enough to afford ‘most any five-digit car, but chose to drive a nasty-looking beater; that way, folks on the LA freeways gave her plenty of room.
Glad you are home safe. I don’t know what SIL1 means. You had a very scary dance on the highway with that truck. Good that you mention it now, rather than earlier. I very much enjoyed your posts and photos. And I am happy you are home. I don’t know how you do it, sleeping by the side of a highway. The roadside tables with roofs were a blessing. The grill is still a mystery. Did the town supply wood? I hope you can find a steak somewhere in your freezer. Cheers Alix