|
Companions Wanted
26-year-old male, experienced cycle tourist, is looking for companion(s) for West Coast to
East Coast trip leaving in June. Starting point and route flexible.
When I placed this classified ad in a bike-touring magazine 15 years ago, I was still living
at home with my mother and working as a cub reporter for a little newspaper in Waterbury,
Connecticut, a faded factory town. The job involved sitting through endless evening
meetings—the Planning Commission, the Zoning Commission and, my favorite, the Sewer
Commission—then dashing back to a cramped, smoke-filled office to write a story by the
11 p.m. deadline. “Extra! Extra! Read all about it: Young Reporter Dies of Boredom
Covering 4-Hour Budget Hearing!”
I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, but I knew this wasn’t it.
Shouldn’t I Be Settling Down?
I longed to see America, but not from a vinyl car seat stained with Big Mac drippings. I
needed to sniff a redwood grove, pedal over a Rocky Mountain, race a Wyoming wind, eat
corn from a Midwest roadside stand, swim in a Great Lake, go to sleep to an East Coast
thunderstorm beating on my tent. I yearned to find out how other people lived, to discover
out what else was out there. I wanted to ride my bike across the U.S.
“Aren’t you getting a little old for that?” asked my brother the lawyer. After all, I had
a decent job—union, no less—and a few bucks in the bank. Shouldn’t I be settling down?
The idea of taking off scared me, but I couldn’t get it out of my head. I kept picturing
myself at age 60—sitting in a Waterbury bar at midnight after writing my 300th Sewer
Commission story—and telling some rookie reporter how I shoulda ridden cross-country when
I was a young whippersnapper.
I Didn’t Want to Do It Alone
None of my friends could join me, and I sure didn’t want to go alone. One spring break from
college, I’d ridden solo from Washington, D.C., to South Carolina to visit my father. The
loneliness nearly unraveled me. One evening, I couldn’t find a motel that didn’t charge by
the hour, so at dusk I snuck under a fence and hid in some bushes.
|
|
Traveling by Bike |
An invaluable resource for bicycle touring is the Adventure Cycling Association
(http://www.adv-cycling.org). This
nonprofit organization for recreational riders has mapped about 25,000 miles of
bike-friendly routes throughout the U.S. and Canada, including its famous 4,260-mile
TransAmerica Trail running from Virginia to Oregon (part of which I rode on my
transcontinental trip, described in the accompanying story).
ACA also offers maps, equipment, books, and clothing for two-wheeled travelers. And
its Cyclists’ Yellow Pages includes information on touring in all 50 states and 75
other countries, plus a list of outfitters offering guided bike trips for those
who haven’t the time or inclination to arrange their own tour.
|
|
Huddled in my sleeping bag—the kind with pictures of hunters and fishermen on the inside—I
nibbled peanut butter and waited for the serial killer that had to be making those rustling
noises. How the heck do you defend yourself with a spoke wrench and a spare brake cable? I
got up before dawn and rode the final 100 miles to my dad’s house, nonstop.
My companions-wanted ad drew five responses: Steve, a teacher from Maryland; Curt, an
engineer from Chicago; Barb, a teacher from Pennsylvania; Vince, a photographer from
Pittsburgh; and Randy, a grad student from New Mexico. We agreed to start in Oregon, where
we’d meet for the first time. After dipping our rear wheels in the Pacific, we set off
into a gray rain, headed for the East Coast.
Mostly We Laughed a Lot
For the next 70 days and 4,000 miles, our little band roamed the country. We slept in a
teepee in Montana, went whitewater rafting on a river called the Snake, chucked snowballs
at each other atop a pass in Wyoming, and watched a Wild West Show on July 4th in a town
named after Buffalo Bill. We saw geysers in Yellowstone, poked fun at tourists on Mt.
Rushmore, got soaked at Niagara Falls. We stayed on a farm in Michigan and with a Native
American family in South Dakota. We drank beer and shot pool with the locals, pedaled past
enough cornfields to last a lifetime, watched a bear eat our spaghetti in the Tetons. And,
finally, we dipped our front wheels in the Atlantic Ocean.
Mostly, we laughed a lot. All the time, it seems now. Every day was different. Each bend
in the road brought something new. This country, I learned, is big and beautiful and full
of good people. And the best way to see it is by bicycle.
|
