Milt Lowry and I daydreamed about cycling across the country when I was a first-year university student. At the time, it seemed frivolous, a waste of a whole summer that could be spent learning to be an engineer. It also seemed impossible. Of course, I had in mind the one-speed balloon bomber of my high-school days.
In the ensuing years, the idea was forgotten. When I began getting serious about cycling, I remembered the desire, but getting a substantial chunk of free time seemed impossible. There were always too many things going on.
Finally, I realized I could wait forever for the right time, and die of old age without ever having made the trip. If I ever actually wanted to do a cross-country ride, I would just have to make time for it. This realization came during the summer of 1987 when GenRad Semiconductor Test was dying. But that summer I needed to find another job, and in any event it was too late in the season to have done anything but a short fast tour.
The summer of 1988 was to be the great adventure! I negotiated agreement for a leave of absence when I went to work at Raynet. But the pressure of a start-up wouldn’t let me go, so I deferred the trip until 1989. Up until this point, I intended to travel on my own.
Meantime, Jacky decided she wanted to come along, not willing to miss the adventure of a lifetime. It would have seemed like cheating to drive a car, and riding the tandem had some disadvantages. For one thing, we would have been able to carry less; for another thing, we thought we might not want to be that close together all day, every day. Finally, Jacky wanted to prove she could do it under her own steam (I, of course, wanted to prove the same thing).
Why would anyone cycle across the continent? Maybe the best answer came indirectly from someone Jacky was talking with. After summarizing our adventure, Jacky mentioned that we lived in California. “You didn’t have to tell us that,” said the other, “All the crazy people live in California!”
We arranged to be away from the fourth of July through Labor day. As for route, we needed to go through Nebraska to see our parents, we thought it would be nice to see friends in Canada, and we wanted to fly home from an airport big enough to take bikes. Portland, Maine, seemed like a good choice. Now all we had to do was ride.
References
These are a few of the books that provided a framework within which we made our observations.
Jane Jacobs, The death and life of great American cities. Although we spent very little time in real cities, we still profited from Jacobs’ perceptive observations about what makes a town interesting and what destroys it.
Joel Garreau, The nine nations of North America. Observations about boundaries defined by common interests rather than political divisions. On the ground, we discovered boundaries that disagree with Garreau’s, but that’s what makes life interesting.
George R Stewart, The California trail. History of the development of the trail, and the alternatives and cutoffs along the route westward. This provided us a historical perspective through the first half of our journey.
Robert M Pirsig, Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance. This is where I first heard about Chautauquas. Pirsig’s theme of caring, of giving a damn, of creating quality, was very appropriate to everything we saw. After the fact, we realized that the travel industry, road travel at least, is a good measure of people’s intrinsic commitment to quality, since they have almost no incentive from prospective repeat business.
Throughout the following pages, Jacky’s diary and mine are combined; where it’s necessary for understanding, Jacky’s diary is shown in italics.
40 miles. On a scale of 1 to 10, Jacky rated this day 6.
At last we’re off. We left about 5:30 after work, and stayed with Bob and Iris. We had told them we’d be there between 7:30 and 8:00. We called from Sunol at 7:45 and told them 8:15; we actually got there at 8:45. Bob told me later they figured we’d never make it across the country, after the time we took just getting to Pleasanton the first evening. They fed us shrimp salad, rolls, and raspberries. Great.
Their golden retriever is Wally, after Wallis Simpson. They also have two black labs, one a four month old puppy. The puppy was excited about the bikes, new and unheard of objects inside the house.
94.12 miles, 13 hours. Maximum speed 38, rating: 4
Our friends really spoiled us. We both had cereal and I had an English muffin. Bob got a picture as we got ready to roll out.
We rode through the Altamont pass with a nice tailwind – all the windmills were going. We wanted to take some pictures, but the camera was buried in a pannier somewhere. The next day, we put the camera in Dave’s belt pack. We had a little cassette recorder and radio, and tried to record the sound of the windmills. When we listened to it later, there was nothing but wind noise across the microphone. So much for the recorder.
Saw a coyote running along the horizon. We took Patterson Pass road by mistake because the road signs were skewed, and thus added a few unnecessary miles. Asked a ten year old girl in Tracy where downtown was – she didn’t know, had never been there. It turned out to be about six blocks away. We had second breakfast there, pancakes and waffles. Later we snacked on bananas and sugar bars, sprawled decadently on the lawn of a company that wasn’t open on the weekend. Already starting to eat all the time.
We rode north up Jack Tone road. Tone was a 49er who acquired land at the Calaveras river. The family was in its third generation, and the historical plaque said it was widely known for well-bred horses. Walnut groves. Corn, sunflowers, bell peppers, tomatoes.
Lockeford was a nice little town of about 1800, 15 or 20 miles beyond Stockton, but there was nowhere to stay. After dinner at Lockeford, we backtracked five miles to Lodi, where the third motel we tried had a room. Boy, did we appreciate that shower and bed. This episode bothered both of us enough that we vowed to backtrack no more.
We walked half an hour in Lodi, bought groceries for an early breakfast. The practice of going out for a walk turned out to be almost invariable. We wanted to explore wherever we happened to be, and the walk helped loosen potentially stiff muscles.
My new ventilated jersey lets the sun through, and I have a fairly sunburned back. The television says there’s record heat in the southwest; it must not extend up here – it was in the 80s and pretty comfortable.
We got lots of waves, and questions whenever we stopped.
Smells
It occurred to me that a blind person could make this tour and enjoy the scents of America. For the rest of the trip, I noted new and interesting smells of the day.
Smells du jour: a truck loaded with fresh cut hay.
50.46 miles. Maximum 45 mph, rating: 7
Maximum speed
Our maximum speed is a good indicator of how hilly the day was, although it’s not foolproof. For example, the day we climbed the Siera was certainly hilly, but our maximum speed would have been very low (I didn’t record it). On other days, we might develop a relatively high maximum speed on a single river valley, when the rest of the day was flat. Nonetheless, I recorded maximum speed for most days.
We saw a hot air balloon as we left Lodi.
The driver of a broken-down car asked for a tow truck call. When I stopped at a farmhouse a few miles down the road, I aroused two sleeping dogs. Loud, but not mean. The lady agreed to call a tow truck.
Second breakfast at Clements. Then the hills began. We had a view of real mountains ahead, and could see the whole central valley behind.
Beautiful country, and lots of time to see it, as we crawl up the west side of the foothills. The most difficult part was the long, hot climb into Jackson. After that, it was shadier and more rolling country.
Jackson is a pretty little town, built on steep hills. Its streets don’t necessarily meet at right angles. Some of the side streets were difficult to even walk up! We looked for the Jackson museum, but didn’t find it. The picture is a harbinger of incorrect English usage that accompanied us all the way across.
I rode ahead to investigate camping at Indian Grinding Rock state park, two or three miles off the road. It’s a pretty place (fast getting in, a serious climb getting out!), but they had no showers, so we went on to Pine Acres private campground, just past the town of Pine Grove. Jacky went for a brief swim.
Pine Grove is at 2500' elevation, in the forest. Conifers predominate, still with lots of broadleaves. Temperatures were in the 80s, but sun and a tailwind equal to our speed made it hot. There are beautiful wild sweet peas (lupine), purple and yellow.
We walked back into town to pig out at Gianinni’s. Our waitress admitted that she had sunbathed wearing cycling gloves when she was in high school, just to acquire the neat suntan pattern on her hands. She agreed when I said that was cheating.
37.36 miles, 11:18, rating: 7
We had breakfast at Pioneer, where there is a big P&M Cedar Products sawmill. They were watering their logs as we went by. For about half a mile, we passed grazing cattle, many wearing bells. Very musical! In hilly country, an easy way to locate your cows.
8 AM: I started riding one mile at a time, then waiting. It’s too difficult to match each other’s pace. So far, the grade is 2 or 3% average, never more than maybe 5%. Should be easy going. (That’s what I thought: for Jacky, it was a day of heroic exertion.)
One mile between regroupings seems about right. Climbing hills should be done at your own natural pace, not someone else’s.
6 PM:
A professor from Boulder, Colorado gave us apricots at one rest stop. Around noon sometime, we spread out the tent in a little clearing, had a great picnic and took a nap.
Coming north just over Bear lake about 6000', you come over a crest into suddenly totally different geography – real high Sierra. Exposed rock, sparse trees, mostly firs.
We made it as far as Iron mountain. Jacky was exhausted, a hard day. We agreed on a rest day at Carson City.
Iron Mountain is a ski resort something above 7000', still under development. The winter part is probably complete, but they are improving it, and trying to fix it up as a summer resort also. Not even grass on a lot of the surface. I hope they make it work: it’s really beautiful scenery, and we were badly in need of a refuge when we got to it. We took a short walk to loosen up, then went to the restaurant, almost deserted, for large helpings of wonderful lasagna.
Jacky’s diary:
Very difficult, very beautiful day. Saw two deer early in the day, right in the middle of one of these little towns. We went around a corner and the landscape changed completely, including our first snow-covered mountain.
Dave got very uncomfortable riding uphill at my pace, so he rode ahead about a mile at a time and waited for me. Usually he had the camera, so we’ll have lots of pictures of an exhausted Jacky struggling to a stop. About 1 PM, we found a lovely glade and spread out the tent for a nap and a bagel and devilled ham lunch. Very nice. Took an hour’s break at 4 PM. I got lost in the woods trying to find my way back to the highway.
A few miles later, we found the Iron Mountain ski resort. It was mostly under construction, and the generator was noisy. Nevertheless, the shower and vegetable lasagna and king-size bed were heaven indeed.
62.14 miles, 10:03. Maximum 49 mph, between Sorensens and Woodfords, a record. Rating: 5
We set the alarm for 4:40, but still didn’t get going until 6:30. Took the jacket off in about a mile, just in time for two miles of 7% downhills into Silver lake.
Cool and beautiful. A spectacular downhill into Silver lake, and a great continental breakfast at Kit Carson lodge on the lake. Newspapers were out about the Supreme Court abortion decision, and a couple of middle aged women were complaining about the stupid judges.
The woman at Kit Carson lodge was defensive and apologetic about having only continental buffet breakfast. It was the best breakfast we had the whole trip: unlimited quantities of homemade banana and nut bread, fresh fruit, cold cereal….
My front derailleur slipped down on its mounting again. Altitude definitely a factor – no strength. We both feel fine.
10:40 AM: Passed Carson spur, Kirkwood meadows, Caple lake, took lots of pictures. Now for the climb to Carson pass.
Met three westbound bike tourists. Waves, no conversation.
We passed Kirkwood ski resort, which is really spectacular, looking like a valley from the Swiss alps, complete with château. We made it to Carson pass about 11:30 and 18.5 miles. Of course we took pictures. Dave is on his second roll of film.
Carson pass was easier than expected. There’s another change in geography on the east side: fewer trees, high meadows with sparse grass.
Sitting in Sorensens waiting for lunch. We ate breakfast here last year, on our way home from Grover Hot Springs. Sorensens seems to be a hotbed of cyclists. We met eight or nine riders climbing to Carson pass, not loaded for touring. Backroads, maybe?
5:00 PM, Carson City: We did twenty miles in less than two hours, including that long lunch. There was a long hot stretch north on 88/89 to Carson City. Hot, flat, strong west crosswind. Trees visible on the range bordering Tahoe, but they don’t come all the way down the east side, and there are no trees on the Nevada mountains. Sage and sage-colored grass. Clear air – big distant mountains look like small nearby hills.
We stayed at a Motel 6 at the south end of Carson City’s strip: two or three well-lighted casinos (dazzling), the state capital. We finally found a Chinese restaurant and ate too much. Absolutely exhausted walking back.
Fourth of July and no fireworks?! In Nevada?! I suppose the big show was in Tahoe.
