South of Taupo

The road to Taupo was slow and wet. The sun was shining when I left Rotorua, but within 20 minutes, it was pouring rain. I followed a bicycle signs for the whole day. The trail weaved on and off the highway and at times even having a paralleling bike route all to myself. It was nice to get out of the flow of traffic even if I spent all day in the rain. There wasn't much other than trees and sheep south of Rotorua for the first half of the day, but at one point I came around a corner on a deserted, hilly road and came across a massive tourist compound. It was the Waimangu volcanic valley, an active volcano lying in a valley floor. I went for a walk down the valley and saw all sorts of mineral deposits, geysers, and bubbling lakes. The rain let up for a few minutes, but I ran along for a majority of the way with a couple of German tourists, trying to get to the end of the valley trail and back before getting completely drenched.

I only made it a few more miles down the road before ducking into a motel sitting along the side of the road. The rain wouldn't let up and even though there were several hours of light left, I was too wet and miserable to keep going. It turned out that two other bikers, one from Switzerland and one from Germany had the same idea. It was nice to meet some fellow travelers.

Rain has been a prominent theme thus far in New Zealand. I ride when I can and set up shelter when it's too wet. I'm slowly making my way through the country, enjoying myself as much as I can in all weather. Taupo was a neat town. I took a boat tour out on the water and hiked out to the Huka waterfall. South of Lake Taupo I did my best to get to Mount Ngauruhoe, aka “Mount Doom” from Lord of the Rings, but alas, snow prevailed in the hills and I wasn't even able to take pictures. I was still able to get a few pictures of Mordor and a couple other film sites.

I arrived in Wellington last night and passed right by the German and Swiss bikers in the street down town and almost didn't recognize them. Wellington lives up to its reputation as the “Windy City.” I went to the zoo today and I'm taking the ferry to Picton on the South Island tomorrow. I'm all ready for the second half of the trip!

First half of the North Island

I flew into Auckland on November 4^th on Qantas airlines via Brisbane, Los Angeles, Portland, and Anchorage. I completely lost Monday the 3^rd over the international date line, my bag missed the flight out of Brisbane, and I had a middle seat on a 14-hour flight. When I got to the hostel was told I made reservations for the wrong days and there would not be space until the next day. It was getting late in the evening and had nowhere to go. But that is no way to start. In reality, the flights were smooth, I was able to take a 12-hour layover in Portland and visit family, my middle seat was big enough to curl up sideways and sleep in like a bed, I met several very nice local Kiwis while waiting for my bag to catch up in Auckland, which only took about an hour (incredible considering it flew in from another country and on another airlines), I was the only person on the bus to the city center so the driver dropped me off right in front of the hostel, and the hostess at the hostel found a bed for me at another hostel about a block away. So much can go wrong while traveling, not just in flying, but in driving, boating, or biking and it is easy to lose perspective. My perspective is that everything that goes wrong in transport is self-inflicted. Life could be fairly consistent and predictable if I stayed home. That's not much fun for me, so I bike. I don't mind the sunburn, hours alone, or unpredictable sleeping accommodations. It's the unpredictability of traveling that makes life interesting.

I spent three nights in Auckland. I met Craig, Nikki, Liberty, and Andrew, friends Alex, a good friend of mine from Australia. It was nice to find a connection in a land so far from home. I bought a bright green bicycle from a shop not too far from the city center. Before I even left the shop his name was “Hulk.” Once Hulk was loaded and ready to go we took the train from down town Auckland to Pukekohe, a town to the south. I've learned that the suburbs are the worst places to bike. On my last trip Molly and I took the tram out of town and met up with a couple of bikers who started a whole day before us and took the entire day just to get out of Portland, Oregon. It took me two days to navigate Los Angeles and another two days to get through Atlanta, Georgia. In short, the open road begins out of town.

On the first day out Hulk held up, but the bike rack less so. In half a day of riding, two screws stripped out and my whole load fell off the back of Hulk. Luckily, I was planning on meeting up with an old friend of the family in Hamilton and seeing as that I was almost there, Steve and Ben came to the rescue and drove out to pick me up from the side of the road. Ben found new screws for the rack, but that's when I found where the real damage was. The screws were fine, but the rack lasted one more day before rattling loose again. It is now held together by zip ties. Which brings up another old lesson: equipment with many parts has the potential for many problems. I've counted eight separate parts on the new bike rack. My old one was one solid piece and I never had to touch it.

After Hamilton, I stopped at the Waitomo glow worm caves for a night and two days. I went on a walking/boating tour through a gentle part of the river that carved out the caves, then I took an inner-tubing tour through a rougher part of the upper river. I wore a wet suit, jumped off waterfalls, and drifted down the river with thousands of glow worms lighting up the cave and reflecting off the water.

It took another two days to bike to Rotorua. Half way there I camped on a quite, overgrown frontage road next to a pen of cows. I always try to camp discreetly, but with 30 cows gathered on the other side of the fence watching me set up my tent, I thought I might have to find another spot away from my new friends. They eventually dispersed and did not give me away.

In Rotorua I checked in to a hotel for two nights and went Zorbing! It is the greatest game in the world. Craig from Auckland gave me passes to give it a try. It is basically a person sitting in giant hamster ball being rolled down a hill. I went down twice and kept my breakfast down the whole time.

Tomorrow I'm off to Taupo then taking the desert road towards Wellington.

T Minus Two Weeks

This will be my first bike trip where I don't have a bicycle picked out and ready to go weeks before leaving. I have been scouring the internet for bike shops, second-hand sporting equipment stores, and the classifieds in Auckland looking for my new transportation. I know what I want in a leg-powered vehicle, but finding one in my price range is  challenging. I prefer simple, easy-to-fix, sturdy equipment. I don't mind riding something on the heavier side if the weight is justified by durability. So far, there has only been one internet search that has everything I'm looking for. It's used, durable, and inexpensive. I also think that someone sitting in an Auckland bike shop has a sense of humor.

Up and Running

New Blog! I will continue to post pictures on the Nomadic Gnome facebook page and all blogs from the trip will be posted here.

I leave Anchorage, Alaska on November 2nd and arrive in Auckland, New Zealand on the afternoon of the 4th. I will need to buy a bicycle, sun lotion, and stock up on food, then the adventure begins! I was brain storming last night with friends and added a few things to my New Zealand to-do list. As it stands, the ever-growing list will make for a fun trip.
1) Find glow worms
2) Pet a sheep
3) Take a boat around the fjords in the south west corner of the South Island
4) Find a kiwi and a kakapo bird
5) Visit Hobbiton
6) Climb Mount Doom (Mount Ngauruhoe on the North Island)
7) Drink wine at local vineyards (plural)
8) Swim in Lake Tuapo
9) Visit Maori rock carvings

The list will continue to grow!

To Portland, Maine

The completion of my trip is officiated by wading into the Atlantic Ocean at Popham beach, a peninsula north of Freeport, and Portland, Maine. The last month of my bike trip has been incredibly diverse, although the scenery was some of the least diverse I have seen across the entire country. It was difficult to expect from one state to the next, but the endless green foliage became the constant and view-limiting surrounding. Beginning in eastern Texas, I entered the long-dreaded humidity. There seems to be an invisible line in Texas running directly through the Dallas-Fort Worth area. To the west was the dry, hot grass lands and to the east began a full month of unbearable humidity. Before Texas, I rode early and late in the day to escape the heat. Once I entered Texas, I had my first experience with 110F temperatures. This is the type of weather where anyone exercising outdoors runs the risk of heat stroke, so my biking schedule abruptly made a 12-hour switch. I began riding about an hour before sunset, around 7 to 8 pm, and would ride until 2 or 3am. From there, I would set up my tent under a tree or truck stop awning, and sleep, eat, rest, and read until the next night, when I would begin the night biking again. Night-riding was not a new practice for me. While commuting to and from school and work via bicycle during winter in Alaska, my day would begin long before the sun rose and continue long after it set. My bike has always been equipped with lights and reflectors, so during winter back home and during the summer nights in Texas, I had enough blinking red lights to be mistaken for an emergency vehicle. Continuing into Louisiana, Arkansas, and Mississippi, I alternated between night and day riding, getting as far as I could when I could. It wasn't until I reached Atlanta, Georgia and began heading north that I was able to switch back to day riding full time.

At the end of a long day in Alabama, I met Ruth and Marco, originally from the Netherlands, and now owners of the Route 2 Cafe in Blocton, AL. I stopped at their cafe for dinner and began talking about bikes and traveling. After dinner, Ruth invited me to stay on her couch for the night and the next day Marco sent me off with several sandwiches for lunch and dinner. Marco introduced me to a Dutch treat which is a sandwich with butter and chocolate sprinkles. It was the tastiest snacks I've ever had and is one of my favorites now!

I got to Atlanta a few days later and was able to visit Caleb, a friend from college who I hadn't seen in a couple years. It was fun to catch up and see a bit of the city. From Atlanta, I turned northeast and immediately got sick. Up until then, I had felt healthy and strong, but what ever stomach bug I caught made it difficult to make any distance. I rode about 100 miles that week as oppose to my regular 350 miles. One day when I was feeling well enough to make a break for the next town, I made the decision to ride about 20 miles on the side of the interstate. I made it about ten miles before I was pulled over by a cop car, given a written warning, and kicked off onto the winding, unnavigable back roads. South Carolina's road planning leaves a lot to be desired. I eventually made it to where I was heading, checked into a motel, and slept and drank tea for the next three days. I finally recovered enough to get back on the bike. I had planned on meeting my dad in Washington DC on the 1^st of September, but by the first, I only made it as far as Petersburg, Virginia. My dad rented a car and drove three hours south to pick me up. It was nice to get a ride and see some of the greenery go by a bit faster.

I spent four days in Washington DC with my dad wandering around the Smithsonian museums and memorials. I saw the White House, the Bill of Rights, the Constitution, and the Declaration of Independence. They were pretty cool pieces of US history to see. From Washing DC, Dad flew home and I hopped on a greyhound bus and rode to Worcester, Massachusetts. I had a one hour layover in Manhattan, so I did get a glimpse of the lights of New York at midnight. I would like to go back some day and do a bit of exploring. From Worcester, I rode to Nottingham, New Hampshire to visit Brandon, another friend from school, and his wife Meredith and their adorable kids. It was a two day ride from Worcester to Nottingham, and half way there I managed to find myself, for the third time since reaching the east coast, explaining myself to a police officer. I woke at 4am with a flashlight in my face and high beam cruiser lights silhouetting a police officer against the wall of my tent. Considering he got a three-second string of profanities screeching out of a tent in the backwoods of Massachusetts in the middle of the night, I'm not sure who got the bigger scare. He was just checking on me to see what I was doing there, but even after he left I couldn't get back to sleep. I got up and started biking a few hours later and was to Nottingham several hours earlier than expected. I stayed a couple nights in Nottingham, then was on my way with a parting gift from Brandon of a bottle of home brew hard cider. All set for the final leg of my trip.

I reached Portland, Maine shortly before noon on September 11, 2012, five months after starting out with my friend Molly from my sister Kari's back yard in Portland, Oregon. It seems so long ago, but somehow very recent. Traveling with the same bicycle, same tent and equipment, and even some of the same books has, in a way, frozen time. Maine looks similar to Oregon, and it is almost easy to forget how much distance is really between the two Portlands. I plan on riding along the coast back to Massachusetts, where I will visit one more friend, then fly out of Boston back to Alaska for the winter. I have a few ideas for the next trip, so over the next several months I will arrange and plan the details for the next leg of life.  

One in a Million

So... the response to my refusal to buy cigars for minors was a drive-by-two-pound soda to the head. To which, my response was a police report and crying on the lawn of the nearest Pizza Hut. The east coast has not been my favorite of places to bike through. The population density and the inability to find an un-urbanized area to camp had been frustrating and demoralizing. Up until today I had not met a single malicious person, only wonderful, generous, and interesting people everywhere from Oregon to North Carolina. Literally, one person in several million has gone out of their way to try to cause me harm. I can still live with odds like that.

I have covered a lot of distance since leaving Shreveport, LA. I finished crossing Louisiana, cut through a corner of Arkansas, rode straight across Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, and north through South Carolina. My first day in North Carolina has been memorable, but not fondly. It is times like now that I remember all the wonderful people who I have already met along the way: Jim the geologist who was in the camp site next to me at the Grand Canyon. Who better to cook dinner with at the Grand Canyon than a geologist? Louise and Michael, old friends of the family who gave me the opportunity to sit around, drink lime-aid, and read books in the sun for a week in New Mexico. The city workers who opened the community center for me to sleep in when it was 110 degrees in Arkansas. The man who gave me a ride to the store for parts to fix my tire in Mississippi. All my family members who I have visited along the way and a few members who I met for the first time. And everyone who has pulled over to offer help whenever I sat on the side of the road fixing a flat tire. There are so many good people who are willing to go out of their way, be late for appointments, and offer an incredible amount of trust to assist a stranger. I cannot believe that humanity as a whole is evil. I can only be so prepared to face the world. It is the “figuring-out-what-to-do-with-the-world-as-it-hurls-things-at-me-through-a-car-window” that makes an adventure worth while. It is the personal growth that will make me better as a person and the problem solving skills that can only develop for the better that I will look back at and rely on long after my bicycle is mounted to the wall of my future garage with bald tires and rusted out spokes. As life continues and I make plans for the future trips, one bad day won't mean a whole lot.

Bourbon Street

Two weeks in Shreveport, Louisiana, another week on the road, and a lot has happened. My cousin-in-law Cassie and I took a weekend trip to New Orleans by car and had a few adventures. We car-camped at an RV park in a part of town that was flooded by hurricane Katrina in 2005. There were still remnants of the wreckage scattered around town, but very little as most has been cleaned up or rebuilt. After taking a bus and a trolly into town, Cassie and I began walking around the French Quarter and we wandering into a small street that looked interesting. We were several blocks into it before we realized that we had wandered down Bourbon street. Historically, Bourbon street has been home to the upper class, brothels, then jazz. Today it is best described as a “tourist trap.” It was all excellent fun, but even when trying to avoid it, Cassie and I found it easy to get sucked back towards the lights and sounds of Bourbon street. Being a music major, I was looking forward to finding jazz in New Orleans. There were several bands playing in various pubs along the street. We found an '80's cover band, one ska-washboard band, and a three-piece blues group in a very crowded pub. The ska-washboard was the most interesting. I had never seen or heard a washboard solo before, but now I have rejuvenated respect for percussionists. I entered music as a percussionist, so I find myself overly critical of garage band drummers and tambourine players. At the pub with the ska-washboard band, we also had a drink called the “Turtle.” The ingredients are kept a secret, but internet chat forums suspect Everclear is the main ingredient and one drink was certainly enough for an evening on Bourbon street.

Public transportation in New Orleans is an adventure in itself. Cassie and I work early to get downtown so we had time to ride back to the RV park for showers and a jump in the pool before evening festivities in the French Quarter. After the trolly ride to the bus stop on the way back to the park, we had a 45 minute wait. Several people were gathering for the bus and not all of them were sober. A very drunk and mentally handicapped man was listening to his ipod and dancing between lanes in a four land highway. Drunk man #2, who had been doing his best to get the attention of a girl, decided to get drunk man #1 out of the street. In a few minutes they went from best buddies to not wanting to talk to each other anymore. Drunk guy #1 did a bit more dancing in the street then went inside the bus shelter and out of sight of most of the people waiting. Drunk guy #1 found Passed-Out-Drunk-Guy #3 and decided to steal his wallet, booze, and shoes. I didn't realize what drunk guy #1 did done until the bus came and people started laughing and saying “he took his shoes!” Drunk guy #3 was left in the bus shelter with turned out pockets and no shoes. Drunk guys #1 and #2 got on the bus with us and #2 eventually fell out a door and stumbled away. #1 stayed on the bus beyond our stop, but all the while, people on the bus were careful to not let anyone sit next to him and kept telling him to stop cussing.

On the way back downtown for dinner and drinks, Cassie and I were waiting by the tracks for the trolly to take us from the bus stop back to the French Quarter. Next to me was an older gentleman with a cane, who I would have guessed to be a school teacher or administrator. Within a few minutes he began talking with a younger guy and in the minutes before the trolly arrived, I overheard the better part of their conversation on price negotiations for the crack one was selling to the other. The teacher/administrator was very insistent on his price and seemed to have experience in heckling.

After our touristic fun on Bourbon street, Cassie and I drove back to Shreveport and the next morning on was back on the bike. Over the next several days I alternated between early morning, late night, and all night rides. Day temperatures were around 100 degrees Fahrenheit and impossible to bike in. I crossed into Arkansas, Mississippi, and here I am in Alabama. I cross into Georgia in a couple days and will head north from Atlanta. I think it will feel weird traveling in a new direction after so many miles of heading east.

Lots of things to do and see on the east coast! I can't wait.