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.  

World of Water and Heat of the Day

I'll start this blog with some algebra.

Megan drinks two liters of water per day while biking through Oregon. (OW=2)

In California Megan drinks one more liter per day than in Oregon. (CW=OW+1)

In Arizona Megan drinks twice as much water as she did in California. (AW=2CW)

When Megan gets to Texas she carries an extra two liters of water because water is sometimes hard to find. (TW=AW+2)

By the time Megan reaches Dallas, TX, how many liters of water is she carrying per day?

OW=2

CW=OW+1=2+1 = 3

AW=2(CW)=2(3) = 6

TW=AW+2=6+2 = 8

Answer: 8 liters.

It's a lot of liquid.

Texas is big. But not as big as Alaska. And I have found the most diversity in attitudes in Texas than in any other state I've come cross thus far. More people have stopped and offered rides than all other states combined, but I have also gotten more flipped birds than all other states combined. I have found it best to ignore all honks instead of giving drivers the benefit of a doubt and waving.

The temperature has sky-rocketed since the beginning of July, so traveling during the day has become impossible. Biking early in the morning and late at night with a long siesta is the only way to get anywhere. In just a few hundred miles I've crossed from desert to dry grasslands to subtropical dry forests to subtropical moist forests to the Louisiana bayou. I would prefer to be dodging scorpions than alligators, but just a few more nights of camping before I am beyond the reach of animals that could potentially eat me.

I stopped in Addison and Rockwall, Texas, to visit family and am currently in Shreveport, Louisiana, visiting my cousin Jimmy, his wife Cassie, and their two babies. It has been a lot of fun catching up and meeting my new baby cousins for the first time.

I'm looking forward to Baton Rouge and New Orleans. As a music major, New Orleans has been on my list of places to visit for a very long time. I'll spend a few days exploring the city before turning north, aiming for New England.  

Arizona and New Mexico Deserts

Biking through the Arizona desert was pleasantly consistent. I knew what weather to expect, how much water to carry, and could find a place to camp each night. I counted a grand total of two clouds and had about 35 nose bleeds. The dryness in Arizona was interesting to deal with. I am a bit susceptible to bloody noses, so within the first day of two of arriving in Arizona, my sinuses dried out and blowing my nose became a 15-minute commitment. What fun.

I crossed the Navajo and Hopi Indian reservations and found that I prefer these stretches of road to the mass-franchised sections of route 66. Grocery, gas, and lodging prices on the reservations where all what the rest of the country should be. Reasonably low. I guess when the overhead cost of land rental or purchase is taken away, everyone benefits.

I made it to New Mexico and spent two nights and a day in Gallup, camping in an inexpensive RV park that had showers, a pool, a giant chess board, and free coffee. The heat was ridiculous, so I had trouble motivating myself to get going even after the nice break. I am a bit baffled by people who cross the country in RVs. They spend hours tucked inside the same four walls, never really seeing the scenery, and from my observations, hardly venturing out even when parked. I suppose it would be easy to stay within the luxury of air conditioning, refrigerated drinks on demand, and private facilities. My philosophy is that travel is intended to throw individuals into unfamiliar and at times uncomfortable situations so that they can grow familiar with the concept of ever-changing surroundings. On a bike, I feel I get the best of the unfamiliar and uncomfortable. In an RV, I paraphrase Molly: “...travel the country to visit the Wal-Mart parking lots.” Wahoo?

Once I got to Albuquerque, I stayed with Louise and Michael, friends of the family. It has been excellent to catch up and take a longer break after the desert. I have seen a few more clouds and even some rain and lighting in New Mexico. I crossed a fairly obvious natural barrier when leaving Arizona, which also happens to be the political border between the two states. New Mexico, albeit still dry, has considerably more humidity than Arizona. Not a single nose bleed yet! Jackie, Louise's daughter and I went on an overnight road trip to the Carlsbad Caverns in southern NM. The formations were surprisingly untouched considering the number of people who travel through the caverns each day. The park rangers at both the Grand Canyon and Carlsbad Caverns are very attentive to and informative for visitors. The stalagmites were incredibly huge and as Jackie put it, “Freud would die down here.”

I have spent the last few days biking around Albuquerque, reading, drinking iced water, and eating doughnuts. Stephanie Plum novels always make me crave doughnuts. And I'm withing biking distance of two doughnut shops! I should get on the road again before my bike begins to complain under my weight.

Heading east on route 66 for a couple hundred more miles, then will skirt the northern edge of Texas, aiming for Shreveport, Louisiana. Lets see how the mid west treats me.

On a back note:

While still in Cayucos, California, I got a worrisome e-mail from Molly, my biking partner with whom I rode the Oregon coast and northern California. A little over a month ago, after Molly had returned home to Oregon, she was visiting a friend in Washington, and got into a fairly nasty bicycle accident while riding an unfamiliar bike. Molly e-mailed me several days after the accident, after she was released from the hospital and at her mom's house in Portland. I was five days from Los Angeles at the time, so I hopped on my bike and covered the distance in three days. I left my bike and gear with family in LA and flew back to Portland to visit Molly. She was on the mend and will eventually recover, but she will not be riding a bicycle for a while. Her body was certainly not feeling the greatest, but the consensus is that the helmet that now resembles a shattered eggshell was nothing short of essential in preventing her head from feeling like her other unprotected body parts.

I spent a few days in Portland with Molly, my sister Kari and brother-in-law Elgin before flying back to LA and continuing south to San Diego.  

Grand Canyon

A bit short this time, but computer and internet time has been short over the past few weeks.

I have started about three blogs, but I have had difficulty describing southern California. I met some great individuals, I biked passed about 7 million people, and ended it all with a trip to the zoo in San Diego. The zoo part of southern California was awesome, but the 94 red lights that stopped me in LA were not so awesome.

I spent a lot of time contemplating my travels beyond San Diego and I could write an entire blog on my internal dialogue, but in short, I decided to turn east and travel for a while within the lower 48. I took a train from San Diego to Flagstaff, Arizona, to avoid a vary large and very hot desert. From there I rode to the Grand Canyon! I spent a couple days at the South Rim (south side of the canyon), acclimating to the elevation (7000ft) and heat (high 80's and very dry). On the morning of the third day in the park I woke at 3am, packed my camp, parked my bike on a rack, and by 4:13am I was hiking down the South Kaibab Trail to the bottom of the canyon. By the time the sun rose at 5:11am it was about 75 degrees. After three hours of downhill hiking it was almost 90 degrees. I set up camp at the bottom of the canyon and spent most of the 110-degree day completely submerged in the cool and clear Bright Angel creek. After the sun went down I slept on the picnic bench under the open sky, watching bats and stars fly overhead. I woke up again at 3am and began hiking back up to the rim by 3:30. It is incredible how fast the temperature rises in the canyon as the sun rises. I began early enough to miss the hottest part of the day and the Bright Angel Trail hike back up wound through deep valleys, so I was not in direction sunlight until the last hour of the five and half hour hike. The hike as a whole was great. I'd like to raft the Colorado river at some point. Seeing the entire canyon from the bottom would be a unique experience.

After leaving the park I rode a different highway back to Flagstaff began planning the next several stops as I head east along Route 66.