tour

Beast in a Box (Again)

Cycle Touring, , , , , , , , , , , , , View all 2 comments

Well, the ‘slow boat from Jakarta’ plan didn’t work out.

It proved to be too many things: too complicated (the Beast being treated as cargo and sent separately); too time-consuming (endless running between offices near the port); too tiring (language barriers and miming can wear you out) and too relatively expensive (24 hrs on the ship would cost the same as the ridiculously cheap hop between Jakarta and Singapore).

And so I flew the Indonesian coop this morning, popped back into the northern hemisphere (just), and arrived safely in Singapore just over an hour after leaving Jakarta.  The Beast, while whining as usual about being dismantled and packed in cardboard, appears to have survived once again.  I’ll know for sure when I put it back together tomorrow.

20150301RTW
I did have time for a poke around the more monumental end of Jakarta before I left.  It reminded me a bit of some cities in the Former Soviet Union (albeit without the same apparent risk of being topped for being rude about the government), or maybe North Korea, with everything laid out neatly and then massively oversized to emphasise the importance of the place.  The Istiqlal Mosque (above) is hard to get a scale on.  My estimate is that the vertical part (below the dome) is about seven or eight storeys high.  It’s a big mosque.

20150301RTW_5
It’s a little easier to appreciate the largeness of the National Monument.  It’s a monster.  And the enormous, carefully tended park around it was an idyllic setting for families enjoying a Sunday stroll yesterday.  Or at least it would have been, if it weren’t for the fleets of hired mini-motorcycles being raced around and around by manic, grinning teenagers.

Now, I’ve seen so many abused bicycles in Indonesia, overloaded to breaking point to carry everything from reeds to dumpling stalls to multiple sacks of rice, that I felt it was time to expose the practice (although, sadly, I suspect that simply pointing it out will not stop the exploitation).

I’ve switched off my hypocrisy filter, by the way.  The Beast actively enjoys being loaded until it creaks and then thrashed across thousands of miles of mountains, deserts and crumbling tarmac.  Honest.

20150301RTW_7

Anyway, this pitiful example was being used as a coffee shop in central Jakarta by a particularly villainous owner.  An owner who insisted on being photographed with his poor, worn out victim.  And then tried to charge me five US dollars for a coffee to cover his modelling expenses.  Bearing in mind that the normal price of a coffee is 5000Rp (around 40 US cents), and that $5 will buy you a meal in a decent restaurant, I declined his kind invitation, and gave him a twenty percent tip on the coffee instead.  I didn’t want a picture with his mug in it anyway.

For the first time on this entire trip, I walked away from a conversation with what I can only assume were carefully selected curses and threats ringing in my ears.  I wasn’t looking back, but I reckon there were probably some less-than-flattering hand signals involved, too.

In fairness, he was the first and only unpleasant human being that I met in Indonesia, which only accentuates how lovely people generally were there.

Let’s hope that Singapore, Malaysia and points further north are as interesting, and the people as nice, as Indonesia has managed in the last month (though preferably with slightly better roads and less manic traffic).

Night Riding and Borombudur

Cycle Touring, , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

I wouldn’t necessarily recommend riding on Javanese roads at night.  I’ve nudged into dusk a few times over here, as the sun sets depressingly early.  But I’ve only hit full darkness once on the whole trip, on Tuesday.  It wasn’t dark to start with, mind:

20150217RTW_8
Later on, it was quite easily my scariest evening’s riding since I used to commute in London.  A head-torch turns out not to provide a massive amount of illumination in the pitch dark gaps between villages.  And combining it with a helmet means that whatever tiny pinprick of light is produced is generally aimed at either the sky or the handlebars.

This all makes it very hard to see either the side of the road or the gradient, unless there are other headlights about to steal light from.  But if there are other headlights, that means you’re in the grip of the standard Indonesian traffic frenzy (with less visibility than usual).  Fun, fun, fun!

It wasn’t even (really) my fault that I got stuck out there as darkness fell with forty kilometres still to go to my destination.  I knew I had a fairly long run (123km) ahead of me, and set a super-early alarm to give myself time.  For some reason, despite being connected to the network, my phone managed to lose an hour in the night, leaving me playing catch-up before I even started.  And then a badly-timed burst of rain left me stranded until nearly dusk.  And because it was only nearly dusk, I refused the kind (mimed) offer of shelter from an Indonesian family whose roof I’d been sheltering under from the rain.  So really, not my fault at all.

20150217RTW_11
Apart from the unintentional night riding, it’s all been going quite well.  Although I’m running a little slow (halfway through my Indonesian visa time already!), I’ve been making reasonable progress across Java.  And I was greeted on the road into Yogyakarta yesterday (Wednesday) by a mosque dressed up as St Basil’s Cathedral in Moscow.  Or maybe St Basil’s was modelled on a mosque; who knows?

Yogyakarta is the biggest city I’ve been to here, and is a cultural centre for the country.  What I really wanted to see was Borombudor, a huge,ancient Buddhist temple a few miles out of town, which was dug out of the forest in the late 1800s, and is now an Indonesian ‘must see’.

20150218RTW_6
I got out there today, with rain threatening (though thankfully, not actually falling on me for a change).  It’s a very impressive site; a flat-ish pyramid with tiers of Buddhas and Stupas all the way up, as well as some fairly vertiginous steps and drop-offs (health and safety is not quite such a big deal here as it is at home).  And the taxi ride out and back was a nice little adrenaline spike to get me ready to be back on the road tomorrow.

It’s actually my second new year of the year tomorrow, as the Year of the Goat (or possibly the Sheep; there are a lot of ambiguous drawings and inflatable toys around) kicks off.

Hopefully, the roads will be quieter as I head on west.  Unlikely, but you never know…

Different Strokes

Cycle Touring, , , , , , , , , , View all 4 comments

There are different ways of ‘doing’ Route 66.

You can do it end to end, all the way from Chicago to LA.  You can dip in and out, zipping along the interstate between the interesting sections of the old road.  You can do it in a convertible car, or with a pack of like-minded Germans on Harleys or Scandinavians in camper vans.  Or you can do it on a bicycle, which is obviously the best approach.

In the same way, there are different ways of making money from the tourist traffic. In my mind, at least, there are right and wrong ways to do this.

My first impressions were that it was a nice enough road, generally dropping (always good) out of the hills, but spoiled by over-exploitation.  The ‘charms’ of Seligman, which is touted as a quintissential Route 66 town, were entirely hidden by rows of tourist buses.  People from all over  the world waving a thousand cameras kind of spoiled it for me.  As did the double-priced coffee and breakfast surrounded by moaning French pensioners (coffee not good enough, apparently) and squeaking Chinese teens (just generally over-excited).  It was all a bit cheesy and depressing.

20141005RTW_2

Riding away from tourist hell was something of a relief.  I had what turned out to be an over-optimistic plan to ride an 80-odd mile section of the old road to Kingman.  The fact that I didn’t manage to get on the road until half-past ten was not a good sign (getting up early has never been a strength of mine).  The heat that was kicking back in as my elevation decreased didn’t help.  It was quickly apparent that I wouldn’t make Kingman in a day.

I had developed a cunning back-up plan for just such a contingency, involving a motel I’d spotted online, so I was quite happy arriving there in mid-afternoon.  Until the toilets and other porcelain artifacts sitting outside the rooms made it fairly clear that the Frontier Motel was not currently open (apart from the gift shop).  And there was a grand total of zero alternative accommodation between there and Kingman.

Thankfully, it was time for another rescue from generous Americans.  Allen and Stacy bought the Frontier six months ago, and are gradually bringing the motel, cafe and shop back to its former glory.  Most importantly for me, they were happy to let a sweaty, smelly cyclist sleep on the floor of the not-yet reopened cafe.

IMG_0324They are a lovely family, who moved out (kids, dogs and all) with the aim of bringing a Route 66 landmark back to life.  There’s no intention to turn the place into another Seligman; they’re just really nice people working hard to re-build a small business in the middle of nowhere.  The contrast with Seligman’s disneyfied approach couldn’t be starker.  I wish them every success with it.

In the same way that there are different ways to earn tourist dollars, there are different versions of history.

I’m parked up in Lake Havasu City today (Tuesday).  Amazing that I can already see my last US state, California, across the lake.  The city is famous for only one thing: it’s the home of London Bridge.  I’ll be out later today to look at it properly, but this was my first view (sadly with a deeply attractive car park as foreground):

20141007RTW_3

There’s no doubt that it’s a bit weird to find a chunk of London in the Arizona desert, especially when I’ve crossed the replacement London Bridge so many times.  There’s a standard ‘stupid Americans’ story in the UK, which says that the intention was to buy the iconic Tower Bridge, and that they got this one by accident.  But dismantling and rebuilding the bridge stone-by-stone, with the intention of building an entire resort around it, is not the sort of accident that really happens.  Definitely still weird, though.

And ‘Bizarre History Week’ was topped off yesterday morning in Kingman.  I was finishing my coffee outside a well-known fast-food ‘restaurant’ when I was approached by what appeared to be a middle-aged homeless man.

I’m glad that I didn’t blank him, though, as he turned out to work for Howard Hughes’ son, who’s the rightful ‘world emperor’.  My informant had been battling a covert conspiracy by the royal families of Europe to take over the world for some time.  I only had time for one story, but it turned out that, at the age of four, he’d been sent to London to assassinate the King.  He’d succeeded, and escaped with his mother on a Constellation airliner.  The Queen was a bit miffed, and sent fighters to shoot the plane down (“it was like Swiss cheese”), which killed the pilots.  Thankfully, my friend had already been taught to fly by his Dad, and was talked down to a crash-landing in Paris.  The plane was so shot up that the tail fell off on landing, and he was presented with a pilot’s licence by the super-impressed Parisian air-traffic controllers.  A cynic may find this all a bit unlikely.  I’m just not sure where they found enough cushions for a four-year-old to see out of the plane’s cockpit.

In any case, I had hitherto been entirely ignorant of this important historic episode, and will be searching the internet carefully to find out more about it.

Plenty to ponder then, as I head into the last few days of crossing the continent.  I’ve got a tricky bit of hot desert to get across before the more temperate coastal zone, and there’s yet another hurricane dying off Baja California, which is pushing some rain and storms my way.  Should still be less than a week to the seaside, though.

Assuming the Queen doesn’t have me hunted down before I get there, that is…

 

Across the Great Divide

Cycle Touring, , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

I might have to revise my comment of a few days ago about there being two types of people in Colorado.  I essentially implied that they were all either paranoid retirees or stoner-bikers.  It’s taken a few days, but I’ve worked out that people here are actually just more independent-minded, more thinking, and considerably less heavy (weight-wise) than those I’ve encountered elsewhere in the USA.

I headed out of Del Norte with a tiny headache on Saturday morning.  Mike and Kim at the Organic Peddler had arranged a party for one of their staff who was leaving the night before, and I’d been invited, which was lovely.  As tends to happen (at least to me), this had resulted in Mike, Mark and me sitting around in the late evening, having a long and rambling conversation about everything from sustainable building to US foreign policy.  I also had an invitation for breakfast at Patti and Gary’s (hoping I’ve spelled Patti’s name correctly) cabin by the Rio Grande.  They are both experienced offroad bike tourers, and it was lovely to eat out in the morning sunshine, overlooking the river, and discussing places we’d both been (like Spain and Portugal) and places I’ll be heading to (the Western US and Peru).  I startled a deer on the lane to the cabin, and saw another crossing the river as I left.  It was almost a shame to have to drag myself back onto the road, and head for the Great Divide.

20140921RTW_7Wolf Creek Pass is the highest pass on my US itinerary.  It was a fairly easy, but long, climb up from the valley, though it steepened up for the last couple of miles, and the combination of thin air and heavy bags meant I was forced to take my time.  Eventually, I pottered up to the top of the pass at 10857ft (3309m).  The pass is also on the Great Divide, meaning that (in theory) rain that falls on one side will drain into the Pacific, while on the other side, it will drain into either the Caribbean or the Atlantic.  Another landmark reached en route to the west coast.

Unfortunately, passing the Great Divide doesn’t mean it’s all downhill from here to California; there are still a few hills in the way.  But the descent off the pass was stunning.  I dropped nearly a thousand metres in half an hour (would have been even quicker if I’d not stopped a couple of times for photos), plunging down a wide, smooth but twisting road to the valley floor.  At an average of over 30mph.  There was a massive smile on my face all the way down; downhills feel even better when they’ve been earned by a big climb.

20140921RTW_8The other side of the pass (I got to Pagosa Springs that evening, and then on to Durango) is tourist country.  There are people from all over the states, and from many other countries, and prices which have risen to reflect the tourism.  It’s stunning countryside, and the riding is fairly easy, with gentle gradients between the hills (my thighs are disagreeing slightly about that last statement, but still…).

And there’s some hope for those wishing me a close encounter with bears (obviously out of a desire for me to have a great experience, not to be eaten or otherwise molested).  I met a biker last night, Nate, who was heading to Texas.  He’d seen a bear by the side of the road on the way in, and had the video to prove it.  So they are about.  Maybe I’ll catch a glimpse before I hit Utah in a couple of days.  But hopefully not from too close.

 

Not in Kansas Anymore!

Cycle Touring, , , , , , , , , , , View all 4 comments

Never waste a tailwind.

If there’s one rule that I’ve picked up in my travels so far, that’s it.  Especially on the great plains, where the prevailing westerlies are notorious.  If there’s a tiny element of the wind that’ll help, you take it.  Make as much ground as you can, so the ‘Cycling Zen’ can kick in when conditions are less favourable.

I’ve piled on the miles in the last few days, finally escaping Kansas on Friday (hooray!), and hitting Colorado in the coldest temperatures of the trip so far (boo!).  I’ve also met my first dog in a bicycle trailer (a slightly nutty labrador called Nimbus, who is heading west from Kentucky), which was exciting, although I believe there’s another canine making similarly effortless progress along the TransAm to my north.  The dogs are clearly cleverer than their owners; sitting curled-up and protected from the elements in a trailer while their humans sweat and strain from dragging the extra weight around.  Very smart…

IMG_0266

And now I’m resting up for the day in La Junta, Colorado.  This is the time to take a break for several exceptionally good reasons.

Firstly, there are three route options to consider to get to the mountains.  I can head a little north to rejoin the TransAm trail in Pueblo, or I can head south-west to Trinidad and the RAAM route.  Or I can go down the middle, and get to Walsenburg, rejoining the RAAM route a little into the hills.  Decisions, decisions…

Secondly, I’ve hit a couple of big landmarks, which required a small celebration.  Friday was the end of my second calendar month on the road (this seems completely outrageous to me, as it already feels like months and months of changing places, languages, food and cultures; it’s been quite a ride…).  And I hit a big mileage landmark yesterday; 3000 miles on the road.  That was worth a couple of beers last night.  A day off to take stock, look after a slightly achy head, and establish some perspective on how far I’ve come (and how far I still have to go!) seems entirely appropriate.

And thirdly, the strangely freezing weather of the last few days has left me with a bit of a cold.  Common sense says that I want to try to get shot of that before tackling the Rockies.

So, a bit of thinking to be done and a little planning required, along with the standard laundry, refuelling and bike tinkering.

Colorado seems nice so far.  A bit more relaxed than Kansas.  The Hispanic influence, which really started to be noticeable in the west of Kansas (not surprisingly, as the Kansas section of the Arkansas River, which I’ve been riding along, used to be the border between the US and Mexico), is stronger in Colorado.  It’s a reminder that I really need to get past Unit 2 of my teach-yourself-Spanish book!

IMG_0268

And after the cold snap, the skies are now clear, and the temperature’s back to the low 80sF.  Pretty much perfect riding weather, as it will get a little cooler as I get higher.  And it looks like it will hold for a while (hopefully, I can get through the hills without blizzards or freezing rain, which would be nice).

Just need to clear my sniffles and head for the hills on Monday…

High Plains Shifting

Cycle Touring, , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

I had a good look round Dodge City; it was interesting enough that a portrait of star cop Wyatt Earp replaces the now-traditional ‘another road in Kansas’ picture at the top of the page.

IMG_0256.JPG

Big Wyatt and the various Wild West shenanigans are only a small part of the history of Dodge. It started as a fort on the Santa Fe trail (yet another old settlers’ trail to the West, which I’ve been following for a while), became the lynchpin of the US’s buffalo-annihilation business, went through its ‘wild’ stage, and was a cattle-trading centre once all the buffaloes were out of the way. And the museum notes, with what sounds like relief, that once the railway arrived, it all gradually calmed down and became the ‘respectable’ farming town it is today. Personally, I think it sounded a lot more fun before the farmers took over, but still…

Dodge is also on the 100th meridian. Locals will tell you that some magical property of the land around the meridian means that the weather changes there pretty much constantly. One thing that certainly happened was that in the 48 hours since I got to Dodge, the daytime temperature has dropped from nearly 100F (mid-thirties C) to just 11C (fifty-odd F). In UK terms, that’s a very hot mid-summer to late autumn in two days. I thought it was clearly time to get moving before the snow started.

Despite the chill, I shot out of town with the wind at my back, and drizzle in the air. The riding was so easy that it took a while for me to realise that I was heading uphill. Super gentle uphill, yes, but uphill. In fact, it’s been there right through Kansas; I started out at around 300m (less than 1000ft), and am now up at around 900m. You don’t really notice it happening, as the height gain has happened over hundreds of miles. Reckon there must be some mountains up ahead…

The altitude causes another 100th meridian phenomenon. It marks the transition to the high plains. A much more arid area than the lower levels, which caused the early settlers major problems. One last Kansas road picture will show you the incredible difference that makes to the scenery:

IMG_0264.JPG

Ignoring the fact that the road has a curve, can you see the difference? As far as I can tell, the grass is a bit scrubbier, and maybe not as green. But overall, it’s the same scenery it’s been for days and days. And days. I remember a guy I met from Missouri who was talking about western Kansas. He said that, “you can sit on your porch and watch your dog run away for five days”. Can’t disagree with that.

But it’s also providing me with a break from the heat, a nice bit of drizzle, and a tailwind (in fact, with what I’d consider perfect English bike-riding conditions). With a bit of luck, it’s Colorado tomorrow. The flat bit, naturally…

Deja-Vu and Cycling Zen in the Wild West

Cycle Touring, , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

There’s every chance that the picture below will look slightly familiar.  Compare and contrast with the road picture in my last post.  Yes, there’s a tree in this one.  Yes, the hard shoulder of the highway is a little wider.  But there’s not much doubt that we’re still in Kansas, is there?

IMG_0250

For the record, this is about two-hundred miles from the previous picture, and not a whole lot has changed.  The grass desert just rolls on and on.  As I write, there’s another thunder-storm battering the roof (and presumably the tent, which is some way distant, but hopefully up to it).

And the headwinds just keep on coming, together with more heat, though this is apparently about to break properly.  But I think I’ve cracked those evil winds through Cycling Zen.  I’d copyright it, but I actually have no idea whether it has anything to do with Zen (yet another layer of ignorance reveals itself); it just seems like a good label.

After the rest day in Newton, I was raring to go again on Sunday.  I’d been half-listening to the conversation between the other three bikers on my first night there, and decided to follow Ian and Alejo’s example by switching routes from the TransAm to the Race Across America (RAAM) route, which finishes close to San Diego.  It cuts a little further south across the Rockies, but still drops me out on a good line for Monument Valley and the Grand Canyon.

With the remnants of a tailwind(!), I made 80-odd miles that day, charging across the featureless plain like some sort of caffeine-and-sugar-fuelled buffalo.  On wheels.  Roughly.  I reckoned I’d make it to Dodge City (who could miss the real Wild West if passing reasonably close?) in another day, easily.  Just the same again, thanks.

It took two days.  And pretty much two whole days.

It became apparent yesterday that the headwinds were back with a vengeance.  And the weather people were talking about 25mph winds for today (they were right, by the way).  I mindlessly deployed the same tactics I’d used on that horrendous day to Eureka, put my head down and put the pressure on as hard as I could.  More sweat, more aches and pains, and a grand total of 42 miles covered in a total of eight-and-a-half hours, including about a thousand stops for water and to ease sore muscles.  A one-legged tortoise would find that a tad on the less-than-quick side.

I spent the evening considering my position.  This was not fun.  This was not even sustainable; remember how horrible that ride to Eureka had been?  Could I even face another day like that?  Clearly, a new approach was required, which is where Cycling Zen came in.

I had about another 40 miles to get to my target campsite at Dodge City.  You can walk 40 miles in a day, at a push.  And however slow I ride, I’m always going to be (a little) quicker than walking.  So I was going to make it today.  That was a fact.  And the speed didn’t matter.  Another fact.  The wind could do what it liked, and I’d just go as slow as necessary to take the pressure off my legs.  I’d retreat into a little bubble of non-worry, telling myself amusing stories (these are unprintable, so don’t get your hopes up), and try to enjoy the ride.

My moving average speed today was 8.4mph.  That one-legged tortoise is killing himself laughing.  But I rode without pain or effort, and with a smile on my face.  A slightly loopy smile, but still…  I only stopped a couple of times for drinks, and for lunch at a truck stop.  And somewhat miraculously, within six hours, I saw this:

20140910RTW_18

So…  Going slower in headwinds makes you quite a lot faster over the course of a day, and happier to boot.  There’s a lesson I didn’t think I’d learn.  And a new weapon which will get me through the headwinds.  Don’t fight it, just relax, switch off, and enjoy the ride.  Cycling Zen.  Or arguably, just what cycling should be all about, anyway…

There’s a lot of history in Dodge City, so I’m taking tomorrow (Wednesday) off to explore.  More from the Wild West soon.

Heat, Humidity and Thunder – Sweating Across Indiana

Cycle Touring, , , , , , , , , View all 4 comments

I felt bad yesterday morning (Tuesday).  I’d had a good night’s sleep and a splendid fry-up to kick the day off, so all should have been well.  At first, I put it down to pushing too hard, or maybe a bug of some sort.  No energy, and feeling dehydrated despite drinking three litres of water before lunch.  I’m a bit slow sometimes, and there was a headwind which I was blaming for all my ills, as usual.

I did get to see a couple of covered bridges in the morning, which was nice.  I’m not sure exactly what the point of a covered bridge is; maybe it’s just so you stay dry in a storm while waiting for the bridge to be washed away.  But they are very much a mid-west institution.  This one was outside Darlington.20140821RTW_2

At lunchtime, I stopped at a petrol station to grab a load of sugary stuff to kick-start myself; I still had a way to go.  Coming out of the shop, it finally hit me.  Like a sauna (or at least the air within a sauna).  The humidity, which the headwind had been masking as I rode, was immense.  I struggled off into the afternoon, passing two helpful signs suggesting it was either 87 or 91F.  I’m not sure what the centigrade equivalent is (and probably don’t want to know), but I do know that’s pretty hot.  This all cheered me up.  After all, I’ve been beating the elements every day (even if they always come back for more).  Something internal would have been much, much worse.

I continued south-west through a town called Waveland.  Which is so named because the land around it is kinked up into a series of short, sharp rolling hills.  Like waves.  A brilliantly literal name for a place.  I was heading for Rockville, but was disappointed to discover very few rocks.  And very little rock-n-roll.  Obviously doesn’t work everywhere…

IMG_0219

What I did find at Rockville was a colossal thunderstorm, which hit just as I got the tent half-up.  This was bad because all my bags got soaked, but also good, in that the people in the RV next door dragged me in, dried me off and fed me.  While having a long discussion about rugby, which I was not expecting in the US.  Oh, and they somehow reduced my camping fees to zero as well, slightly mysteriously.  I know almost every post is turning into an Oscar acceptance-speech list of thanks, but I can’t let that go without acknowledgement.  Or the free breakfast I got this morning from a bloke in the local diner.  I might have to just put a ‘thanks’ page up.

I checked the weather forecast, and it looks like the whole week ahead is going to remain in the 90s F, with loads of humidity.  There are weather warnings out for heat in the area I’m riding into (around St Louis), and thunderstorms are breaking out pretty regularly, which is a little alarming on the bike.  I turned today into a half-day just in time to get under cover before another couple of inches of rain dropped in.  So more strength-sapping heat, worries about carrying enough water and dodging lightning strikes to come for a while…

But tomorrow looks drier, and I’ll finally be leaving Indiana, and crossing into southern Illinois.  Probably sweating like a pig and moaning endlessly about the heat and humidity, but still making ground.

More soon, I hope.  And I finally updated the Progress map!  Many more exciting red markers to explore; how much more fun can you have?

 

A Month In, and Country Number 6

Cycle Touring, , , , , , , , , View all 2 comments

Well, this is a surprise.  I thought this would be a little retrospective glance at the trip so far (yesterday was the one-calendar month mark since my departure from Greenwich), written from another location somewhere in Southern Ontario.  Instead, I arrived in the seething metropolis of Sandusky, Ohio.  Country number six already, and this one will last for a little while.

I’d intended to head for the big border crossing at Windsor in Ontario, which drops you into Detroit.  I’d built up an impressive collection of shocked facial expressions from the various Canadians regarding this plan.  Responses ranged from “turn left and ride like [insert four-letter-word here]” to “you’re going to ride through Detroit on surface streets?  That’s suicide.”

Now, there may be an element of exaggeration to these reactions.  All the people in Southern Ontario live in a delightful, semi-rural or rural environment with (as far as I could see) very little in the way of crime etc, and no big cities.  So maybe they were overstating things.  I have a standard response to this sort of thing, which is to research.  And a good job too; turns out that the Windsor-Detroit border is very difficult to get a bike through.  The whole place is set up for trucks and cars, and I’d need to bag the bike, put it on a bus, and so on and so on.  Looked like a nightmare.  And the alternative border crossing at Sarnia would take me a few days out of my way to the north.

One final act of Canadian goodwill was to come; a tip-off about the small ferries which run out of Kingsville (the most southerly town in Canada) to Pelee island (the most southerly island in Canada), past Point Pelee (the most southerly point in mainland Canada).  Lots of ‘southerlys’ there, then…  It should then be possible to get another ferry to the US from Pelee Island.  And it worked beautifully; I’m in the USA a few days earlier than expected, having had a nice boat ride, and a very friendly, quick and non-problematic entry to America.  A good route for any bikers heading this way.

IMG_0209The Pelee area of Ontario is quite interesting, by the way, and not just in its role as an important stop for migrating birds, of which I’m sure you’re all aware.  Remember Terry from Brantford?  He’d told me about Point Pelee when we were discussing places to camp, and said that it was so far south that it was level with Northern California.  This seemed extremely unlikely to me, so I checked up.  And it’s actually true; there are tiny bits of Ontario which are to the south of the California / Oregon border.  Who knew?

In any case, I’m getting set for the first day’s ride in the USA; basically I’ll be heading roughly west-south-west for a couple of months.  The plains, the Rockies, the desert and the landmarks of the West (Monument Valley, the Grand Canyon etc) hopefully lie ahead.  Plenty more from the US to come, I’m sure…