USA (2) PART TWO
SEATTLE - BOSTON
22 May – 1 October 2014
8 173 Kilometres – 134 Days
PART TWO
24 June - 1 October 2014
6 473 Km - 103 Days
Washington (2)
Washington Photos
Oregon Photos
Idaho
Idaho Photos
Montana
Montana Photos
Wyoming
Yellowstone Photos
Montana (2)
Montana Photos
Wyoming (2)
Wyoming Photos
Minnesota
Minnesota Photos
Wisconsin
Wisconsin Photos
Michigan
Michigan Photos
Ohio
Photos Ohio
Pennsylvania
New
York
Photos New York
Massachusetts
Photos Massachusetts
PART
TWO
24
June - 1 October 2014
6 473
Km - 103 Days
Washington
(2)
24-25
June -Seattle
First
thing in the morning, I trundled to the Canadian Consulate, merely to find they
had no visa information or instructions on how to collect it once granted. This
lack of information left me no choice but to proceed east across the US's
northern states until Canadian access was granted.
The
weather was glorious and perfect for a walking tour, sampling their
world-famous clam chowder, and feeding seagulls while watching the sunset.
26
June - Seattle – Riverbend Camping - 90 km
Unable
to cross into Canada, the time came to start the great trek east, heading south
towards Portland and east via the Columbia Gorge. Looking at the map, it
appeared to be an exciting route.
Even
though cloudy, the weather wasn't cold. The remarkable thing was that it was
warmer in Washington than in San Francisco. Leaving, the route passed the
Boeing factory, which didn't simply have a Museum of Flight but also one of
Light, and I was sorry I didn't do the Boeing tour.
It
was cherry season, so my path was peppered by stalls selling delicious
cherries, and a few sweet ones were bagged for the road.
Heading
south on the old Pacific Highway, I came upon Riverbend campsite. The camp was
expensive, add one had to pay to get a hot shower; it became the costliest
shower that far.
27
June - Riverbend Campground – Lewis and Clark SP - 98 km
It
rained throughout the night, and on waking, rain was still dripping on the
tent, which made me curl up and sleep an additional hour, after which the rain
had abated. Packing up was a quick affair, and after donning rain gear, I
hopped on my iron horse for the ride towards Vancouver. Albeit drizzling occasionally,
the ride was enjoyable, partly along a bike path that ran through the woods for
almost 15–20 miles.
A
supermarket made stocking up in Toledo convenient, followed by the regular
search for a camping spot. The nearby Lewis and Clark SP was a lovely place in
a forest, although a few mighty strange noises were in the woods. By evening, I
zipped up the tent and hoped nothing would carry me away, as whatever was
lurking in the forest had somewhat limited choices seeing I was the only one
there.
28
June - Lewis and Clark SP – Vancouver - 108 km
The
drizzle that woke me continued all day, and as a result, there were barely any
stops, and the camera never came out. So, little option remained, but I pulled
the cap low and headed towards the next campsite. Stopping at a Burger Hut to
have lunch was a treat, if to people-watch. Some, obviously, already had a few
burgers too many, and the last thing they needed was one more massive
milkshake. I thought America’s massive portions, which bordered on rudeness,
were to blame for much of the health issues in the country.
Once
on the road, it started drizzling, and I turned into the first
inexpensive-looking establishment to escape the weather.
Oregon
(2)
29
June - Vancouver – Portland - 60 km
Vicki,
a 365-project friend who lived in Portland then, invited me to visit. Packing
up was at leisure, as the ride to their house was only a short distance.
Vancouver's Old Fort begged to be explored, and afterwards, I looked for a bike
path across the Colombia River.
The
weather was glorious, and the bike path next to the river was jam-packed with
cyclists. A stop at Blue Lake Park, a large scenic area, was a great place to
eat my takeaway. People were out and about, kids were swimming, and all enjoyed
the excellent June weather.
Locating
John and Vicki's place was uncomplicated, and these fantastic people treated me
like royalty. They didn't simply offer me a bed but treated me to supper at a
floating restaurant. Then, at home, we chatted nonstop while my laundry was
done. How awesome is that?
30
June - Portland – The Dalles - 123 km
The
following day was lovely; the sun was out, and one could wear shorts. I waved
goodbye to John and Vicki and continued my journey along the Columbia River.
The way east led through the Columbia River Gorge and followed the Historic
Columbia River Highway. The ride was stunning past numerous waterfalls and scenic
areas. Vicki packed plenty to eat, and maybe it was those chocolate chip
cookies that made me ride to The Dalles, a small settlement along the river.
1
July - The Dalles - 32 km
I
awoke with a scratchy throat and an uncomfortable sense of an impending cold
looming. Minor ailments like this irked me—you just wish they would vanish
overnight, don’t you? With a slight shiver and a determination to shake off the
malaise, I hopped on my bike and pedalled out of town. A quick stop at Safeway
yielded some over-the-counter medicine, boldly boasting its ability to clear a
cold in record time.
Feeling
utterly drained, I only managed to cover a meagre 30 kilometres to the next
campsite. It felt especially disheartening given the glorious weather—azure
skies overhead, the sun warm on my skin, and not a whisper of wind to disturb
the tranquil day. Locals had warned that the Gorge was infamous for its fierce
winds, and I could only hope that the calm would persist until morning.
2
July - The Dalles – Boardman - 114 km
Still
feeling under the weather, staying one more day was enticing, but my
restlessness got the better of me. With the wind in my favour, packing up was a
speedy affair. A strong tailwind made effortless riding toward Boardman – a
good thing too, as I was feeling downright terrible.
Boardman
had a beautiful campground offering a genuinely luxurious lawn right on the
Columbia River. The nearby shops provided a stack of food, but I had no
appetite and just ate the salad.
The
pedal or bottom bracket made the most ungodly noise, and I hoped it would get
me to the next village, roughly 30 miles further.
3
July - Boardman – Pendleton & Shuttle bus to La Grande - 100 km (& 45
miles by shuttle bus)
The
next morning, a short bike ride took me to a surprisingly well-stocked bike
shop for such a small community. After replacing the pedals, I rolled into La
Grande early, as the wind was in my back.
As
soon as the road left the Columbia River, the landscape changed to vast plains
where my path took me through endless wheat fields. Still suffering from a cold
and not feeling too energetic, I pushed over the hills and soon spotted
Pendleton far down in the valley.
In
Pendleton, signs indicated that the stretch between Pendleton and La Grange was
off-limits for bicycles due to maintenance work. However, this was
well-organized America, and a shuttle bus operated between the two towns.
Unfortunately, the bus was only at 17h00, leaving a long wait. Once in pretty
La Grange, I weakened at the sight of a motel room, which made it easy to kick
back the rest of the evening.
4-6
July - La Grange – Baker City - 72 km
The
cold and flu medicine I bought didn't quite live up to its claim of relieving
the symptoms super-fast, and, still feeling dreadful, I continued along Highway
84. Once at the top of the hill, the tarmac stretched miles ahead towards the
historic town of Baker City, and I had a strong suspicion that this would be
the last flat section for a while.
Feeling
positively rotten, the Eldorado Inn made a good enough place to spend the
night. It was Independence Day, and I thought it was a pity that I felt as
awful as I did. Though all countries celebrate their independence, no country celebrates
the day with quite as much gusto as the Americans.
Waking,
feeling all blocked up, including a heavy head and a tight chest, there was no
point in cycling. Instead, I sauntered to the shop, got more flu tablets, and
returned to bed, where I spent two full days as I was clearly not going to
cycle the flu away.
7
July - Baker City – Ontario - 135 km
At
last, my cold abated, allowing me to pedal out of Baker City. The road followed
what is known as the Old Oregon Trail. The trail was an old wagon route and
emigrant trail that ran from east to west across the country, remarkably
similar to the Great Trek in my home country.
The
landscape also reminded me of South Africa, as it very much resembled the
Karoo. The route passed through sleepy hamlets featuring abandoned train
stations, a railway line, a pub, and a church. The only thing missing was a
forlorn-looking Pepper Willow.
I
followed the Snake River, and with such a name camping along the riverbank wasn't
on top of my to-do list. However, the weather was perfect, around 30°C during
the day – ideal for cycling. I was on a bit of a downhill run and continued
towards Ontario - the last stop until crossing the border into Idaho.
Idaho
8–9
July - Ontario – Boise - 97 km
Once
across the state border into Idaho, my path continued until reaching the
turnoff to Boise. Then, being invited by Rachel and Patrick, two WarmShowers
hosts, I headed downtown and followed the Greenbelt bike path into the city
centre. From the city, a short ride led to Rachel and Patrick's home. I've
never met them personally and merely knew them from social media, as they were
seasoned cycle tourers. Not only did they have a beautiful home, but they were
the most likeable people imaginable. We chatted forever, and I was easily
convinced to stay another day.
Patrick
was born and raised in The Netherlands, and as Holland played in the World Cup
Soccer semi-finals, we visited the pub to watch the game. Regrettably, Holland
lost, but we all had a great time.
10-13
July - Rafting
I
was invited to join Rachel and Patrick on a river rafting trip along the
Wallowa and Grande Ronde Rivers. This was a fantastic opportunity I grabbed
with both hands. The drive to the start, and where we camped, was a long one.
The following morning, we packed the rafts and took to the water. I joined
Bobby (and his dog, Trixi), Gordy was on his own, Rachel and Patrick were in
one boat, and Bob, Ivy and Eve (and Bob's dog) in another boat. They were all
charming people and we'd a total blast on the river.
The
weather played along, and as the weather was in the high 90s, the river was the
best place. Bob and Bobby fished occasionally, and whatever was caught went
straight into the river.
We
camped along the riverbank in the evening, and I was impressed by their
conservation efforts as not a single scrap of anything was left behind at the
places camped. They were incredibly well-organised, and one could tell this
wasn't their first time on the river - even the dogs had lifejackets.
The
time passed far too quickly, and too soon the time came to load the boats and
return to the city.
14
July - Boise
I intended
to use my day in Boise productively and do something useful, like washing the
sleeping bag. Instead, the day was spent playing with the camera in Rachel and
Patrick's lush garden and enjoying the novelty of being in a real home. By
evening, Sarah (another cyclist) arrived. We’d supper together, after which I
packed my bags and prepared to resume my quest anew.
15
July - Boise – Glenn's Ferry - 125 km
In
the morning I thanked Rachel and Patrick, and intended to turn off at Mountain
Home onto Route 20. Still, the wind picked up, and I soon found myself grinding
into a headwind. There and then, I made a U-turn and continued along Route 84.
The
area was highly desolate and had very little of interest. However, a strong
tailwind blew me into Glenn's Ferry early. At the Three Islands SP, the camping
fee was astronomical (as Patrick warned) and best to look elsewhere.
Glenn's
Ferry turned out a fascinating place. Back in the day the area was one of the
most famous and treacherous river crossings on the Oregon Trail. Not only was
Glenn’s Ferry steeped in history, but it turned out the home of Equine
Dentistry. You learn something new every day!
16
July - Glenn's Ferry – Truckstop - 109 km
This
was the first day since departing Seattle, that I encountered a headwind.
Unfortunately, my hopes of it changing never materialised, and the wind
direction stayed east-north-east all day. As a result, the going was relatively
slow. Petrol stations made convenient distractions to break the monotony and
fill the water bottles.
Not
a significant amount happened, except riding through the Snake River Gorge
which stretched almost 50 kilometres and was highly picturesque. The gorge was
further known for an unsuccessful attempt by Evel Knievel to jump across using
a contraption called a Skycycle rocket! The things people do! (Maybe I
shouldn’t say that out loud, hahaha)
17
July - Truck Stop – American Falls - 135 km
Powered
by a tailwind, I flew past farmlands and windfarms, indicating the area a
notoriously windy one. Then, finally, route 84 (which I’d been following some
time) turned south, but I veered north along Route 86, in the direction of both
Canada and Yellowstone National Park. Overnighting was at the small settlement
of American Falls, so named after a party of trappers whose boat went over the
falls. Poor things.
18
July - American Falls – Idaho Falls - 130 km
Not only
was the day comfortable riding, but I also benefited from a tailwind. From
Pocatello, the road headed north through the Indian reservation of Fort Hall
and past Blackfoot, which didn't have much going on apart from a potato museum.
Of course, you know there's little happening in a place that boasts a potato
museum.
Dave's
Bike Shop, in Idaho Falls, changed the inner tube and discovered what was
causing the slow puncture. Not simply did they change the tube but they did so
free of charge.
I
then searched for an inexpensive room, which was more difficult than expected.
The one located was far out of town, and once the panniers were off-loaded, it
took biking into the village on the hunt to find food.
19
July - Idaho Falls – Warm Waters campsite - 110 km
The
ride was so monotonous that one could listen to stories downloaded on the
iPod—a novel way to cycle but something one can only do without traffic. The
path east ran past vast fields of seed potatoes and even more extensive wheat
areas, and in the process, I met a French family pedalling around Idaho. Sadly,
their holiday was soon ending, and they planned on hiring a car to tour
Yellowstone National Park.
Arriving
at Warm Waters campsite early made basking in the sun the rest of the day. Warm
Waters was a popular site, and campers floated on inner tubes downstream, only
to run back and repeat the process. The camp had a great location next to the
river, which provided plenty of trees. There were, surprisingly, no showers,
but I guessed that was what the river was for.
Montana
20–21
July - Warm Rivers Campsite – Western Yellowstone – 95 km
By
crossing the continental divide, one entered the state of Montana, and it's
understood the name was derived from the Spanish word 'Montaña' (mountain). I,
therefore, guessed the ride would include a few hills. Montana ranks fourth in
size but only 48th in population density out of the 50 states in the US. Even
more unique is that the western third of Montana contains 77 named mountain
ranges, forming part of the Rocky Mountains. I sincerely hoped not all 77 were
on my path.
West
Yellowstone had a campsite and a supermarket, and the following day was spent
doing routine rest-day chores. The best part of the day was spent lazing about,
which was a good thing, too, as a storm passed, complete with an impressive
display of thunder, lightning, and hail.
Wyoming
22
July - West Yellowstone – Norris campsite - 52 km
I
had a slow start as the day was meant to discover new things and not do
distance, and I was bursting with excitement to investigate this unique region.
At the entrance of Yellowstone Park, the entry fee was a meagre $12 (valid for
seven days). Soon, the road crossed into the state of Wyoming, where a
significant part of the park is situated. The day was fantastic, and the vistas
surpassed all expectations. Yellowstone is truly one of a kind, a place where
the earth bubbles, splatters and steams. Geysers erupted before my eyes; it was
one of the most surreal places I’ve visited.
Camping
was at Norris where a British family travelling the area told me an online visa
application to Canada takes two months. I then had little hope of getting the
visa to allow biking in Canada.
23
July - Norris Campsite – Gardiner - 42 km
The
ride was short but fascinating and included many stops at extraordinary sights.
That night, camping was at Gardiner to rethink the route as the wind picked up.
The forecast was for 35 m/h winds in an easterly direction. The idea of
exploring Glacier National Park went out the window, as I had no intention of
battling such a wind.
Montana
(2)
24
July - Gardiner – Big Timber - 152 km
The
weather forecast was spot-on, and the wind grew stronger as the day progressed.
With a near-gale-force wind in my back, cycling was like low flying, reaching
almost 60 km/h on the downhill—scary stuff. From Gardiner, my path headed north
toward Livingston, from where it veered east.
Amazingly,
once in Livingston, the direction of the wind changed, and it remained a
tailwind. Arriving in Big Timber was thus in good time, and the lack of camping
made me opt for a Motel.
I
decided to follow the wind, and go wherever it blew me. I also sent an
additional email to the Canadian visa office, inquiring exactly how long the
visa would take and how one would receive it (to this day the has been no yea
or nay from them). In the meantime, the plan was to head further east while
staying close to the border in case the visa came through.
25
July - Big Timber – Laurel - 112 km
The
route followed the Yellowstone River, which I understood was the US's longest
undammed river. Unfortunately, the wind wasn't as strong as the day before, and
my legs felt tired after the previous day's long cycle.
On
reaching Laurel, I called it a day but guessed one could easily have carried on
towards Billings (a further 22 miles). But, as they say in South Africa, I
didn't want to pull the ass out of the chicken.
After
a good look at the map, I decided to head toward Mount Rushmore National Park
as I’d given up hope of ever getting the Canadian visa. There was no word from
them, not even a "Thanks for your payment", just a pathetic automated
email stating they had received the application and would contact me in due
time.
26–27
July - Laurel – Hardin - 105 km & 52 km
The
room was cheap, likely due to its location near the railway line. Still, it was
a good deal as the price included a complimentary buffet breakfast. My
neighbours complained about the noise from the trains, but I never heard
anything.
The
way to Billings veered slightly southeast toward Mount Rushmore and was
dreadfully monotonous. It was hot, dry, and somewhat lonely, sporting views of
endless wheat fields. The single slight bit of excitement was a flat tyre from
tyre debris.
The
first settlement was Hardin, where a campsite and a few places to eat had my
name on them. So, after obtaining the usual evening beer and crisps, it was
time to set up camp.
The
following morning, after biking nearly an hour, I realised I’d left my solar
charger and phone behind and had little choice but to return to camp. Upon my
return, I found the owners frantically phoning around to locate me. The
Americans were such helpful people. Being already late, I considered it best to
stay one more night and was promptly invited to a BBQ.
28–29
July - Hardin – Ranchester – 120 km
The
ride to Ranchester was slow, as the road was slightly uphill and into a mild
breeze. The scenery remained unchanged as I cycled past familiar views of vast
wheat fields. Interestingly, the farmers didn't handle the harvesting
themselves; instead, they hired contract harvesters. I learned that the
harvesters working in this area employed at least six young South Africans to
drive the machines.
Shortly
before reaching Ranchester, I crossed into the state of Wyoming. Although tiny
Ranchester was relatively close, the ride took nearly the entire day. I crawled
into camp, dead tired—one of those exhausting days.
It
rained all night, and I didn’t go anywhere the next morning since it was still
raining when I emerged from my tent. Later, the weather cleared, allowing me to
hike to the river and visit the old Connor battlefield. It's immensely sad when
an entire tribe is wiped out; such a loss is final and can never be undone, no
matter how much money is spent to address the aftermath.
Tiny
Ranchester had no shops except a small store at the gas station, a gunsmith, a
taxidermist, and no less than two churches. The village was also home to the
Cowboy State Bank, and I wasn't sure I would put my hard-earned money in a
Cowboy Bank. During my walkabout, I encountered two people who prayed for my
soul. I must’ve seemed an absolute wreck. LOL.
Wyoming
(2)
30
July - Ranchester – Buffalo - 95 km
Feeling
miles more energetic, my route followed the old Black Diamond Trail, referring
to yesteryear's coal mining industry. Although the peak mining years were long
gone, some mining was still done in the area.
The
road climbed slowly along the foothills of the Bighorn Mountains to Buffalo.
Once there, it took pedalling around to locate a camping spot. There were at
least two campgrounds, but both were relatively expensive. Ultimately, I
settled for Indian Campground, which offered a small discount. Then, off to the
shops for my nightly rations. LOL.
31
July - Buffalo – Gillette - 115 km
The
weather forecast predicted a headwind, but the breeze turned out not too
severe, and around midday it changed in my favour. Unfortunately, the stretch
between Buffalo and Gillette was extremely barren, without a hamlet or farm.
Thank goodness for a rest area to fill the water bottle before continuing to
Gillette.
Here,
I met a family (mom, dad and two kids) who enquired about my comings and goings.
They were clearly a conservative family, and Dad was the boss, as he did most
of the talking while his wife remained one step behind, and the kids one step
behind her. One of the first questions asked was "What's your
religion?" On answering, "I'm an atheist", the family retreated
in unison in shock and horror. The only thing the man didn't do was spread his
arms in a protective gesture to seal his family from this evil force.
Afterwards, I was sorry for my reply as it instantly alienated me, and killed a
conversation that could’ve been interesting. At times, it's better to go with
the flow.
1
August - Gillette – Upton - 89 km
My
late departure was not merely due to chatting with other campers but mainly to
predictions that the wind would change in an easterly direction at around 10
am. I had an Egg McMuffin and coffee at McDonald's, and by the time all was
finished, the wind indeed swung east.
The
ride to Moorcroft was pleasurable and I threw a left onto Route 16. Before
leaving Moorcroft I stopped at the tiny West Texas Trail Museum to investigate before
continuing in Upton's direction.
Clouds
gathered, and with a distant rumbling, I rode as fast as my legs could manage.
A sign stated: "Upton, the best town on Earth." The statement
might’ve been a tad of an exaggeration as Upton's population was a mere 1,000,
and even that number was most likely for the "greater" Upton area.
With
a massive storm rolling in, I pedalled like the clappers. Mercifully, I slinked
into Upton, which sported the Weston Inn Motel, just as the heavens opened. The
owner offered me a room at half-price, making it the same price as camping. He
further allowed me to use the washing machine—what a kind man. (Or was it
perhaps due to my body odour?)
2
August - Upton – Custer - 103 km
The
following morning, the sky was clear, as Route 16 continued past oil fields,
apparently the oldest in the area. The oil must be exceptionally shallow, as
the drills were half-sized. My path continued toward Mount Rushmore, and once
past Newcastle, it swung east toward the Black Hills. Not only was the ride
hilly and into a gusty breeze, but a swarm of horse flies descended on me, and
being uphill, I couldn’t outcycle them. Ouch, ouch, ouch!
The
KOA campsite outside of Custer appeared to be a good enough place, but I was
utterly shocked at the price! The Sturgis Bike Rally was on, and all campsites
were full; no wonder the remaining few came at a premium. Even sadder was to
find they only sold beer in 24 packs. At least the shower was good but what a
price to pay to have a shower. I was tired and in no mood to talk to anyone.
(As if it was their fault the camp was expensive, and beer sold in 24 packs.)
South
Dakota
3
August - Custer (1620m)– Rapid City (976m) - 87 km
My
first stop the next day was at the immensely impressive Crazy Horse Memorial.
The memorial consists of a mountain carving of Crazy Horse (an Oglala Lakota
warrior).
The
monument is under construction and carved out of Thunderhead Mountain; land
considered sacred by Oglala Lakota. The sculpture's final dimensions are
planned at 641 feet (195 m) wide and 563 feet (172 m) high. The head of Crazy
Horse will be 87 feet (27 m) tall; by comparison, the heads of the four US
Presidents at Mount Rushmore are only 60 feet (18 m) high. The monument has
been in progress since 1948 and won't be completed in our or the next
generation's lifetime.
Then,
off to Mount Rushmore to see the colossal statues of Washington, Jefferson,
Lincoln, and Roosevelt. These world-famous statues were unimpressive after
seeing Crazy Horse, but the Crazy Horse Memorial will make anything look
unimpressive. While there, I understood the sadness in the article below by
National Geographic.
South
Dakota’s Mount Rushmore has a strange, scandalous history
(nationalgeographic.com)
The
Sturgis Bike Rally consisted of 500,000, that's right, 500,000 bikers. The
roads were crowded with motorbikes, and all campsites and motels in the area were
filled to the brim. Both the bikes and bikers came in all shapes and sizes. The
riders were both male and female, all seemingly tattooed from head to toe, and
a few of those mammas were big; they made a Harley look like a scooter. The
reason for their size soon became apparent as one often saw them sitting, a
giant ice cream cone in one hand and an equally large Coke in the other. And
there I thought I was the queen of unhealthy eating.
4
August - Rapid City - Wall - 89 km
Following
a quick bite at McDonald's, my path followed Route 90 in an easterly direction.
The road stretched dead straight into a hazy infinity; unfortunately, the wind picked
up, and it became an unpleasant battle into the wind. Finally, at the tiny, but
fascinating, settlement of Wall, I called it quits and pulled in as the
campsite was just $10 and considered cheap at the time.
Wall
wasn't only situated opposite the Badlands National Park entrance but was also home
to Wall Drug, a famous roadside stop and shop. Wall Drug started as a drug
store and grew into what it is today. In addition, Wall is home to a funky
Harley Davidson shop and campground. This tiny community was bustling with
bikers en route to Sturgis. I had an immense desire to pop a wheelie on cycling
into camp, which gave me the giggles, as I could imagine a cartoon, panniers
flying and all!
5
August - Wall
My
plan was to bike through the Badlands National Park, but the wind was howling.
In the miserable weather, I stayed put. The bikers all left for the rally but
returned later as Wall must’ve been the cheapest campsite for miles around.
6
August - Wall – 1880 Town - 105 km
By
morning, the weather remained the same. Still, there wasn’t much I could do but
pack up and face the elements. I departed Wall in a drizzle that continued on
and off all day. Little of interest was happening, and the only entertainment
was taking selfies. I must be extremely bored to do such a thing!
Towards
the end of the day, another cyclist came into view. He was on a mission to
cycle all 50 states, which sounded pretty monotonous, going around and around
in the same country. But, then again, this was the nice part about bicycle
touring – we all did our own thing, in our own time and manner. We chatted for
a while before continuing in our respective directions. I finished the day’s
ride in a tiny town named 1880 Town. Its single claim to fame was that the area
was one of the film locations for Dances with Wolves.
7
August - 1880 Town – Kennebec - 105 km
With
no change of scenery, the tarmac stretched miles and miles through farmlands in
an area known as the Great Plains. These plains were once home to large herds
of American bison until hunted to near extinction during the mid/late-19th century.
Although
I could imagine those great animals roaming the plains, the day nevertheless
became a long and monotonous one to Kennebec. The entire way remained busy with
motorbikes to and from the Sturgis Rally.
Mercifully,
the old highway ran parallel to the interstate and made pedalling away from the
traffic effortless. Eventually, I came upon a frigging expensive campsite at
Kennebec, and I could just as well have taken a room.
8
August - Kennebec – Chamberlain - 55 km
As the
weather and views remained the same and I lacked the energy to deal with the
boredom, I called it a day once across the Missouri River. The campsite had a
pleasant location on the Missouri River banks, but I first proceeded to the
shop. Campers were always chatty and primarily curious about where you came
from and where you were going. Finally, feeling tired, I retreated to my tent
early as the weather came in and started drizzling.
Being
snug, an additional day was spent in tiny Chamberlain. Unfortunately,
Chamberlain didn’t offer a great deal in the excitement line. There was nothing
to do but relax, eat, and cycle up the lone hill to take a few river pics. Most
remarkable was that this small community of barely 2,000 residents boasted a South
Dakota Hall of Fame.
10
August - Chamberlain – Mitchell - 117 km
Feeling
energised, I crossed the last of the Great Plains. These plains are an enormous
expanse of steppe, and, in places, I assumed, nearly as lonely as frontier
days. The area referred to as the Great Plains stretches practically 800
kilometres east to west and 3,200 kilometres north to south, and it felt like I’d
cycled the entire distance.
Nothing
significant happened except meeting the priest, who treated me to coffee. Judging
by the signboards, there couldn't have been much for him to do in such a small
place, which appeared relatively conservative.
These
advertising boards were a contradiction in themselves as side by side they
stood, one pro-war and the other anti-abortion. I failed to see how one could justify
killing grown men. Still, God forbid one should choose to have an abortion, and
guess this insinuated it was all right to kill people from different races,
cultures, and countries.
I
made my way to Mitchell, a fair-sized village sporting a population of almost
15,000 and no less than three campgrounds and 20 churches; I kid you not!
11
August - Mitchell – Sioux Falls - 115 km
By
morning coffee was in the company of the other campers. I chatted for ages with
two bikers travelling around the USA. Biking through Mitchell turned out quite
interesting. The town was, fittingly, home to a Corn Palace, a magnificent
multipurpose building where the murals were made of cob.
Stalls
sold all kinds of corn-related items, including racks of T-shirts and other
trinkets. After a bite to eat, it was past 11h00 before pedalling out of
Mitchell.
A
minor route took me past the small and fascinating towns of Alexandria, Emery
and Bridgewater. These towns were lovely, and looked like part of a movie set,
to such an extent, that I was surprised to find ordinary people living there.
Minnesota
12
August - Sioux Falls, South Dakota – Luverne, Minnesota - 60 km
As parks
and bike paths surrounded Sioux Falls, stopping at the falls came naturally.
After a few pictures and a stroll to the old mill ruins, I continued to
Luverne.
What
a delightfully odd country this was. Minnesota is located in the Midwest, which
isn't even close to the "Midwest"; no matter how I turned the map, it
remained more North/Northeast. It's a place where a pie refers to something
sweet and dessert-like instead of the savoury, meaty main meal I'm accustomed
to. A place where a scone is a biscuit and not eaten with jam and cream but
with egg and bacon or gravy. I love travelling!
My
route crossed into Minnesota almost halfway to Luverne. Feeling lazy, I
succumbed to temptation and got myself a room in Luverne. I needed the
internet, so I spent the rest of the day doing internet stuff.
13
August - Luverne – Jackson - 113 km
The
following morning dawned bright and sunny, with barely any wind and a brilliant
blue sky. The temperature was perfect as Route 90 beat a dead straight path
across the Midwest, passing tiny hamlets with populations of a mere 200. Yet,
all seemed well in the Midwest: corn stood high, cattle were fat, and soybeans
appeared ready to be harvested.
I
also discovered that an hour was gained somewhere along the line—quite where
and when that happened remained a mystery.
14
August - Jackson – Blue Earth - 84 km
I
woke to a beautiful sunrise, packed the tent, and after coffee ventured further
east. Route 90 led past more cornfields, soybeans, pig farms and small
villages.
Not
much was happening except watching the daredevil crop sprayers at work. With
the strong smell of pesticide in the air, I only snapped a few pictures and
then moved upwind to watch for a few more minutes.
On
slinking into the tiny settlement of Blue Earth, I jumped at the opportunity of
a room, even if not entirely necessary. The next town was 40 miles away, making
an awfully long day. Blue Earth was referred to as a city, but with a
population of barely 3,000, the place was no more than a hamlet. The
extraordinary thing was the village boasted a gigantic 17-metre-tall
"Jolly Green Giant", a human pea statue, promoting the Minnesota
Valley Canning Company. I'm not making this up!
15
August - Blue Earth – Albert Lea - 75 km
It
became one of those days that dragged on forever, with little of interest.
Saying that, each day, something happens. On this day, a farmer stopped and
gave me $5, instructing me to have a coffee. How sweet of him and I did
precisely that. I surmised he thought I was homeless.
There’s
no point in cycling if it’s not enjoyable, and a campsite on the outskirts of
Albert Lea signalled the end of my day’s ride. Surrounded by six lakes, Albert
Lea was pretty but had a diminishing population. Not merely wasn't anything
happening, but I believe the temperature ranged between 41°C in summer and
minus 15°C in winter. Fortunately, I was there, slap-bang, between these two
extremes.
16
August - Albert Lea – Preston - 115 km
The
following day my energy levels returned, and the ride turned into an enjoyable
one of cycle touring. The weather was perfect, with scarcely any wind to speak
of. A dirt track took me through farmlands and left me highly impressed by the
farming activities, which were neat and well-organised. The homesteads all
looked well-maintained and the fields immaculate and well-tended.
Minnesota
is a relatively "roomy" state, and I hardly saw anyone except a few
small communities. In Preston, one could pitch your tent at the fairgrounds at
a reasonable price (sometimes even free).
Following
the usual shopping, I set up camp. I rarely cooked in the US as food was always
conveniently available.
Wisconsin
17
August - Preston – La Crosse - 106 km
I
waited the next morning, but no one came to collect the camping fee. Then, to
my surprise and delight, I discovered a cycle path that took me from Preston to
Houston. The trail made a picturesque ride along the Root River, and I biked
through the quaintest of villages and was delighted with the change of vistas.
Along
the path, I met Alex and Jill, a lovely couple, who were out for the weekend
with their two-year-old son, Lennon. They biked from La Crosse to Lanesboro,
camped there and were on their way home when I met them. They invited me to
camp in their garden, and it became a sociable evening. Jill made a delicious
supper, and we drank a few beers. They also allowed me to use their laundry and
I’d a decent scrubbing in their shower. All hugely appreciated.
18
August - La Crosse – Norwalk - 70 km
All
good things come to an end, and following breakfast, and with loads of
information, I cycled into town. After visiting the outdoor store and computer
shop, the time was virtually midday before riding out of La Crosse.
Shortly
outside La Crosse, I came upon the bicycle path to Reedsburg, which Alex and
Jill recommended. The trail was interesting as, for the most part, it followed
an old railway line, which was then converted into a bike path. Building the
railway line through the Wisconsin hills must’ve been quite tricky. Low-lying
areas were filled in, and tunnels were dug through the mountains, making the
ride an excellent, even 3-degree grade.
The
extraordinary thing was that the tunnels were freezing inside. To such an
extent, condensation flowed from the tunnels, resembling smoke. The tunnels
were scary and spooky as they were long and pitch dark (without being able to
see the light at the other end). Water dripped from the ceiling, and bats
skirted around my head. I was thus relieved to clear the dark tunnel.
Norwalk's
tiny settlement appeared shortly beyond the tunnel, which had free camping in
the village park.
Lightning
and thunder forced me to take cover, and I pitched the tent under a covered
area. Following a shower and craving something sweet, I strolled to a shop
selling milkshakes. Unfortunately, Lisa was closing as I got there. So,
instead, she invited me for a beer at the pub, which turned out to be a
fascinating and enjoyable evening.
19 -
21 August - Norwalk – Reedsburg - 73 km
The
following day, the tunnels were not as long and scary. Nevertheless, the
enormous doors to these tunnel entrances were intriguing. I read they were to
seal in warmer temperatures during cold weather (and, of course, keep the snow
out). Back in the day, tunnel watchmen were hired to open and close the doors
as trains approached.
An
effortless and relaxing ride led to Reedsburg, which had a computer shop and
accommodation. Unfortunately, the computer shop was already closed.
The
following day, I took the laptop to see if they could fix Skype, which had
stopped working. While they worked on the computer, I handed in my sleeping bag
at the laundry (a long overdue job). It wasn't the washing that took forever,
but the drying.
The
next morning, rain came gushing down and, as it was still raining by midday, so
I decided to stay and relax in front of the TV.
22
August - Reedsburg – De Forest - 80 km
By
morning, the weather cleared, allowing a visit to Reedsburg Pioneer Village.
The Pioneer Log Village was a representation of early Reedsburg. The project
consisted of nine original log cabins, some having been moved intact from
surrounding areas and others rebuilt from original logs. The village comprised
three pioneer homes, an 1873 one-room school, an 1873 log church, a general
store and post office, a library, and a blacksmith shop. Unfortunately, the
buildings were closed due to the heat. Or, at least, that was what they said.
The temperature was only 25ᵒC but incredibly humid.
My
next stop was beautiful Devil's Lake. The area not only consisted of a
beautiful lake but was also home to stunning rock outcrops. I read that the
area formed part of the Baraboo Range, which scientists believe was created 1.6
billion years ago.
Even
more interesting was that I kept crossing the "Ice Age Trail," a
thousand-mile footpath, entirely within Wisconsin. More than 12,000 years ago
an immense flow of glacial ice formed the landscape here, making me instantly
want to hike the trail. Fortunately, I refrained from doing any such thing, as
hiking would require a completely different set of equipment.
Route
113 arrived at the Merrimac Ferry, which crosses Lake Wisconsin. The ferry was
more of a barge than a ferry, as it was pulled across the lake by cables. I
guessed the barge was due to the lake’s shallowness, as I read—it has a maximum
depth of only 7.3m.
Once
on the opposite side, I resumed my ride past Lodi and Dane. Shortly past Dane,
a kind man stopped and offered to take my panniers to my next destination; how
nice of him.
The
weather was incredibly humid as I pitched the tent at DeForest. Unfortunately, I
soon had to retreat into the tent to avoid being devoured by the many eager
mosquitos. Although hot, lying in the tent was fun watching fireflies darting
around.
The
weather was so hot, humid, and tropical that I could not for the life of me
imagine winter in Wisconsin, as I understood the average temperature for
December, January, and February was a mere 5°F.
23
August - De Forest – Waukesha - 135 km
Packing
up was a leisurely affair, marked by a serene pace that allowed for moments of
reflection. As I ventured along the minor paths, I passed charming houses
adorned with vibrant displays of home-grown produce for sale, each stall a
delightful feast for the eyes and bursting with colour. The rest of the day
unfolded as I rode along a bicycle path that wound its way to Waukesha, the
journey offering a perfect blend of tranquillity and natural beauty.
24
August – Waukesha, Wisconsin – Muskegon, Michigan - 22 km (Ferry)
From
Waukesha, a short ride, partly on a bike path, took me to the ferry terminal in
Milwaukee, Wisconsin. En route to the ferry, I met Bob, another cyclist, who
accompanied me to the ferry terminal. I was just in time to board the ferry
across Lake Michigan, which came at a hefty $100 fee. However, the ferry was
amazingly comfortable and fast. Two hours later, I was relieved to moor at the
pier in Muskegon, Michigan. My relief was due to the countless accounts of mighty
strange sightings and disappearances in and around Lake Michigan. I overnighted
in Muskegon but sadly never witnessed any UFOs or bright lights in the sky.
Michigan
25
August - Muskegon to Holland - 50 km
My
ride from Muskegon to Holland was a short 50-kilometre journey. Despite the
rain that fell almost all the way, the weather eventually cleared. In Holland,
I found a motel with a fast enough internet connection to reload my Garmin map,
which had stopped working.
I
was pleasantly surprised by Holland; it truly resembled a small version of the
Netherlands, complete with windmills and wooden shoes. Some shops even sold
apple strudel!
26
August - Holland – Covert - 78 km
The
rain-soaked ride to Covert was somewhat miserable. Fortunately, the weather
wasn't cold, but thunder and lightning made me take cover at a shop. Shortly
afterwards, I finished the day’s ride when I spotted a camping area in Covert,
where I crawled in sopping wet.
27
August - Covert – Vicksburg - 80 km
So
well did I sleep, it was already past 8h00 before I emerged from the tent.
Coffee was from a store in camp, and it was 10h30 before biking out of Covert
in Vicksburg's direction.
It
was time for me to cut across the state of Michigan towards Lake Erie.
Unfortunately, no clear path headed across the state and a pleasant day was
spent zig-zagging through farmlands on country roads. At one of these
settlements, I met Sharon Wimple, running for state representative. On wishing
her well in the elections, she put a few dollars in my hand and told me to have
a meal. (It’s possible she also assumed I was homeless. LOL) As this was the
second time, I was given money to buy food, I thought I must look somewhat
scrawny. LOL
Vicksburg
had a campground on the outskirts of town, but the sites were costly.
Fortunately, a welcoming chap invited me to share his stand; later, his friend
also pulled in. They made a fire, and we sat around having a few beers. My
hosts proceeded to get completely pissed, and I quietly slinked off to the
tent. While lying there, I could hear them chatting away, getting increasingly
drunk as the hours passed. Finally, I fell asleep but woke in the middle of the
night with one of them sitting outside the tent telling me how much he loved
me, suggesting he lay down next to me. I unzipped the tent and angrily shouted,
"Fuck off!" It was uttered with such gusto that you’ve never seen a
drunken man scurry that fast. LOL
28
August - Vicksburg – Jonesville - 93 km
One
more day was spent zig-zagging through farmlands on the way to Jonesville.
Biking through the villages was preferable, as they were pretty interesting,
but the streets running through these settlements were surprisingly narrow and
busy.
On
arrival in Jonesville, a reasonably priced motel lured me in. It made updating
photos and journal entries easy while watching TV.
Ohio
29
August – Jonesville, Ohio – Twin Acres Campground, Swanton, Ohio - 115 km
Not
a significant amount happened, and I was happy to come across a trail through
the forest which provided a change of scenery. However, as soon as the path
crossed the border into Ohio, I was back amidst cornfields and traditional red
barns. The day dragged on a tad but finally, the route spat me out in Swanton,
exactly where I wanted to be and where food was bought from the small
supermarket before pedalling to the campsite. Being Labour Day weekend, the
camp was chock-a-block; fortunately, there remained space for a small tent.
30 -
31 August - Swanton – Stony Ridge - 33 km
I
didn't feel like cycling, but I was stuck on the camp's outskirts, without
electricity or Wi-Fi, so I packed up and rode the short distance to Stony Ridge.
Being
Labour Day weekend, everything was nearly double the regular price. I decided
to lie low and wait for the holidays to pass before venturing further east.
Times
like these allow hauling out the macro lens. What I like about this lens (Canon
Macro 100 mm 1:2.8L) is when the focus is spot on, one can zoom in and crop to
your heart's content without losing detail.
1 -
2 September - Stony Ridge – Norwalk - 92 km
From
Stoney Ridge, a cycle path followed the old original railroad between New York
and Chicago. The path led past the interesting communities of Elmore, Lindsey,
Fremont, Clyde, Bellevue, and, finally, Norwalk. Two nights were spent in
Norwalk as the weather report predicted heavy storms. Nothing, however, came of
the predicted bad weather except a drizzle.
3
September - Norwalk – Motel 6, Middleburg Heights - 77 km
The
following day dawned bright and sunny, but it felt like each dog in the
district wanted a piece of me that day, especially the little ones. Soon, the
road brought me to the outskirts of Cleveland, and as I did not feel like venturing
into the city, I took a room at Motel 6.
4
September - Motel 6 – Geneva State Park - 95 km
Surprisingly,
the ride through Cleveland was fascinating. On riding into the city centre, the
route passed underneath the Hope Memorial Bridge with its "Guardians of
Traffic." Each of the eight guardians carved on the bridge pylons holds a
different vehicle. Collectively, they represent the history of ground
transport—from a stagecoach, covered wagon, and hay rack to a 1930s-era
automobile and four types of trucks. In the process, the bridge provided an
excellent view of the city.
The
Lakeshore path was in poor condition except for the stretch through the
well-off areas. Soon, the trail reached the city's outskirts and followed the
shores of Lake Erie. That night, camping was at Geneva State Park right on the
lake.
Pennsylvania
5
September - Geneva State Park – Erie - 95 km
The
weather was stunning as I set off along Lake Erie, and no sooner did the road
cross the border into the state of Pennsylvania, which was founded in 1681 as a
Quaker Community.
The
day’s ride finished in Erie where camping was on the water’s edge. It was a
convenient and scenic spot, but a storm came in during the night, and I feared
the tent wouldn’t be able to withstand the high wind. There was nothing to do
but crawl out in bucketing rain, peg in the guy ropes as best I could, and
sopping wet returned to my tent. Fortunately, the storm passed quickly, and
although it rained throughout the night, the high winds subsided. Phew! Scary!
6
September - Erie – Dunkirk - 87 km
As
dawn broke, the skies cleared, unveiling a stunningly beautiful day perfect for
cycling. Choosing not to rush the ride to the falls, I opted to stretch it over
two relaxed days. My leisurely ride meandered through lush vineyards, their
rows of vines glistening with morning dew, leading me to the charming towns of
Dunkirk and Midway. Throughout the day, the road curved away from Pennsylvania,
crossing into the welcoming state of New York, promising new sights and
experiences ahead.
New
York
7 -
10 September - Dunkirk – Buffalo - 87 km
It
was early September, so the weather was brilliant. The sky was bright blue, and
there was no wind. I spent a good deal of the day talking to people I met along
the way.
In
the process, the way passed a massive wooden statue of a Native American. It’s
said (sadly) that merely around 1% of the county’s population was native. Even
less than Asians, Chinese, Filipinos, and, of course, Europeans.
On
the outskirts of Buffalo was a very professional-looking bicycle shop. As my
bike needed a service, I found a room nearby.
Unfortunately,
the bike shop was closed on Mondays. In the meantime, I succumbed to
temptation. I ordered a Canon EF 24-105mm f/4L IS USM lens, which I’ve been
eyeing for a long time and couldn’t leave Buffalo until my order arrived.
The
following morning, I returned to the shop where I left my sad-looking bicycle
in their capable hands. My assumption that the bike would take a day or two was
clearly incorrect. Still, waiting for the cycle was no big deal as seeing I'd
to wait for the lens, I could as well do the whole lot in one fell swoop.
11 -
14 September - Buffalo – Niagara Falls - 50 km
With
the bike serviced and the camera's new lens, I pedalled along the river to
Niagara Falls. My efforts were well rewarded as the bike ran smoothly and the
new lens was a treat. As a person got closer to the falls, the river started
flowing faster, and one could see "smoke" rising in the distance,
adding to my excitement. Surprisingly, the area wasn't a typical
"waterfall type" terrain as the landscape was pan-flat and lacked
mountains or high cliffs. Then as if the earth opened, the water spilt over the
precipice to the river below. I couldn't wait to try the new lens and almost
immediately set out to the falls, where a gazillion photos were taken.
15
September - Niagara Falls – Albion - 88 km
After
three lovely days at Niagara Falls, I finally got onto the Erie Canal cycle
path, a route which runs across the state for 363 miles from the Hudson River
in Albany to Lake Erie. My bicycle was newly serviced and ran like new (albeit
$550 later!). My new lens was on the camera, the sun was shining, and I’d the
benefit of a slight tailwind. Life was indeed good. All day I followed the Erie
Canal, and that evening overnighted in Albion, a town that can thank the canal
for its existence.
16
September - Albion – Newark - 117 km
The
Erie Canal Heritage Trail, which traces the winding path of this historic
canal, offered a delightful day of biking amidst a vibrant tapestry of life. As
I pedalled along, I encountered a host of fascinating individuals and watched
boats gliding serenely through the calm waters of the channel. The experience
was genuinely serene, sparking a longing within me to embark on a similar
adventure. Reflecting on the monumental task of digging the canal, which opened
in 1825, I marvelled at the sheer determination and ingenuity of those who
undertook such an impressive feat in their time.
As
the sun began to cast, I found myself in Newark, a quintessential canal
community that warmly welcomed visitors. This charming village provided ample
amenities for the many boaters that frequented its shores, making it an ideal
spot to pitch my tent and rest after a day filled with exploration and
discovery.
17
September - Newark – De Witte - 105 km
The
canal had a fascinating history. Throughout the 18th and 19th centuries, the
lack of an efficient and safe transportation network kept the population (and
trade) primarily confined to coastal areas. For many years, explorers searched
for a waterway to the west. Then, in 1807, Jesse Hawley, a prisoner in the
Canandaigua Jail, wrote a series of essays proposing a waterway from Lake Erie
to the Atlantic Ocean. He described the route, costs, and benefits of what
would become the Erie Canal in great detail.
Today,
a pleasant road runs along the canal; squirrels darted across the path, and grey
herons waded in the shallows, all while passing numerous old locks. I couldn’t
help but wonder if Jessy Hawley was ever financially compensated for his
efforts.
18
September - De Witt – Rome - 60 km
Even
though I was not in the mood for cycling, the ride remained pleasant, offering
beautiful views of the surrounding woods and the canal. Rome was far more
extensive and revealed a considerably longer history than the other settlements
along the canal. While investigating the area, I learned that Rome was an
ancient portage path until the Europeans arrived. This ancient trade route
joined the Great Lakes and Canada via the Mohawk River to the Hudson River and
the Atlantic Ocean. I then realised the Erie Canal wasn’t a new route, but the
areas’ waterways had existed for eons.
19
September - Rome – St Johnsville - 87 km
The
trail passed many locks, some old and a few still operating, and it was fascinating
to watch boats being let through while chatting with the operators.
In
St. Johnsville, camping was possible at the Marina—a lovely place on the canal.
Although no more than a hamlet, St Johnsville was settled in 1725, and a church
was built in 1769 “for the benefit of the Indians.” Again, I was baffled at how
Europeans justified going to another part of the world, killing the people,
taking their land, and then trying to convince them to adopt those values.
20
September - St Johnsville – Schenectady - 87 km
A
nearby McDonald’s served a leisurely breakfast before I continued along the
canal, sometimes flush next to it and sometimes further away. The area was
pleasant, and I ambled along until reaching Schenectady, another city with a
long but sad history.
21
September - Schenectady – Waterford - 40 km
A
short ride led to the end of the Erie Canal Trail, where I had difficulty
deciding what route to take. I could follow the Hudson River north to see the
fall colours or head straight to Boston, where I planned to fly out, as there
was already a chill in the air. Eventually, I wasn't sure the detour north
would be worth the effort, so I headed towards Boston.
22
September - Waterford – Pittsfield - 76 km
From
Waterford my route first swung by Troy, a remarkably fascinating village
situated at the confluence of the Hudson and Mohawk Rivers (two major
waterways), a location which made Troy the fourth wealthiest city in America
around the turn of the 20th century. To this day, Troy is graced by beautiful
Victorian architecture and a few elaborate private homes.
From
Troy, the route headed east toward Boston. Feeling lethargic and picking up
$20, I opted for a room at the Berkshire Inn.
Massachusetts
23
September - Pittsfield – Northampton - 70 km
I
loaded up and pointed the bike in the direction of Boston. However, I always
felt sluggish at the end of a long ride as I didn't quite want the ride over.
Thus, I pulled into the Knight Inn, just off the cycle path, to drag the ride
out one more day.
24
September - Northampton – Worcester - 105 km
The
ride to Worcester was slow as the road ran slightly uphill. Still, it remained
a beautiful ride as the fall colours started showing themselves. Due to the
many photo stops, Worcester was only reached in the late afternoon.
25 -
30 September - Worcester – Boston - 70 km
My
last day of cycling in the US arrived far too soon, and a pleasant descent took
me to Boston. Along a cycle path, I sped past tiny settlements and trees in
full autumn colours right into the heart of Boston.
I
was happy and sad to reach Boston. It marked the end of my trip through the
Americas, which started in Ushuaia, Argentina, many moons ago. It was time to
relax, put my feet up, and look for a flight to a different part of the
world—hopefully, to a place featuring a slightly warmer climate.
I
spent a few days in Boston, exploring this pleasant city and its numerous
interesting sights and organising my flight out. I meandered the city’s
historic downtown, featuring well-preserved architecture where old buildings
sit comfortably next to modern ones. I ambled past pricy Victorian brownstone
townhouses across the "Salt-and-Pepper Bridge" and along the Charles Riverbanks.
Rumours
said one could get a bike box at the airport, but after phoning two airlines at
the airport, none had boxes for sale. Eventually, Back Bay Cycles boxed the
bicycle.
As
always, the longer I stayed, the more interesting the city became. Boston was
beautiful, friendly, culturally rich and far older than expected. Founded in
1630 by the English, it’s also where, between 1765 and 1783, citizens revolted
against the British. Fed up with the high taxes levied by Britain, the Boston
Tea Party was formed. I found this all remarkably fascinating.
Steve,
the owner of the Everett Hostel, offered to take me to the shop to pick up the
bicycle. He also suggested (can you believe this?) getting up at four in the
morning to drive me to the airport for my flight to Jamaica. I was immensely
grateful for this generous offer as it wasn’t merely a hassle but also
expensive to get myself and my bike to the airport. Thank you, Steve!
