Author: Eric

Day 32, 0/work day, De Queen, AR
Day 31, 87 miles, Hot Springs to De Queen, AR
Day 30, 61 miles, Little Rock to Hot Springs, AR
Day 29, 72 miles, Brinkley to Little Rock, AR

Total miles to date: ~1,610

If ever there were an activity designed to underscore the importance of family and friends, it has to be spending a couple months biking across the country solo.

It’s lonely at times. The remoter it gets, the more acute the loneliness digs. Here in southwestern Arkansas on Day 31 of my 70-day xUS bike tour, it’s getting pretty remote. A stone’s throw from Oklahoma, I’m starting to see a lot of cows, at least I have them to keep me company.

Like many people in youth, I used to issue grand proclamations, like “I’ll never go to that place again,” and “I’ll never use that product again,” etc.

I swore at one point I would never enter a Walmart again in my life. So much for that. As any AT thru-hiker (or, as it were, x-country bike tourist) will tell you: Walmart happens to be one of the best and most convenient resources for resupplying on the trail/road. So I’m reluctantly appreciating the chain’s ubiquity out here when I need a fresh supply of road snacks.

Same goes for fast food joints and convenience/gas stores. I’ve long eschewed these unhealthy venues. But when a quaint cafe offering hardy breakfast sandwiches cannot be found, McDonalds and Dunkin’s breakfast concoctions fill in admirably. And convenience stores are just a reality on this road, where frequent Gatorade stops are a necessity.

Finally, I once swore off Facebook and other social media. The Luddite in me would like to not need them. But if it weren’t for these online people-connectors (and dividers?), I wouldn’t have the virtual company of you and so many others that sustain my need for contact.

I also wouldn’t have met my cousin, Andy Weld, and his wife Jena, and son Drew, in Blytheville, Arkansas, were it not for Facebook.

Out here, far away from family and friends for an extended period, the solace and comfort of a family connection was essential, and I am forever grateful for the wonderful stay with Andy and Jena. It was amazing to get to know my first cousin, whom, we determined, I haven’t seen since I was about 10 and he was a baby who – according to my single memory of the incident – inexplicably handed me his shoe.

I also wouldn’t have met my first cousin once removed (I think that’s right?), Andy’s daughter, Katie Weld (and boyfriend Kinzie), who is entering a physical therapy graduate program near Little Rock.

By the way, Little Rock is a very attractive city with its bike and pedestrian pathways along the Arkansas River.

Examples abound of times I’ve said “never” only to eventually end up in a position of eating those words at a later stage. My takeaway lesson is to remain open, don’t close off future possibilities and necessities, and appreciate it all: Walmart. Convenience stores and fast food joints when necessary. Social media, in moderation.

And most definitely, family and friends.

Day 28, 66 miles, Marion to Brinkley, AR

Slog (n.): a period of difficult, tiring work. Ex. Riding a bike for six hours pushing against a 15 mph headwind, struggling just to go 9 mph.

I knew it would be a long day the minute I got out on these long, flat, unbending country roads in rural Arkansas. The headwinds announced themselves right away.

Heading due west on Highway 218 out of Marion, AR, the wind came in steady from the NW at 15 mph, admonishing me to turn back, go the other way. I had to fight just to plod along at 9 mph.

I knew, and I stated early in this blog, that I would have some slogs. Day 28 of my 70-day xUS bike trip was a slog. A long, arduous day of riding, when you begin wondering why you’re doing this.

Not only is it windy here without many trees or hills to stifle the wind. But this perfectly flat, sweeping terrain of central Arkansas also makes for some monotonous riding. The scenery takes a long time to change, and you start questioning if you’ve seen that silo before.

But then it occurred to me, as I pushed against another gust, that I’m like Goldilocks out here. There’s always something to complain about.
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Goldilocks and the Three States

Once upon a time there was a cyclist named Goldilocks. (For though it is no longer true, this cyclist did once have locks, if not golden.) Goldilocks rode his bike all the way to the state called Virginia, where the hills became a daily challenge. “These hills are too big,” said Goldilocks. “I think I’ll go to Tennessee.” So Goldilocks rode to Tennessee, where the hills became tamer, but where the heat and humidity became a daily challenge. “This heat and humidity are killer,” said Goldilocks. “I think I’ll go to Arkansas.” Goldilocks crossed the Mighty Mississippi into the state of Arkansas, in an area with few hills, and with a constant wind to keep him cool. “These roads are long, flat and not very interesting,” said Goldilocks, “and this wind is too strong.” Goldilocks came to a bridge over a muddy river, and saw his reflection in the water. He realized he got exactly what he wanted. He complained about the hills of Virginia, he complained about the heat in Tennessee, and now that they are gone, he complains about the flat roads and the cool wind. Finally, he said to his reflection, “Arkansas is juuuust right,” and continued riding west, aware that Texas would offer even flatter, longer roads, and plenty heat, too.
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Something like that.

Still, though, amid the slog of Day 28, and even on the hottest days, and climbing the biggest hills…I’d still rather be doing this than not. I’d rather be riding my bike across the country than sitting at home wondering what it would be like to be on an adventure.

Every good adventure includes some slogs. They have to. Adventure is partly about suffering and pain. The slogs, the pain, the long, difficult days full of personal challenge, are how you achieve the triumphant victories. It’s about the contrast. It’s about feeling life fully. You need the suffering to feel the joy. You enjoy a beautiful sunny day so much more when it follows a few days of rain or cold.

When you’re on an adventure, nearly every single day sweeps through the spectrum of pain and pleasure, challenge and triumph, suffering and joy. It’s partly what makes it adventure. It’s not mundane.

I’ll try to remind myself of this next time I’m pushing against the wind just to go 9 mph for 70 miles.

Day 27, 0 miles, rest day, Blytheville, AR
Day 26, 76 miles, Brownsville, TN, to Marion, AR
Day 25, 63 miles, Huntingdon to Brownsville, TN
Day 24, 70 miles, Dickson (Montgomery Bell State Park) to Huntingdon, TN
Day 23, 41 miles, Nashville to Dickson, TN

The Mississippi is big. A mile wide from Memphis, Tenn., over to West Memphis, Ark. Crossing the Mighty Mississippi on a bike takes a while.

Here on Day 26 of my 70-day xUS bike trip, I enjoyed every one of the 15 minutes or so (with photo/video stops) of the crossing along the Big Crossing bike bridge, from the gleeful approach:

…to the joyful traverse (Memphis on left, reversed for selfie):

And the finish into anti-climactic West Memphis, Arkansas, passing through miles of backed up cars and trucks waiting to cross over the river on the diverted route from I-40 (bridge out in case you haven’t heard).

Growing up in Iowa (until age 14) as a lover of books, the Mississippi always held an aura of mystique and historical significance for me. I voraciously consumed Mark Twain’s tomes about the great river, and imagined Huckleberry Finn’s great adventures on the water every time I came near the river, secretly wanting to steal away on a raft, too.

Our family had close cousins who lived in southern Iowa in a river town, Fort Madison, and every time we visited there we’d go to River Park and stare across that mile-wide expanse of hydraulic power.

I’ve since visited the Amazon, and seen China’s Yangtze from a distance, legendary rivers in their own right. But even those rivers, winding and meandering their way through their respective lands, don’t present the straightforward, land-bisecting undeniability that the Mississippi does.

The Mississippi also carries outsized importance on a xUS bike trip. It divides the continent, nearly in two equal halves. In other words, it’s the de facto, conceptual halfway point, if not literally so. Crossing the great river means you’ve covered some ground, you’ve made it to the middle, you’ve passed a point at which returning would be idiocy. You’re committed now.

And while I still have a few days to ride before my actual halfway point, crossing the Mississippi means I’m very close, a couple hundred miles away. At this point, I’ve ridden more than 1,400 miles, passed through 11 states, with five more to go. Of course, western states are a lot bigger than eastern states, and they take longer to cover. A few days of Arkansas, and Texas looms with its unfathomably vast expanses of flat scrub land, its dust storms, its western emptiness, abandoned businesses and dwellings, and sun, too much sun.

Here I come. So long, Tennessee.

“If you come to Nashville and you don’t see any live music, you’ve done something wrong.”—William the Uber driver, Nashville

Day 22, 50 miles, Carthage, TN to Nashville

It completely snuck up on me. How much I’ve missed live music.

When I found myself at Rudy’s Jazz Room, here on Day 22 of my 70-day xUS bike trip, sitting at the bar a few feet from the quartet performing jazz standards, I felt emotional with the thrill of it. Live music again (albeit behind a plexiglass screen, but that didn’t matter).

What is it about live music? The real-time interaction between performers and audience. The thrill of the unknown because no one is sure what might happen. The immediacy of musical invention when a soloist improvises a melody. The enlivening pulse of the beat and the collaboration of artists taking place right in front of you. There’s no other art like live music.

Coach, Rudy’s proprietor, really took care of me, ushering me to the best seat in the house, setting me up with a Manhattan, got some gumbo. I couldn’t have been happier.

I can’t say enough about Rudy’s, a highly recommended stop in Nashville. Some folks don’t realize that, in addition to the massive Country and honky tonk scene, Nashville also has a thriving jazz scene. This band was stellar.

Tennessee’s friendly people scene has also continued. At the Rudy’s bar I met Addie and Hannah, who just graduated from University of Idaho. Ok, they’re not from Tennessee, but they were here on a graduation celebration vacation; we related over my daughter, Livvy’s, graduation from Smith in January.

The jazz was awesome, but I was in Nashville, and I had to catch some country. So I walked from Rudy’s one mile over to Broadway, the tourist catchall in Music City, with blocks upon blocks lined with live music venues.

I haven’t seen a city street like this since New Orleans, with so much live music, bars lined up side by side all down the street with sounds of rock, country, honky tonk and even some bluegrass pumping out the open windows. I was exhilarated with the musical energy electrifying the city, providing a rhythmic backdrop to the circulation of the crowds, the lights moving and pulsing. Nashville has a personality more distinct than most cities I’ve visited.

Also, the best way to enter Nashville is by bike. The city is outfitted with miles of pristine bike paths, and after five hours of biking along Route 70W with the traffic (good shoulder), I was fed onto the Music City bike path. Perfect surface, no bumps from ice swells like you get on northern bike paths. And gorgeous scenery alongside the river.

My visit to, and night out in, Nashville was one of the standout highlights of this trip. A beautiful bike path entering the city. Interesting, friendly people.

Live music.

Day 21, 67 miles, Clarkrange to Carthage, TN
Day 20, 83 miles, Knoxville to Clarkrange, TN
Day 19, Nearo day: 13 miles RT to Knoxville bike shop and back
Day 18, 53 miles, Bulls Gap to Knoxville, TN
Day 17, 45 miles, Johnson City to Bulls Gap, TN
Day 16, 60 miles, Chilhowie, VA, to Johnson City, TN

“Northerners can be kinda tough to deal with sometimes.”—Tom the fence builder, Two Bridges Road, outside Lancing, TN
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I made it to Tennessee a few days ago. Goodbye Virginia hills, hello Tennessee hills.

Meeting a lot of people in Tennessee. Mostly good.

Tom the fence builder isn’t really a fence builder but he builds a hell of a fence. It wasn’t easy getting him to open up, but he eventually did. I saw him and his friend Tim – even more reticent than Tom – out near Two Bridges Road on my way by and stopped to chat.

Most rural Tennesseeans, it would seem, in my brief experience passing through the countryside here, are not accustomed to seeing a grown man dressed in tight pants riding a bike. For some, it takes a little work to win them over and assure them you’re not an alien, or some kind of pervert there to steal their wives and daughters, or worse.

Tom eventually proved to be a very nice gentleman. Steven Myers, on the other hand, was eager to chat. Riding along route 70N west nearing Carthage, TN, I heard, “Hey!” Steven gets off his lawnmower and waves me over. He loves seeing cyclists come by, he and his wife are cyclists themselves. We chatted for a while about some of the races he’s done. Great guy. I wish more people would yell at me to pull over and talk.

In general, the people of Tennessee have been wonderful. Drivers have been, for the most part, respectful. I haven’t been black-smoked once in this state (can’t say that about Virginia) and nobody has turned their truck right toward me and stepped on the gas in a threatening game of chicken (Virginia again).

Best of all, my great friend Chris lives in Knoxville, and I kicked off my cross-state tour with a relaxing couple days at her lovely home, martinis included on the back deck! (First drink I’d had in a week and a half, and it hit like it!)

That visit set me up perfectly for venturing into the heart of the state, which included a foray through Oak Ridge (home of the Oak Ridge Boys, I presume?), a really nice town, where I happened to catch the Wichita State rowing team on a practice tour. Go Shockers!

So all in all, Tennessee has been the highlight of my 70-day xUS bike tour so far.

Last night I found myself in a tiny unincorporated town called Clarkrange, less than a thousand people. No hotels, no camping. But at the general store, the owner suggested I camp out at the community park, and even called the park ranger to get permission. Everyone in town was at the park until about sunset, so I waited till dark to set up my tent. Not a great sleep, but the morning was beautiful, and the ride out of Clarkrange was two hours of blissful country touring, complete with a massive chicken in someone’s front yard. Cause why not?

Nashville tomorrow, for some serious music. I’m hoping Tennessee continues its bounty, and that I can put all the trauma of that I-95 corridor far behind me.

Day 15, 45 miles, Fort Chiswell to Chilhowie, VA
Day 14, 60 miles, Elliston to Fort Chiswell, VA

You have a lot of time to think when you’re cycling all day. Today, Day 15 of my 70-day xUS bike trip, my thoughts wandered back to childhood as I pulled off a busy highway and found myself on a wonderfully quiet, verdant County Road 76 in southwest Virginia.

This road twisted and turned through backwoods warrens, moss-covered rocks and thick trees crowding into the lane, quaint rivers and forgotten bridges. And almost no cars. It allowed me to zone out.

I recalled in detail the first time I rode a bike. Everybody remembers that moment, right? (Tell your story in comments.) For mine, three of my older siblings picked me up and placed me on top of a bike that was way too big for me, so I couldn’t reach the ground with my feet. I was probably 4 at the time. They gave me a shove down the front yard incline and I was riding, out of control but riding. Across the street, over to the elementary school parking lot, and around the school to the other side, where I ran into Rocky Carter (infamous town bully) and his gang. They either pushed me down or I stopped and fell. Either way, I went down because I couldn’t touch the ground. Rocky and his hoods hassled me as I sat there on the ground, humiliated and out of sight of my sibs. That’s all I remember.

That incident didn’t dampen the thrill of riding, though. After that I begged my mom to buy the rusty little bike we spotted at the local bike-junk shop (this was small-town Iowa circa 1966.) I remember it was $17.50, and she bought it for me. I rode that little bike all over town, and I can still vividly recall the sense of freedom I had tooling along those streets, way out to the edge of town, and through downtown, all over.

That’s the feeling I had again today as I rode along that country road. Just freedom. No boundaries, no limits. These moments are what I seek in adventure, the reason for going. Such moments are the best part of this trip.
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Another cool part of this trip is meeting fellow cyclists, especially those crossing the US like me. Today I met Viktor. He’s from Belgium. He was intending to ride across central Asia, and flew to Turkey in October to begin his trip. He got as far as Tajikistan then ran into visa problems. So he flew to NYC and embarked on a xUS tour instead, NYC to LA. Then he plans to fly to South America and cycle down to Patagonia!

Viktor talked wistfully about cycling in Turkey, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and other countries of central Asia. He said how breathtaking the scenery is, and almost no cars! And he mentioned how friendly the people are, always inviting you in to stay in their homes and eat meals with them.

It’s already on my list for a future adventure.

52 miles, Natural Bridge, VA, to Elliston, VA

To me, balance is the key to contentment. My best days are always those with a good balance – of rest, social interaction, time with family, productive time, creativity, peace, adventure.

So far, most days on this 70-day xUS bike trip have not been balanced. Every day has been lopsided with either mostly riding or mostly work, either dozens of miles of heavy traffic or hours of empty roads (that I don’t mind).

Finally, today, Day 13, was a day of ideal balance.

I slept in for a change, till 7 a.m., then put in 2 hours of work. I headed out at 10 a.m. from Natural Bridge. Four miles down the road was Natural Bridge Park, featuring the requisite tourist ripoff gift shop with a door out back to walk down to the Natural Bridge. It’s a 215-foot high rock formation, 500 million years old, a remarkable work of nature, impossible to do justice in photos, but here you go, views from both sides.

From Natural Bridge I rode along Route 11 south through a cute little town called Troutville. Lots of good fishing spots, as you’d expect.

But the highlight of Troutville was that I came across my first fellow xUS cyclists! I passed them at first cruising through downtown Troutville, then circled back. We commiserated on the Virginia hills, the wind, carrying weight, food, and other distance cycling issues. You can follow their trip on Inta, @joyrideacrossamerica.

It was wonderful to share some of the challenges of distance riding with others going through the same things (e.g. sore behinds all around).

Today’s ride was also a good balance of hills, some flat (-ish) roads, some rural country lanes and heavy city traffic as I passed through Roanoke. Even the wind played along, little gusts here and there, but a decent balance of low breeze and direction change. Sometimes it even helped me out.

A day of balance: some morning work, a little tourism, a decent ride, and met some new friends.

That is a good day.

Day 12, 45 hard miles, Waynseboro to Natural Bridge, VA
Day 11, 75 hard miles, Culpeper to Waynesboro, VA
Day 10, work day, Culpeper, VA

Sometimes it seems like riding takes up my entire day. I wake up thinking about it, I go to sleep plotting the next day’s route, the details of riding comprise too much of my thought bandwith throughout the day.

It makes sense. This is a 70 day xUS bike tour, after all. It’s about riding bike, nearly every day. But actual time on the seat (and a lot of time standing lately with all the hills of Virginia) only consists of between five and eight hours a day. That leaves many empty hours, some for sleeping of course. But what about the rest of the day?

Some people have asked: what do I do when I’m not riding? Where do I sleep at night? And where do I eat? Etc. So I’ll fill you in on the details.

Here’s my reality:

That is, this is a working trip. The way I am able to bike across the country and be away from home for three months is by working on the road. I packed my laptop and a few essential materials, and find 20+ hours every week to maintain my virtual presence. That means this somewhat sad scene of a mobile working office in hotel rooms.

It hasn’t been easy finding the time, but mornings work best, so I’m typically up at 6 a.m. working for a few hours before setting off on the bike. It also means more hotels than I would prefer, for the wifi. The entire first week was hotels because my work schedule was so jammed (and because there aren’t many places to camp between Boston and Washington, D.C.

But lately I’ve been working in camping, alternating one night camping with one night hotel. Camping feeds the adventure way more than a hotel room.

As for what I eat: usually a high-protein meal at a restaurant for dinner. While riding, high-protein snacks and energy bars.

All this is likely to change as I work my way west. That is, more camping, less working, more camping meals, different riding hours. I’ll keep you posted.
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Up, Up, Up

For now, day 12 of my x-country tour, I’m in Virginia, working my way across the Shenandoah Valley. Virginia is 1) beautiful, 2) affluent, and 3) hilly! Emphasis on #3 from my perspective.

The hills make for tough riding, because at this point I’m mostly gaining elevation. That is, I’m climbing a lot more than I’m coasting. I knew there was a reason I was taking all those cold rides up into the hill towns around the Pioneer Valley in March and April. The upside of climbing is the views. This could be Western Massachusetts, I thought.

And here’s the well-earned view of the Shenandoah Valley below, from Rockfish Gap leading into Waynesboro, VA.

I wouldn’t mind flatter terrain, but I can’t complain. At least I’m out of the city traffic. And when I reach Arkansas and Texas and the terrain flattens out, I know I’ll miss the variation of these hills, (though I won’t miss the constant climbing.)

Day 9, 65 miles, Lorton to Culpeper, VA
Day 8, 60 miles, Columbia, MD, to Lorton, VA
Day 7, 45 miles, Aberdeen to Columbia, MD

First of all, allow me to apologize in advance to anyone from Baltimore, who has family and friends in Baltimore, or who has some special affinity for the city.

But Baltimore ranks dead last on my list of cities to bike through.

Major (and mid-major) cities I’ve cycled through on this trip and their bike friendliness
1. Philadelphia (takes care to put bike lanes through most major streets in town)
2. New York City (the roads suck but the bike culture is prevalent, and exciting!)
3. Wilmington, DE (small enough so that riding is easy; and an awesome bike path out the south side of town)
4. New Haven, CT (see #3; small city, nice bike path coming INto town)
5. Washington, DC (good bike culture here, too, and lots of bike lanes, but a little dicey getting into the city; bonus for a great bike path across the river in Alexandria, VA; and the Capitol area can’t be beat for biking through)
6. Newark, NJ (huge gap between #5 and #6 here; Newark was awful: bad, bumpy streets full of dangerous holes, and not bike friendly—literally bike-unfriendly)
7. Baltimore (I didn’t think a city could surpass Newark until I risked my life riding into Baltimore. No bike lanes, tons of traffic, asshole drivers—even a fire engine buzzing me. And it didn’t help that it was pouring rain and I slipped on crosswalk paint downtown and went down. Just a cherry on my knee (I’m fine, Mom) but had to realign handlebars.)

Baltimore (east Baltimore anyway) looks like a city that has given up.

Also, this isn’t Baltimore’s fault, but it was fitting. This is spring, and I knew I’d be riding through some rain, and strong winds at times. But hail? I didn’t see that coming. About halfway through the city I’m getting pelted with ice pellets, a full-blown hail storm! I started laughing, not a funny haha laugh, more like an FU laugh, like “bring it on, that’s all you got?” It seems a little crazy looking back.

Here’s a pic of me in the pouring rain, in front of the Guinness factory (I should’ve just gone in and downed some).

Ok, thanks for letting me get all that off my chest.

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Please Step Away from the Route 95 Corridor

Today, Day 9 of my 70-day xUS bike tour, was tough, but ultimately beautiful, and a relief.

I camped out last night in Lorton, VA, south of DC.

Departure this morning was later than I’d prefer, about 10 a.m. Headed northwest toward Manassas, happy to be going inland. I got on a busy Highway 28 with no shoulder and lots of wind, of course. And of course, the wind was easterly so blowing right in my face, clocking 15 mph. Often I’d get a gust that would drop me down two gears.

It’s been three days of the wind, today the worst. Sometimes I think I’m making peace with it. Then it rears up and smacks me down on the way up a tough hill, and the fighting starts all over again.

But. I was relieved, because for the first time on this trip, I escaped the I-95/Route 1 corridor. For eight days I crisscrossed I-95, precariously navigating those interstate entrances/exits, and often traveling right on shoulder-less Route 1.

Now, for the first time I was free of that crazy traffic.
Top 3 Cycling Enemies
1. Wind
2. Hills
3. Cars

Then. THEN, after a couple hours of fighting the heavy headwind and threading the needle of the tiny shoulder on this busy little rural highway, I was steered by my nav lady onto tiny little county roads.

And I stopped. And breathed. Finally, finally, there were no cars. I could hear birds, and insects, and my bike whirring. I could see open fields, and flowers, and smell nature instead of fuel exhaust. It was finally the endorphin shot I badly needed.

The wind continued to howl, but I didn’t mind nearly so much anymore. It was a hard day but not a bad one.

I’m finally heading west.

Day 6, 75 miles, Philadelphia to Aberdeen, MD
Day 5, 0 Workday

Let’s talk about the wind. I’m not a big fan, except when it’s at my back, keeping me cool on a hot day, helping generate energy, or wafting off the sea as I’m sipping a beachside cocktail.

Ok, so sometimes I’m a fan of wind. Today, Day 6 of my 70 day xUS bike tour, wasn’t one of those days. A stiff, gusty breeze blew in my face all day. It seemed to gust the most every time I climbed a hill, doing its best to slow me down and make me work harder.

I headed out of Philadelphia at 9 a.m., sun shining and cool temps. Perfect for a long day of riding, except for that wind. Caught a glimpse of Philly on the way out.

It was a welcome change to leave the city and head south on a rural highway through some small towns surrounded by refineries in every direction. And that wind. Always the wind.

When I was training for this trip people most frequently asked me, “Are you doing this alone?” My stock reply was, “Do you wanna come with me?” No takers. Like them, I wondered if I’d get lonely out here on the road. So far, the answer is not at all.

For one thing, the wind is always there, keeping me company whether I like it or not. It provides me with a foil to swear at, and screams back in my face when it’s pissed off. Sometimes we get along and I swell with appreciation for it’s cooling effect. Other times I just want it to leave me alone. In other words, like any relationship. And we’re stuck with each other. The wind is surely not going away, and I’m not planning to stop riding, so…here we are.

Oh, also I have this mysterious guy following me every morning, he keeps me company too.

Ok, but seriously, how could I be lonely when I have you, all my countless loyal readers (pause for laugh…crickets) keeping me company.

Following all those Pennsylvania refineries, today’s ride took me through downtown Wilmington, DE, a pleasant enough little city – AND Joe Biden’s hometown, that’s a plus.

I then took a series of short bike trails through some local parks, but they felt mostly perfunctory, like she (the navigation female voiceover; yes, I’m afraid I’m starting to think of her as a friend like Joaquin Phoenix in that Spike Jones movie Her) was just trying to make up for the major traffic highway she eventually dumped me on.

That would be Route 40 West, which zooms I-95 alternate traffic between Wilmington, DE, and Baltimore. Twenty-five miles up and down the never-ending hills, and across a massive bridge over the Susquehanna River into Maryland.

To Aberdeen, where I’m appreciating the company of the wind, my shadow, navigation voiceover lady, and all of you.

Tomorrow, Baltimore. Then Washington. The no more cities for a while, I hope.