Laissez Les Bon Temps Rouler

Pictures from the road

2009-08-26T06:36:00.000-07:00

Hello all, I have been posting the film pictures I took through the summer on my personal blog with some writing. You can take a look at Living My Songlines .

Rush

...from San Francisco to Sullivan's Island...3,750 miles later

2009-08-09T19:43:00.000-07:00

I was driving today, in a car, and saw some locals on the porch of a bright green house set a hundred feet off the road. The sun was near the top of it's arch on a hot South Carolina summer Sunday. I wanted to stop and talk to the men. They were gathered underneath the porch which was providing much needed shade and I could only imagine the stories they might be telling of their ramblin days. I did not stop the car and over the next several miles of back roads I saw countless more scenes that beckoned me to come closer and listen to the story they had to tell. With each scene I made up a new excuse as to why I did not need to stop and make a picture. Too far off the road, too hot, my driver's side door is stuck closed, the light was not quite perfect, it might seem to intrusive, the fence is too old to climb, my stomach is growling, or the song on the radio is just too good...

I feel quite lucky to have been able to experience our country in such an intimate way this summer. Traveling by bicycles left us vulnerable to our surroundings in a way that allowed us to hear what the landscape had to tell.

Thanks for your interest and support...

the boxcar kids signing off for now.

last leg, tail end

2009-08-09T19:28:00.000-07:00

Some Pictures of Our Gear (by Rush upon his 21st birthday)

2009-07-09T14:45:00.000-07:00

the middle of the road

2009-07-05T20:28:00.000-07:00

And So It continues! We've crossed that wide river, and suddenly find ourselves in Owensboro, KY, hometown of one Wm. RUSH Jagoe V- in the pristine kitchen of his terribly kind folks. Ending up here was a bit of a surprise-- and the second batch of beds in a week, which is spoiling us rotten. We spent the patriotic evening here last night (and may I say that I've never felt more love for this country-- in all its quirks and glory- than after this experience)And a strong, wet weather pattern has kept us here an extra day. The boys are out shooting the town (with film), and I thought I'd take the second internet opportunity to add some pictures, and put in the grand sequel...

I left off in Garden City, Kansas- but forgot to add in the Wilhelm and Bill Experience. Back a few states-- We spent our last night in Utah camped in an odd forest of trees by the side of the road, edge in barbed wire. We'd left our bikes on the other side of the fence, stashed under some bushes, and were leisurely cooking pancakes over a morning campfire when I looked through the trees and saw figures with bikes. Bicycle Thiefs! I thought. BUT, really, twas another touring pair. Rush- terribly excited, almost ran out of trees to see where they were headed- and I think the two almost had simultaneous heart attacks. Here was a boy, in spandex, appearing out of thin air from wooded private property at the edge of the highway. Rush and the two exchanged brief touring info and they headed on their way. and we ate our pancakes. Rolling in that evening to grab our first Colorado six pack, who do we find crossing the street at the exact time, but the startled two? We visited for a while this time around, and learned that the two were Bill, a 60ish college math professor from Florida taking a solitary summer tour, and Wilhelm, a 70ish new zealander crossing the US for the second time- they'd met up in utah, and had decided to join forces for a bit. We parted ways again, and made it all the way to Garden City, KS, when-- on our way out of town from the grocery store, we biked into Wilhelm crossing the street... follows a bit of exclamation over the third chance meeting. The next morning, we were pulling our three bikes out of our abandoned home/camp and who crosses right in front of us but that sprightly kiwi lad. we all biked off together, into the gray and increasing drizzle, until his experienced legs took him ahead into the rain. AND rain, it did. The air was warm and the rain was wet, and it was all jolly good, with low visibility, for the next 20 miles. During which we passed many Official 'Scenic Overlooks'- which were simply views of cattle stockyards, with poor wet creatures packed in with hanging heads. Then the rain became too much, and the shoulder became too little, and Shane got (Very Lightly) sideswiped by an RV- and we made it to Red's Tavern, where we spotted Wilhelm's bike leaning against a beer sign. It turns out he'd already wooed the entire tiny town and convinced the bar owner to give him a ride through the downpour to Dodge City, the town 20 miles ahead. The owner informed us the rain wasn't going anywhere, and if we'd like to, we might as well throw our bikes in the back of his truck as well. and so we did- and waited out the rain on a coffeeshop porch in Dodge City (the last wild town of the west.)After the storms passed the day was waning, so we headed to the outskirts of town and found an long-abandoned RV park off the road, across from a huge cattle slaughterhouse. The area afforded an odd smell to the air, but also lots of photo opportunities for the boys, and a huge mulberry tree for me. I pulled a chair out of an abandoned house flanking the park and picked berries to my heart's content. Shane supplemented dinner with yucca blossoms- glowing green-white and butter-textured. The next day our route took us through Greensburg- a small town in Kansas that was almost entirely wiped out by a mileplus wide tornado a few years ago. It's being rebuilt as an wholly 'green' community (someone caught wind of the town name, and a lightbulb went off) -- it was a very odd place to check out: lots of incredibly progressive architecture that had the negative affect of booting out the town members who couldn't afford to build within green regulations. Onward to Pratt-- ending a seventy mile day. We'd realized at this point that we'd better pick up the pace post-mountains, and began pedaling further and faster. (and eating more doughnuts). Rush flew ahead a bit, and we found him at the Pratt grocery store, having made a friend and found us a bed for the night. Which was a really really really really really odd experience. For to be told to you by Shane. We abandoned post EARLY in the morning, woken by force and fleeing by unanimous choice, and treated ourselves to a 6am diner breakfast to make up for the evening. We were surrounded by wheat farmers gathering for coffee before heading out to the fields, and we were able to overhear their worries- late and heavy rains were keeping the ready wheat from drying for harvest. We started the 80plus mile ride to Wichita, and along the ride Rush broke the 5th spoke in his rear wheel- his wheel had been giving him trouble since utah, and had finally reached the point of no return. And so he headed to the roadside and stuck out his thumb for passing trucks, and S and I headed onward, knowing he'd beat us into town. Not far along the road a little green truck sped by with a waving Rush in seat, so Shane and I settled in for the remaining ride. This may have been the hottest day of the trip- it felt like biking through a furnace, and I received what was to be an awful, peeling, mottled burn. AND Shane and I were biking along the HWY which turned into a terribly freeway into the big city- when we were pulled over by THREE COPS at once in THREE COP CARS, who told us it might be unsafe so bike where we were, but could give us no alternate routes or better ideas when asked. AND THEN, sped off and left us in the freeway dust instead of escorting us to our exit, which was 1/8 of a mile away. ugh. And then Shane almost got whalloped by a big big man in a old VW van who thought Shane had flipped him a rude signal (which he hadn't). BUT we made it into town, and found a newly-wheeled rush and ran a variety of errands. Having city things to do in the morning, we decided to find a cheap motel (underthebridging is best left to small towns and and uninhabited bridges)and took showers! and warshed underthings! and watched random tv until rush fell asleep on top of the covers till I woke him up and told him he'd better get under the blankets, cause sheets are a thing not to be wasted on this sleepingbagged trek.
We took care of bizzness in the morning time- which included Rush having his thick head o hair buzzed at an african american barber training school for 6 dollars- where they scolded him for having so much sand in his hair. Getting out of the city, Shane biked right up to a guy in a truck to ask directions. The guy did a double take, thinking Shane was his buddy from Colorado, and 20 miles down the road showed up again to invite us to his home for the night. He threw our stuff in his truck and took us deep into the Kansan farmlands to his parent's home outside of Smileyburg, KS. Dave and his parents Glenda and Gary could not have been more immediately welcoming- We somehow were suddenly barefoot and eating a spicy meal and hanging out like family members in the den. We shared stories, and were given a castle of a blow up mattress to dream sweet dreams upon. In the morning, they made the most complete breakfast we'd yet had, including farm fresh eggies from their fresh farm chickens. And so gave a new face to our staying with strangers experience (post pratt, that is). We had another long ride in the heat, and ended up finding an abandoned motor shop to spend in the evening near. Shane and I pitched our tent in the long field grass, deciding to brave grass buggies in exchange for a breeze, while Rush opted to pitch his tent within the abandoned garage. He was awarded by a nightfull of rats running to and fro in the rafters and around his tent- AND a surrounding slew of coyotes howling around the building. OH! and the boys wandered into the house by the garage (seeking pictures of all things falling apart) and found a baby turkey vulture guarding the space, looking horribly ugly and raising its wings while making guttural defensive sounds. Which they described to me and then recommended a veiwing. Which I declined.
We biked outta that overpopulated place in the morning and soon Shane popped a spoke of his own, on an already wobbly wheel. We made it to a bike shop in Pittsburg, and who was standing at the corner, but Bill- of the aforementioned Wilhelm and Bill. A Small world indeed... and convening in the least pleasant place: an evil bike shop owned by the grim reaper. We were told that what we were doing was like taking a car from the 1950's on a long road trip. Our used bikes were rubbish, and much of Shane's bike parts were hopeless. Getting the sort of wheel that he wanted could be found only on 'crappy' bikes that cost as little as 300 dollars. BUT we had to fix his wheel, and so we reluctantly handed over ze money. And somehow managed to get THREE flat tires WITHIN the shop. (after a collective 5 from the past two days-- at one glorious moment I got two flats at once, on a 20 mile unshaded stretch of heat). We somehow made it out alive and biked out of the state, leaving grumpster in the dust. Just over the missouri border in the land of corn and the first slight hills for hundreds of miles, a woman in front of a farmhouse said we could sleep in her backyard. We asked her what area we were in, and she responded, 'They call this the Midwest.' This was probably one of my favorite experiences of the trip. Fred was a farmer of few words who'd grown up on the next farm, and worked the land all his life. Patty was a more talkative woman who worked during the week at the nearest walmart, and their quiet 9 year old Joy spent the days with her grandmother. Fred asked us if we'd like a beer, which the boys responded positively to, thinking there was one right inside. But then the family took off in their farm truck, and were gone for three hours. Just as we were firing up to stove to cook our ramen egg drop wonder, they pulled back up and Fred came up with a case of Busch. Joy followed with two pizza boxes, which she was too shy to hand to us. So we sat, the six of us, in the falling dusk, and ate and drank, and they didn't say very much at all, and it was the best time in the whole world. After a few beers Fred told us a story about biking through the nearby fields in the dark as a child, and all the corn turning to creatures of his imagination, and how quickly he'd made it home. Then he told us, 'you tell all those other bicycle riders, they can stay here.' And then they went in to bed and we slept better than we had in a month. The next morning we rose just after 6, and Joy was up and sitting near our bikes. She sat there quietly with her dogs and kittens while we gathered our things and biked off into the Missouri fields.

ach! How long-winded this has become... more to come? at a future date, if you'll have it.

Heat Wave, Hot Flash

2009-07-05T15:19:00.000-07:00

A Tri-State Traipse (by elspeth)

2009-07-03T07:16:00.000-07:00

Prepare ye for the blog of blogs-- in length, if not quality--Goodness! Gracious! We're in South(south)Eastern MISSOURI, surrounded by cotton fields, in the warm, sweet home of the Smelsers. Rush's dear kinfolk have taken us in for a full day of rest-- the first day without biking since Hite, Utah. Meaning that we trucked through the Colorado ridges, the Kansas plains, and the Ozarks with our feet welded to our pedals. Needless to say, sitting on soft things in welcoming places has never felt so very, very nice. We rode eighty miles yesterday, swooping down from the roller coaster of the Ozarks into these flatlands that grow green before the Grand Mississip. We rode up to a home fronted by open arms-- in addition to Rush's Aunt, Uncle and cousin, his Grandparents and sister drove four hours to surprise we grungy three. They wrenched our dirty clothes from our bags and herded us to warm showers- which felt like a miracle unto itself (I'm afraid we left rings around their tubs). THEN gathered us up for an incredible evening meal. Since, they've given us soft beds, endless food, and spankin' new bike chains (!!!) AND filled our bags with provisions to last the rest of the trip. (like toothbrushes! and beans!) I can't imagine a more restful time or place, or a more generous family. We'll cross the Mississippi tomorrow by ferry- that big ole thing that seems such a marking point of this trek. So it seems a very appropriate time to sit for a minute and reach back...

We biked out of the red and brown of Utah, and into technicolored Colorado. After such a long stretch of desert we felt like dear Dorothy landing in Oz- a feeling that lasted most of the state. Green, as far as the eye could see, with ridiculous wildflowers spotting the roadsides. Shane kept pointing to the Rockies in the distance- snow capped and looking like an enormous beer label. We grabbed a celebratory local six pack and headed too far down a gravel road to set up camp- in a spot riddled with shot gun shells and beer bottles, thinking we might wake up to a bit of excitement. Morning came with no gunshots, and Rush found the coolest animal skeleton of the trip-- we've found sun bleached bones all across our way- of deer and cows and coyotes- beautiful configurations curved under trees and over banks. We spent an afternoon in Durango taking care of all sorts of sundries, and spent the night high at the edge of Lemon Lake reservoir. Just after a bright fire, we crawled into our tents and were lulled to sleep by the first night rain of our trip. The lulling took a terrible turn as it continued-- lasting late into the morning, and soaking Rush through his tiny tent with icy mountain water. We grumpily wrung the poor thing out, packed up with frostbitten extremities, and biked on with wool socks on our hands. I think this day may have marked our turn from presentable, though slightly dirty kids in cycling clothes, to outright vagabonds wearing a weird mix of whatever happens to be on hand. or on the side of the road. (we've found many hats, single gloves, and the tray to a beehive- from which I gathered a ball of beeswax just in case). Our days as bums in infancy, we stayed in the real live campground for the night- hoping to escape the fee by halfheartedly pitching our tents in the trees BEHIND the campsite we cooked in. Actually, Rush simply decided not to pitch a tent at all, and woke to a note posted above his feet requesting our 14 dollars. Well worth the cost, however, because a bright couple invited us to their RV for coffee and the use of their internet- and we walked up to the customary picnic table, only blanketed in a tablecloth and the goods of tea time-- coffee, hot chocolate, cookies, and a computer to use at our will. Unlike the barrage of questions we sometimes face, this couple gave us these sweet leavings and left us to our own. out on, into the wet wild- everyone across the state told us of early monsoons, that left things verdant and damp- we still marveled at the grand green of it all- even the air in colorado feels alive and growing. Late into the next long day of biking, a small car pulled over as we were seeking the next national forest sign. It turned out to be John the Cyclist, a former Fransican monk who invited us to stay with he, his wife, and their sweet little six year old at a nearby ranch. There, he fed us wheat bread baked with freshly milled wheatberries (all in his little sun room), allowed us showers, and excitedly talked with us about bikes until he realized what new biking buffoons we were. We slept in the loft of the barn, and woke early to a pancake send-off to a true grueling crossing of the Rockies- Wolf Creek Pass, at the Continental divide. We biked 43 miles uphill- a gradual rise to the base of the pass, then an awful nine miles of steep switchbacks. John the Cyclist decided he'd take the pass as a nice saturday ride, and sped to the top and met us back at the bottom with advice and blessings. After slow hard pedals and lots of horrified motorist's faces, we found ourselves in a cold land blanketed in snow. We put on all the layers of clothing we had, and began a long, long descent- 27 miles until we found ourselves a bridge traversing the Rio Grande. The sky looked like rain, and so we succummed to our latent tramping ways and made under-the-bridge our home- no tents neccessary. I felt a little like billy goat gruff, but slept well enough not to notice some little buggy creature that ate lots and lots of holes in our toilet paper roll approximately 2 inches from my head. Perhaps it is this morning finding that has me still hating under-the-bridge nights, while the ruffian Rush finds them to be his very favorite. NEXT we biked towards Alamosa, where Rush's new and improved and positively rainproof tent should be laying in wait at the Post Office. Along the way we ran across Ernest Wilkinson and a castle arch of antlers-- an 80plus year old trapper and taxidermist who had a pet mountain lion and a house full of preserved animals. He showed us rope made out of local plants, and told us how to eat all parts of a yucca. Rush raced ahead to the post office, where Shane and I found him, bloody-kneed, dazed-eyed, and tentless. Speeding into town and testing his legs of steel, he had biked clean into a road construction sign, helmet first- and stayed behind while his bike went onward. I bought a big ole bottle of wine to ease his sore noggin, and we drank it by a railroad track at what seemed like an old furniture dump, which supplied an easy chair for to rest his bones. He grabbed his late tent in the morning, and we biked on-- towards the Great Sandunes National Park where we were to meet three of Shane's college-time friends. We made it early afternoon, and Shane's photo-friend-from-MICA, Andy, met us with passionfruit and cherries. We wandered into the dunes and got caught in the midst of a crazy sand storm-- whipped by stinging sand bits and chilled to the bone, we eventually made our way out, though it took a minute to recover our wits. Shane's friends Josh and Ryan met our windswept and weatherweary selves and we all found an incredible campsite high above the valley- where the three brought out all manners of food and booze and fireside times. Re-entering the dunes the next day, the boys treked to the very top of the sandy world, and took turns with a snowboard and the long climb back up.
Sent off with well wishes, we biked and they drove off into the valley. We spent the night not far from the dunes- and discovered that in a series of breaking things, Rush's stove and our source of hot meals, had gone to the great sand dune in the sky. Frustruated and hungry, we looked around at the fields of scrub and sage and ...zilch firewood. In an amazing feat of 15 minute scrounging, we came up with enough cardboard trash and dried cow patties to make a roaring fire- over which we cooked the marvel of our mealtime wallets--- egg drop ramen soup. The next morning- onward, and over a joke of a pass that constituted the farewell to our western mountained ways- a crossing that was hard to believe. We spent the night at the edge of a cornfield behind a dairyfarm, in a grove of cottonwood trees and mosquitoes. Next a verylong ride to La Junta, and another night of underthebridging (with tents) and on to Lamar, and a night in the city park. We realized while cooking that the place was riddled with sprinklers- and had no wish for soggy heads- so wound up pitching our tents in the middle of a volleyball square, and woke dry and happy in a damp land.
THEN... into KANSAS. and the horrid, horrid winds of that wheatfilled state. We battled toppling winds (going the WRONG way) until we saw an off road river access, and took the first of many midwest skinnydips-- this time in the Arkanasas river (which is pronounced differently whether you're above or below the Kansas/Arkansas state line). Nothing feels better after a sticky hot spandex filled day than bare skin and cool water. We found a shed that seemed made for the three of us, and pitched our tents in the small wind shield. Wind whistled (in roaring, forcefull way) through the spaces between boards, and we woke seventy times through the night expecting the be whipped away by a twister. It didn't help to be camped directly beside a railroad track- with a couple trains that ripped through the night, mimicking tornado sound. We rode through the wind, again, and found a trucker's stop. We'd heard of shower vouchers with big rig tank fills, and so asked various truckers for unused vouchers- and were awarded with long, hot showers. We made it into Garden City, where we camped behind a cluster of abandoned homes on the edge of the city- giving in fully to our blossoming vagabondly natures. We found an old outside firepit at the edge of a once-motor-garage, and made a fire, cooking lambsquarters from the overgrown yard and a huge batch of granola in a fry pot found in a shed.

The remainder of our Kansas crossing, and our sweeping swoop across this great state of Missouri, will have to be a tale to tell at a later time. The writing of this story was well interrupted by a dinner out, at a spot where hot buttered rolls are tossed through the air with the greatest of ease. we ate and ate and then slept and slept, and now must pack and pack. and ride. probably a welcome interruption for you dear, dedicated, and eye weary readers. We'll be back! much love, and thankful bellies and brains. Off to Cross the muddy waters!

all through the colorado mountains, and deep in the kansan winds

2009-06-23T09:21:00.000-07:00

Ohhhh Hite, (Utah, that is)

2009-06-10T14:53:00.000-07:00

Greetings followers, this is Tasha, I am Shane's sister. Recently I had the opportunity to intercept these three road-trippers on their journey. We met in Glen Canyon Recreation Area, at 'Hite' campsite on Lake Powell. Over the course of five days we shared great food, stories and made a couple fond memories of our own-including a day long hike to a little place called "Sundance Canyon" (later more appropriately renamed by Elspeth "Pyramid of Death Canyon"). This ordeal (I will call it as we later all decided it was not just a hike by any means) was followed by arriving at the car, (intoxicated by lethargy at this point)at 10 pm and navigating our way over terrain best compared to the planet Mars. Eventually we returned to camp, where Shane, Elspeth and Rush prepared a stellar meal of Salmon, asparagus and rice...soon we drifted off, and called the day done. I must say I am so grateful to have had the support of the rest of my family to be able to provide nourishment that these brave souls needed to replenish and move on across our country. As they each told me stories of their travels thus far, a powerful theme became apparent to me (that they were seeing clearly also). It seems that just when they may have thought that their luck had run out, (in whatever way, blown-out spokes, lack of available campsites, needing some local info, etc.) the universe would show it's abundance of various resources, and good faith, in turn, was restored. Departing Friday morning was hard, but amidst the sadness, I truly realized what depth of character, strength and heart these three posses and must access every moment on this trip. I love you guys and rock on.

Tash

Smiling Faces, (very) Warm Places

2009-06-08T19:09:00.000-07:00

Though the arid and beautiful landscape of southern Utah filled us with more awe than we could usually handle, the heat and desolation began to grow heavy on our bikes and minds. Then after a frustrating afternoon of constantly just missing our desert mirage, Tasha Darwent drove out of the canyons and met us on the hot shore of Lake Powell. With 8 hours of driving in a car full to the roof with amazing food and treats from the Darwent family we started refuling. Four days, several insane hikes and many full bellies later and we were watching Tasha and all her amazing energy drive off into the desert to head back to the land of Colorado from which she came. Two nights later and we were camping in Colorado still living off the wonderful food that the Darwents send. My belly was full and all that was left of the fire was a few glowing embers. I remembered how biking away from Lake Powell I needed to think about something other than the 45 m.p.h. headwind so I concentrated on replaying everything that had happened in my life in the last 6 months. First I remembered my friends and family and all that they have given me and next I remembered all the generous people in my life. The fire was almost totally extinguished and now the full moon was illuminating the desert trees I turned off my headland and found my way back to the tent with a little help from the moon. Overwhelmend by the generosity of everyone in my life - complete strangers to close family and friends - and I fell asleep a happy man.

Thank you all,
Rush

antelope daydream

2009-06-07T11:23:00.000-07:00

and the pictures...

2009-05-28T08:48:00.000-07:00

Utahhhhhh

2009-05-27T17:02:00.000-07:00

Well a great deal has happened since our last second hand encounter with this amazing resource, our seemingly distant and long lost friend, the internet. We now find ourselves in a small town in Central Utah by the name of Escalante. How we made it here from Walker Pass is a blur. Consult map for a better understanding but here she goes...

Ridgecrest, California came fast after a long descent from Walker Pass. We drank Coors Light (trademark) at the bottom courtesty some motorcyclists. Trona was our toxic gateway into the desolate basin east of Death Valley and there we camped out on a concrete pad at the rest area that was across the street from a potash processing plant that went clank all night. Panamint Springs was our resting place the day before we would climb Townes Pass into Death Valley. Up at four the next morning (we started taking to early morning riding in east Cali due to the ridiculous heat) to start our ride that would bring us from below 1000ft. in elevation to 5000ft. in less than ten miles..., later we found out that the major car companies test there rides there to see if they can make it up without overheating. Sat through about three sandstorms that afternoon, a couple games of chess, some beers, and some sardines. Then off to Furnace Creek at 180ft. below sea level for our newly established early evening rides. There we were greeted by large groups of European tourists, an overpriced market, a yukulele (spelling debatable) thief, annoying flies, and a pool! After sleeping in the next day we lounged next to the pool and did some casual stretching in preparation for our ride out of the valley and towards to Las Vegas. 3 miles into our climb out we had some technical difficulties and ended up catching a ride to the big city with bright lights from a maniac driver who likes to "rock and roll" down the highway. There Rush went on a scavenger hunt to replace his bottom bracket while Elspeth and I went on our own hunt trying to find the necessary bank so as to keep our accounts from running low in expectations of some heavy gambling that evening. Rush got his bike fixed and some free cocoa to boot, his buddy Pip showed up on his way out to LA and we all stuffed ourselves at a Saharan buffet. No money was won that evening but we saved Rush from having to hang out with the kiddies at the arcade in Nascar World. (Sssshhhhhh, he's not 21, yet...) We caught our second ride of the trip the next day out of Vegas to the town of St. George in Southwestern Utah. There would have been a considerable stretch that would have taken place on interstate 15 and would have brought us through a zanny canyon with less that no shoulder so we figured $20 a head was worth it. From there is was a silly night ride to an ATV State Park that someone disguised as a good idea. Pretty yes. but hard to concentrate on beauty when you are worried about getting smashed by four spinning tires with memorial day partiers at the wheel. Since then it has pretty much been ideal riding. Better weather, amazing roads through some of this countries most amazing scenic beauty coupled with some really interesting small towns that rely on all those damn RVs.......

whew, well time to go treat ourselves to a DQ Blizzard (trademark), and give someone else a chance to use this computer. Oh, and we had about 50 new pictures to put up but for some dern reason they aint uploadin'. Until next time.......

No Open Wounds!

2009-05-18T08:39:00.000-07:00

Hello,
This Joel, Shane's cousin, posting in place Rush, Shane an Elspeth. I met up with them Saturday night at Walker Pass Campground just east of Lake Isabella. We were at about 5,250 ft above sea level. Two days previous to that they had been in Bakersfield(about 500ft). They had climbed almost a mile vertically in 2 days! Quite a feat.
We had a great evening. I cooked (homemade guacamole and fajitas) while they shared stories from their trip through Big Sur and across the Central Valley of California (ask them about Wasco and Vern from Kern). Some family members had shipped me gifts and supplies for the crew and I came bearing the well wishes of my friends in LA (Big thanks to Scott and Nate). As the warm afternoon faded into a cool evening, we watched the sunset and the stars light up the massive sky.
In the morning we had a quick breakfast (oatmeal and coffee) and slowly packed up our camp. I watched them prepare for their day ahead, which began with a steep 2 mile summit of Walker Pass followed by a 14 mile 2000ft decent into Owens Valley and the Mojave Desert. As I drove away, I realized how impressed I am at this endeavor they are undertaking. They are in great spirits and are having an incredible time. Best of luck Shane, Elspeth and Rush!

headwinds and hillsides (by elspeth)

2009-05-08T15:15:00.000-07:00

Hello! We're in a little library in the little town of Pacific Grove-- a wintering place for monarch butterflies just south of Monterey. We've dedicated the day to laundering (and smelling all the better for it) and re-gearing our bikes for the climbing hills to come. It's our fourth day on the road, and our first chance to update- so here we are, library time-limit in mind. We woke up tuesday to gray skies and cold rain- AND to Shane's 26th birthday. Shane's Charleston bud Brady gave us a ride over the bridge and through San Fran, to Pacifica-- a town just south of the city. He watched us load our bikes (for the first time) and each take a wobbly spin around the block, and departed with well wishes. and... there we were. It took the first 'hill' (I'd like to say mountain, but I'm told otherwise) to realize that my rear rack (holding all of the stuff) was not gonna do it-- the weight of my bags bent in the prongs and held up the wheel. Eagle Scout Rush and Engineer Shane rigged up rack extensions with tent poles and zip ties, with the cushioning power of torn up sanitary pads. And it was at this moment that I knew we'd be ok, in the long run. We rode the rest of the day through drizzle and mist-- through eucalyptus forests with their clean, mint smell- winding round the mighty Pacific ocean. MAN. At the end of the day we found a small dirt road (marked by a hopping rabbit) that led to a wildflower filled field at the edge of the sea. We set up camp, and had the brightest birthday meal of them all- with celebratory champagne- and gleanings from our 'yard'- wild carrot, mustard flower, fennel and nasturtums (sp??). We hung out with a garter snake, lots of red winged blackbirds, large snails and nighttime bullfrogs... First day we rode about 30 miles-- Day two led us to Santa Cruz- and easy, sunny day of just over 30 miles. We stopped at a pick-your-own organic strawberry patch and ended up at Brighton Beach State Park at a Hike/Bike camp spot for the night. Hot Showers! Eek- I'm running out of time, so this'll have to be clipped. Yesterday was our longest day yet-- over 50 miles (I wanted to claim it as 60, but no go) but really! over 50 miles! that's a lot! aaaaand almost all straight into the wind. we were rounding Monterey bay, and battling the wind off the ocean. The early part of the day was fantastic-- wheeling through a valley with ENDLESS stretches of strawberries. The sweet musk was so thick in the air I think we must've been inhaling vitamins. But afternoon-- all wind and hills. And we did ok. See sunburnt and worn-out smiles below. Last night-- finally pulled to the side of the road a snuck into the woods to stealth camp, accompanied by a most delicious meal of sausages! and spanish rice+kale+broccoli. And now we're being cut off... But more to come!

If you're so Inclined...

2009-05-04T10:12:00.000-07:00

We've made it to San Fran! thanks entirely to Rush's father, who scooped us and our bikes up way out east, and delivered us to the doorstep of our takeoff. He singlehandedly drove 21+ of the 34 (STRAIGHT) hours it took to get us out here, refused monies for gasolines, AND slipped Rush the means for a fantastic final meal. Goodness. Gracious. That brillo boy comes from good stock...

We've been staying for the past few nights at the in-home gallery/workspace/terribly nice oakland cornerstop of one Robin Weinert: printmaker, skater, gallery owner et al. Robin and Shane go way back to MICA- where they lived young lives of raucous ribaldry and (green) moonshine. Robin's been leading us and our eager bikes across these misty realms while we try to get rid of our backseat legs and find our pedals. Our very first day in these 'hills' Robin took us straight up the biggest/steepest thing I ever did see. So tall that clouds enveloped the top. He raced straight to the peak- shane following suite (and thinking it fine to wind into opposing lanes of traffic to ease the trek). Rush was almost up there with them, stopping only to walk with me up the midway point. And my flatland loosiana legs laughed at the thought. BUT we all made it to the top (through footfall and cycle), where we ate... more peanut butter. And looked out over all the bay, and sighed sighs of deep satisfaction. (and pretended not to think about the mountains to come)

And now we're off to a bike shop for some last minute details. like BRAKE CABLES. more posting later, while we've still got this luxury computer link...

Most People That Visit the Grand Canyon Spend More Time Looking Through Their Lens (by shane)

2009-05-01T17:42:00.000-07:00

Fry bread at the Indian Village followed by a detour north to that epic water carving, The Grand Canyon. Now back on I-40 and 400 miles outside of LA we coast up and down hills in minutes that we are realizing will take us hours by way of bike. Things are starting to seem a bit more real and I think we are all looking forward to our first sore muscles...

Trucking Through the Tablelands (by elspeth)

2009-05-01T10:31:00.000-07:00

It is 12:34 and we're gliding past red mesas, roundabout mile 1,330. We've only stopped for gas refills and the occasional mandated toothbrushing- and William Rush Jagoe the IV has been Exceptional Driver Number One, relieved only by William Rush Jagoe V for the awful graveyard shift at the wheel. WHICH means that Shane and I have lounged in the back of this kingly cab for 21 hours. This has been some very serious driving, accompanied by some very serious peanut butter and jelly eating. We forgot the name we chose for the blog, and spent a minute finding it online- which means you're either very skilled at remembering ridiculously long site names, or you've got a link. If you've found us- hurrah! Only sleeping in backseats for now- it seems we'll roll into San Francisco in the early hours of Saturday morning.We've started the first of may in Oklahoma (where the wind comes right behind the rain)and will end it in a sleepy California.

On The Road (by rush)

2009-04-30T21:15:00.001-07:00

My Dad and I met Elspeth and Shane in Nashville this afternoon. We loaded up the bikes and panniers and have already driven 661 miles. Dad and I have coffee and Elspeth and Shane have each other's laps to sleep in. We just crossed into Oklahoma and I cannot wait to see where we'll be when the sun rises. There will probably be more updates to come since we have a laptop with wireless internet in the car.

Peace,
Rush