Walking Fool 2: The Next Day

The Trials and Tribulations on a Trail (Day 36-39)

2009-09-02T05:51:00.000-07:00

I got up around 9am and strolled the 2-3 miles to downtown Mauston, arriving at the McDonald's just as the rain started coming down. The McDonald's there was one of the biggest and busiest ones I've ever seen. The parking lot alone was the size of a Walmart. By the time I was finished downing my three McDoubles and filling up my bottles with iced tea, rain had stopped and was replaced with glorious sunshine, so I headed back onto the road. Before leaving town, I passed the local Middle School where a long line of 13-15-year-olds were practicing their marching band routine. They were a bit muddled and out-of-tune, but provided a good soundtrack for my strut down State Road 82.

I spent the rest of the day walking along windy roads through the Wisconsin ranges, which is composed mostly of a metamorphic rock left behind from the Ice Age. As night swooped over the interlocking land of ridges and valleys, I reached the outskirts of the town of Elroy, WI. This was a significant milepost. From there on in, I'd be on nothing but off-road trails... all the way to the Minnesota border.

The next morning, I woke up to cold, heavy thunderstorms that swept over the land like a gigantic Eskimo car wash (if there is such a thing). I fortunately had the foresight to camp near a large gazebo, to which I quickly ran under to use as cover. Knowing that scattered showers were expected for the entire day, I dashed back into town during a short dry spell and hid in the Elroy library, waiting patiently for an opportune time to venture out onto the trail. According to the radar map, a big band of rain clouds were heading our way from the west, but it looked like they might skirt up to the north and miss us completely. I looked up into the questionable sky and decided to take a chance and head down the Elroy-Sparta Rail Trail.

It was 6 miles to the next town of Kendall and I figured I could walk it in about an hour and half to two hours. Unfortunately, it was around mile 4 that I got hit with a vicious downpour. Basically, every single part of my body got drenched. Slosh formed in my shoes, solid waterfalls emerged down the arch of my back, and every piece of clothing stuck to my skin so close, it felt like they were painted on. But as awful and unfortunate of a moment in hiking as it was, I still managed to keep my sense of humor and laugh it off. (Man, this walking is bringing out the best in me!)

By the time I reached Kendall, the precipitation had stopped, but the sun remained hidden behind the predominate clouds in the sky, so any attempt to dry out my soaked items was pretty much futile. So, resolved that I wouldn't be wearing any dry and comfortable wardrobe, I bought a fist-full of Tabasco-flavored Slim Jims at the local mart and hoped that their spicy boldness would warm my soul. (The Slim Jim is the number 1 brand of meat sticks in my book, and they got that intense flavor and snap that I love! Regrettably, they did not help dry out my shoes or clothing.)

The next day, more scattered showers were in the forecast, but luckily, they ended up skipping our particular area. However, that didn't stop me from constantly staring into the sky, scrutinizing every Cumulus cloud that entered my field of vision, and gasping with dreaded anticipation every time I thought I felt a raindrop. So, even though we had a dry day, it didn't stop me from being in constant panic-mode. However, I did still manage to find occasional moments of relaxation as I trotted down the serene trail.

The best thing about the E-S trail (besides giving me a break from the loud, speeding cars) is that it is on an old RR bed, so it has a nice low grade; never more than a 2-3 degree incline. Often, I was walking above the general lay of the land on these man-made ridges, or through hillsides that were blasted open, which made for a very picturesque hike. The trail also happens to have three old tunnels on it that shoot through various mountainsides (the last one being almost a mile long). Some friendly kids were at the opposite end of the first tunnel, and they were kind enough to help me find my way through the dark passageway by screaming and hooting and hollering as I stumbled along the path. Gee, kids in the Badger State sure are accommodating.

The next morning, it was only 4 and half miles to the town of Sparta, which not only had a surplus of fast food restaurants to choose from (something lacking in the small towns I was passing through the last three days), but also had the world's largest bicyclist. When I read about it the days leading up to my arrival, I thought the description was slightly off and what they really meant was the world's largest bicycle... but nope... sure enough, it was a gigantic man on top of a bike. And he talked, too! They had a corny 90-second message that kept repeating over and over, telling you all the wonderful sights and attractions you can see while staying in Sparta. The best part was the beginning when he blurted, "Hi there!" and then directed you to gaze up at his face by clarifying, "No, up here!"

From Sparta, I started walking on the La Crosse River trail that took me further west and closer to the Minnesota border. My plan is: once I reach the end of Wisconsin and cross the Mississippi River, I will finally rent a car and complete the retracing of my 2001 walk at 65 MPH.

It Sounded Like Baraboo... Whatever THAT Is (Day 33-35)

2009-08-15T15:28:00.000-07:00

Day 33 started with a visit to the Foreverton -- the world's largest scrap-metal sculpture, which sits inside Dr. Evermor's park. However, calling it simply a sculpture is not doing it justice; it's a complex, magical assembly of salvaged machines, gears, cables and engines, welded and bolted together to create a fantastical Victorian apparatus from some Jules Vern or H.G. Wells novel. And the ham that he is, Tom Every, the 71-year-old artist behind the Forevertron, creates an elaborate fable behind each of his artistic inventions, often referring to himself in the third person, under the name of his alter-ego -- Dr. Evermor. "The Foreverton is designed and built in a time frame of around 1890," he explained, "whereas our dear doctor is a scholarly professor who thought he could perpetuate himself through the heavens on a magnetic lightning force beam inside a glass ball inside a copper egg!" (Quote from roadsideamerica.com)

Aside from these sci-fi devices, adorned with things like "lasers" and "decompression chambers," the massive park behind Delaney's Surplus Store was filled with other metal sculptures of all shapes and sizes... although his ex-wife Elenore told me, "Dr. Evermor keeps wanting to make them bigger and bigger." A lot of the pieces resemble odd-looking bugs or birds, including a menagerie of musical birds made out of old tubas, saxophones, banjos and trombones. There's also a huge Chinese dragon which can be played like a colossal xylophone... which Elenore demonstrated for me with great flare.

By the end of the day, I left the confines of Dr. Evermor's creations and reached the town of Baraboo, which is the birthplace of the Ringling Brothers Circus. I celebrated this historical tidbit by doing a series of tumbles and flips down the street. Then, after loading up with some Taco Bell food, I hiked another 4 miles north and ended up camping next to a cornfield across the road from the Ho-Chunk Casino. (I called the casino before setting up my tent to see if they had any inexpensive rooms, but according to the deadpan clerk on the phone, the cheapest they had was $135 plus tax.)

The next morning, it rained, rained, rained and... it rained. I hid in a Burger King in the Wisconsin Dells area for several hours as droves of tourists came and left, but the rain would not stop. Finally, unable to wait any longer, I threw on my rain gear and dove into the wet abyss. I knew I was in expensive tourist country (Wisconsin Dells is like a crappy Disney World in the hills), so I figured the chances of me finding cheap lodgings was slim to none. But on a whim, I decided to pop into the office of the locally-run Holiday Motel to see what the rate was. The rotund Spanish lady behind the desk looked at me, dripping all over the place, with reserved curiosity. When I asked her what the rate was, she said, "Forty Dollars."

This number I found quite pleasing... but to push the envelope, I asked, "Is that plus tax?"

She paused for a moment, then relinquished, "Well, you pay cash, it can be forty dollars even." I smiled and slapped down two sawbucks and she handed me a rusty room key.

The next day, with an end to the rain, I left the motel and traipsed through the heart of the tourist trap known as the Wisconsin Dells. Aside from the endless numbers of oddball motels, there were fun houses, water parks, roller coasters, waterski shows, monster truck rides, and of course, boat tours of "the dells" -- the small, secluded glen surrounded by unique sandstone rock formations that often resemble things like clouds, castles, or a grand piano. I approached many of these theme park attractions, considering buying a ticket, but the prices were all outrageously high and the quality seemed amazing low. But I had a ten dollar bill that needed to be spent, so I went to a Taco Bell and got the Volcano Combo Box for $6.09.

After my meal, I went to a gas station on the outskirts of town to pick up a few items for the next leg of my walk. I told the cashier about how my bike trip turned into a walking trip and she quickly offered up an abandoned bicycle they found a few months ago behind the store. As much as I appreciated her kind benefaction, I was now embracing the simplicity of walking again and declined the free, albeit rusty, bike.

I then marched along Highway 12 for another fifteen miles, traversing the rolling Wisconsin farmlands, and knowing quite well that the hills and bluffs will be getting bigger and tougher as I continue northwest. After passing through the small town of Lyndon Station, there wasn't very much to see in this farm country... except, I did find a pile of very odd picket signs on the side of the road. It appeared as though they were discarded signs from some farmer's market or something, but on their own, strewn along some stark, less-traveled road, they seemed singularly odd and whimsical. I couldn't resist picking up a random sign and picketing passing cars with stoic certainty. I firmly help up a sign that read "SAUSAGE," without a single indication of irony.

After tossing the sausage sign aside, I walked into the night for a few hours more, finally camping in some trees just south of the town of Mauston, WI.

A Walking Fool's Fool (Day 30-32)

2009-08-14T03:30:00.000-07:00

On a regular basis, I often ask myself the poignant question, "What the hell am I doing?" And as I find myself tripping over my own footsteps from eight years before, I'm asking that question a whole lot more. "What the hell am I doing?"

Biking my 2001 walk seemed like a fun and sensible thing to do... I could revisit the places and people I saw nearly a decade ago, and I could do it in a fairly rapid pace, while still exercising and challenging my endurance. But when it ends up with me walking along the exact, same shoulder I walked in 2001, it feels ridiculously stupid and pointless... like watching a rerun of a game show you just got through watching. ("Wow, I can't wait until she picks case number 12! I can't wait to find out how much is inside... again!") And I've been shaking my head even more ruefully than usual after deciding to extend my walk beyond Madison, WI, and try to make it all the way to La Crescent, MN... adding an additional 150+ miles to my trip. "What the hell am I doing?"

After leaving the backyard of my newly acquired friend, Ty, I trotted along County Road A until hitting Stoughton, WI -- a small town south of Madison, whose streets are lined with Norwegian flags and is home to the term "coffee break." The best thing about the town, though, was that it had a bright and beautiful McDonald's restaurant. It had been a few days since experiencing cheap food, free refills, and unlimited, hassle-free seating time. McDonald's are wonderful for being able to sit and not worry about a waitress coming over to bother you or an uneasy local owner eying you suspiciously as you wear out your welcome. Most fast food joints have young, apathetic workers who couldn't care less how long you stayed at that corner booth.

After Stoughton, the rain started coming down and my feet started getting rather wet as I trudged along Highway 51. Eventually, I found refuge at the Rodeway Inn in South Madison. The rate was a fairly reasonable $49.95, which I was able to get reduced to $43.95 by just looking pathetic. However, a few hours earlier at a convenience store, I must have looked downright nefarious, because the big bearded dude behind the counter accusingly asked me as I walked through the door, "What do you want?" I stopped and looked at him oddly, and then he continued, "You're not supposed to have a backpack in here."

"Well, then, I don't have to stay," I plainly replied and walked out the door.

After a good night's rest at the Rodeway Inn (which, by the way, was huge! It took me literally 6 minutes to walk from the front desk to my room.), I got up the next morning and raced to Ella's Animatronic Deli on the north side of Madison. It's a deli/restaurant that is filled with hundreds of mechanical toys, robots and gadgets and has a full-scale merry-go-round out front. The place looked like the Choo-Choo Diner times one hundred... not only were there trains, planes and automobiles, but singing clocks, dancing cartoon characters and a plethora of trinkets I would had loved to snatch for my own. I was ready to go inside for lunch, but the wait for a table was over an hour, so I went to a nearby KFC instead.

By nightfall, I was on the west side of town and ready to do some serious walking... instead of sightseeing strolling. I found my way to Route 12, which was a heavy-duty 4-lane freeway that prohibited pedestrians. Fortunately, there was a nice bike trail that paralleled the highway, so I could walk through the dark night without fear of cars, trucks or cops. A few miles later, I hit a large stretch of farmlands and all was black, except for the occasional headlight or distant porch light. Needless to say, I was quite surprised when I walked around a bend and discovered a small bar called the Missouri Tavern‎, situated in the middle of nowhere. The converted farmhouse glowed in the dark like a majestic spaceship; a large beacon of cheap booze and loud music. Figuring it was a good time for a break, I sauntered into the honkytonk, to the sheer delight of the young bartender. "Let me guess," he beamed while waving his index finger at me, "you're a hiker!" I nodded and he proceeded to give me a free round of beer. "You look like you could use this," he shouted over the blaring country music, as he slid a frothy glass jar of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

After a couple more rounds of PBRs and finally realizing that the 23-year old ladies were not staring at me because of my masculine beauty but for my awkward, shabby appearance, I made my exit. But before I left, the still enthusiastic bartender plopped into my hand three wooden coins... each redeemable for a free drink. "In case you ever come by the Missouri Tavern‎ again." A few miles later I found a patch of pines next to a large farm and set up my tent for the night.

The next morning I walked 10 more miles to the Sauk City, a town of 12 thousand nestled along the grand Wisconsin River. Still a little hungover from the night before, I knew I needed some nice greasy food, so I bustled over to the town's McDonald's. While there, I spotted a rather curious old fellow who came in to buy a pair of 1-dollar chicken sandwiches. As he placed his tray on his table, he reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a salvaged McDonald's cup he obviously had been saving from a past visit. He then took the dented paper cup over to the soda fountain and essentially stole a serving of Diet Coke. He didn't show a hint of guilt or nervousness as he boldly downed his pilfered beverage.

Around 6 o'clock, I headed north through town, weaving around schools, residential homes and laughing/mocking teen drivers. After I passed the municipal airport and a grungy hotel that advertised "10 stays, 1 free," I got back into sparse farmland. I ended up sleeping in an abandoned field, just south of the town Bluffview.

Giant Cows, Pumpkins and Kindness (Day 29-30)

2009-08-12T00:15:00.000-07:00

I spent the night under a tree by some railroad tracks in the middle of nowhere. It rained through the night and I woke up the next day to a leaky tent and a wet sleeping bag. But the sun was peaking through the clouds by late-morning, so I hung out my items to dry while resting in the unincorporated town of Avalon (population: 387). I plopped down onto the sidewalk and feasted upon one of my soggy ham sandwich I had stowed away, while watching my tent and ground sheet flap in the wind from a pair of sign posts.

Nine miles later, I reached the heart of Janesville, a city of around 60,000 people and home to Bessie -- a 16-foot-tall, 20-foot-long, one-ton fiberglass cow. Apparently, she's been moved around a bit over the last couple years and her fate was uncertain, but when I came through, she was standing tall and looked just fine. After dancing in front of the gigantic heifer for a few minutes, I adjourned to the Motel 6 for a good night's rest. It was fabulous to be able to sleep indoors for a change! (God bless a/c.)

The next morning, I veered off the main highway again and took some back roads through the Rock River Valley. While cutting through some farmlands, I spotted a large orange mass hovering above the distant treeline. As far as I could make out, it appeared to be a huge pumpkin head, floating in the sky. The sight was both magnificent and frightening, as I feared that black magic might be involved in creating this apparition. However, as I got closer, I realized it wasn't some magical entity, but rather a farmer's grain silo, with the top painted orange to make it look like a big jack-o-lantern.

Relieved that the evil Saints of Hallow weren't trying exact revenge on me for some past inadvertent infraction, I did a quick dance in front of the farm and walked off to the next town of Edgerton, some 7-8 miles away.

In Edgerton, I revisited the A&W Restaurant that I went to on my 2001 walk, and it was just as delightful as I remembered. I got a juicy bacon cheeseburger, crispy onion rings and an ice-cold root beer that actually came in a frosted glass mug. The chilled mug and the scantily-dressed waitresses made the meal one of my favorites so far on this trip.

After a quick stop at a local C-store, I headed north towards the next town of Stoughton (which I've been foolishly mispronouncing for the last two days). Once again, I veered off the main highway and hopped on County Road A (all the county roads in Wisconsin are lettered instead of numbered) and started walking west as the sun slowly drifted below the horizon.

Just as things started getting really dark, a big burly guy came rolling by on a bike that looked a bit too small for him. His name was Ty, and he offered me an evening's greetings. He asked me why I happened to be walking in the middle of Wisconsin farmland in the dark and I ended up telling him the whole elaborate story of past walks, stolen bikes and my goal of reaching Madison, WI. It seemed as if my stories of ongoing travels moved him in a personal way... bringing back memories of when he was younger and free to roam the earth. Knowing that I'd be setting up camp fairly soon, Ty offered his property to sleep on. He told me that he had a large boat in his yard that I could sleep on if I wanted, and if not, I was more than welcome to pitch my tent on his lawn. Sensing my hesitation, Ty casually dropped the info that he had a wife and three kids, letting me know he wasn't some lone farmer who invites strangers to his home, only to eventually ask them to "put the lotion in the basket or it gets the hose again."

Still not fully committing to his offer, I walked along with Ty to his backyard to check out the accouterments. Sure enough, there was a big white schooner parked in the back of his house... but the thing seemed a bit confining and was a little stale smelling, so I decided to simply set up camp on the grass next to it. Even though it was quite dark by this point, I could tell Ty was beaming with joy with the fact that I decided to stay the night, and he quickly gave me the tour of all the amenities he had to offer. "I can set up some lights and give you electricity, if ya like," he announced, pointing to some extension cords he had in the barn. "And we got an outside faucet there. It's nice and cool and tastes good. Plus, we got the outside shitter, so you'll be all set."

It was nice being able to camp outdoors on a nice piece of flat, grassy land without worrying about being on private property or waking up to realize I was snoozing in a garden made-up of poison ivy and sumac. I slept a good, solid sleep that night.

The next morning I was awoken at 7 o'clock (a bit early for a fool like me) by Ty baring gifts: toast, a hard-boiled egg, and hot chocolate. Even though I wished I was able to get a couple more hours of sleep, his generosity helped perk me up. Then, for the next hour or so, Ty kept returning with more items to donate to my walk, including: berries, Q-tips, twist-ties, a tiny book-light, cherries, and a chart of the evening stars. He regretted that he recently sold a bunch of his old bikes, or he would have given me one, but I told him I was actually enjoying being on foot again; you don't have to worry about mechanical failures, it getting stolen, and you can walk in places you can't bike. But I thanked him profusely for all his charity and finally managed to get packed and on my way.

Meeting a guy like Ty gives me hope that the world isn't such a crappy place after all, and I walked with a little more spring in my step. (However, let me be clear... those bike thieves in Chicago can still eat me!)

Back to My Walking Ways (Day 26-28)

2009-08-11T06:50:00.000-07:00

After playing hide and seek in the dark with the Parks Department security car for an hour, I found a patch of trees in the Algonquin Woods Preserve to camp in... hidden from the eyes of any park dwellers and fairly unadorned of poison ivy. The next morning, I got up and hiked to the town of Niles, home of the Leaning Tower of Niles -- a replica of the famous Italian tower in Pisa. The structure stands at 94 feet, roughly half the size of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, but it felt like the real thing to me. And besides, once you calculate the savings in overseas airfare to Italy, you'll be more than satisfied with this Chicago suburb's rendition.

From there, I walked to the next-door Target to buy some snacks and a new pair of shorts. I took my old, dirty, torn-up, poison-ivy-infected shorts and carefully placed them in the nearest trash receptacle, in hopes that science has found a way to destroy such a monstrosity in apparel. I then tightened my backpack straps and continued walking north-west.

By 4pm, I was in the next town of Des Plaines, where I rushed to the library to use their bathroom and use their computer lab. (I took a crap in one of them... try to guess which one.) Around 5 o'clock, I was ready for an early dinner, so I headed over to the Choo-Choo Diner, where I heard they serve your food from a moving, electrified, miniature train. I was very excited with the prospect of being served by a child's toy, but when I arrived... the place was closed. At first, I was afraid that some out-of-control urban renewal program was forcing the diner to be shut-down and destroyed, but then I realized... the diner simply closes at 3pm on Sundays. (Oops!)

To add to my woes of the closed Choo-Choo, I discovered that my newly-bought video camera was no longer working. I think I dropped the 800-dollar electronic item one time too many. The whole point of this trip was to film the people and places of my 2001 walk for my WALKING FOOL documentary... and now I was stuck in the tiny town of Des Plaines with no bike and no video camera. The closest electronic store was a Best Buy in the town of Crystal Lake, which was another 20 miles away, so I wasn't able to reach it until the next day. Thankfully, nothing hugely interesting happened in-between.

Once in Crystal Lake and armed with a (cheaper) video camera, it was back to walking. I headed north on Route 14 to the town of Harvard, and from there, it was seven short miles to the Wisconsin border, which I reached sometime around 10pm. After chewing on some leftover dough from my Chicago-style pizza slice I bought the day before, I walked another few miles to the next town of Walworth, WI, where I set up my tent in the field behind the Subway.

The next morning, I woke up to a few light rain showers, packed up my tent, and walked along 14 to the next town of Darien. I then stopped off at a gas station/convenience store to load up with some food and drink for my next leg of the walk. I wanted to be sure that I had enough stuff to last me to the next town of Janesville, which was over 20 miles away. (In the peak of my 2008 walk, 20 miles between towns would be a cakewalk, but since I'm out of practice, such a long gap got me a bit nervous.)

I grabbed a couple sandwiches, some beef jerky, a bag of chips and several bottles/cans of various liquids, and loaded them into my pack... adding an extra 8-9 pounds to my cargo. However, to my surprise, the one thing I didn't leave the convenience store with was napkins... that's because they didn't have any. Who ever heard of a gas station convenience store without napkins? They had a full deli, hot pizza, and a huge array of other snacks and treats... but nothing to wipe your face with. When I pointed out this depletion to the Asian man behind the counter (who spoke cliché broken-English), all he could do was offer me a few sheets of Kleenex from his private stock. He nodded with expected gratitude as he handed me these flimsy tissues, which practically fell apart as soon as they left his hand.

A few hours later, I found myself on a desolate farm road in southern Wisconsin. I wanted to get off of Route 14 (and the heavy traffic associated with it), so I decided to take some back roads for the next 12 miles or so. By 10pm, I reached a railroad bed and found a nice full tree to set my tent under.

What To Do When You're Bikeless (Day 25)

2009-08-10T07:38:00.000-07:00

I entered Chicago with great jubilation. I was undeniably proud with my accomplishment... that I cycled from the beaches of New Jersey to the heart of the windy city. Then, all those blissfully exuberant feelings were gone with the wind when my bike got stolen!!

After smashing my helmet and cleanly-cut cable onto the sidewalk, I returned to my cruddy Howard Johnson's hotel room to wallow in pain and suffering. I had lost all faith in humanity. The world seemed like a place I didn't want to explore anymore; a place where people nonchalantly steal bikes like they are taking a mint out of that bowl in the front of a diner. "What? A bike without a titanium safe wrapped around it? Oh, that deserves to be stolen!" I guess having a bike locked with a simple cable is like an insult to anyone strapped for cash. It's like dangling a sack of money, secured with only a silk ribbon.

Some folks have suggested that since I still had my trailer and my belongings in my hotel room, why not buy a new bike and be done with my self-pity. Unfortunately, to attach the trailer, I needed a special rear-wheel skewer, which needed to be special ordered. The pallid, unruffled salesman at the local bike shop whiffed, "Well, since it's Saturday, we probably won't get that new part until Tuesday or Wednesday. Mmm..." That meant not only would I have to buy a new part and a new bike, but I'd have to pay for three or four more days in Chicago where the cheapest hotel is $125 per night.

So, I thanked the shrugging slacker salesman, returned to my hotel room, packed my belongings, threw my trailer into a nearby dumpster and started walking out of Chicago. As sullen and depressed as I was, I still didn't want to give up on my journey to South Dakota and I didn't want to get into a car or bus, so I did what any other walking fool would do: walk. My plan is to walk from Chicago, IL to Madison, WI, where I'll rent a car and drive the rest of my route to Sioux Falls, SD. It's only 143 miles, and I figured I could do that in 7-10 days.

Around 11am, I left downtown Chicago, bought some much-needed hiking socks at a camping store, and headed north through the vast city. When I first mapped out my route back in New York, it included many side trips -- after all, I was expecting to be on a bike -- but since I was on foot, I took the most straight and direct route out. I needed to be out of the urban sprawl by nightfall so I could find a suitable place to camp. However, even though I was racing to exit the city, I did manage to visit the infamous Biograph Theater where John Dillinger was shot and killed by FBI agents.

From there, it was onward and upward towards the first Chicago suburb of Park Ridge, which has a very eclectic residency. There was a large community of Greeks, Indians, and Chinese there, and I had trouble understanding most them whenever they spoke to me. I did a lot of nodding and feign understanding (punctuated with many "ahhs'" and "I sees"). However, pretending to understand was a little troublesome when I needed crucial walking directions.

By sunset, I made it to the town of Niles, north-west of Chicago. There I stopped off at the famous Superdawg restaurant for one of their renowned hot dogs... with all the fixings. While there, I chatted with Flo, the owner of the place, who started the business with her husband in 1948 to help pay for his college tuition. They eventually gave up the idea of "higher learning" and focused their attention full-time on the hot dog business... and the rest is history.

While munching on my second dog, I met up with a 65-year-old guy named Jim, who was very keen to hear about my walking adventures. He told me that he was a walker himself, and he walked across the country... but he did it "virtually." When I asked him what he meant, he told me that he walks around 7-10 miles a day in his hometown, then goes home and logs the miles in Google maps as if he was walking across the country. At the time we met at the Superdawg, he was just a few days short of 1,000 consistent days of walking. I was quite impressed, considering that he managed to keep it up through back pains, sprained joints and a severe case of kidney stones. Since completing his walk across the USA, he is now walking across Ireland, and blogging it on his website, Walk Forrest Walk. Make sure to check it out... and tell him the Walking Fool sent ya.

An hour later, night fell and I knew it was time to move on. From Superdawg, I disappeared into the nearby park to set up my tent and sleep amongst the rapid squirrels and raccoons.

Gone Again! (Day 24)

2009-07-26T08:13:00.000-07:00

I am the stupidest man in the world! I parked my bike in front of a library in North Chicago. One hour later, I was left with a cut lock and cable. Bastards!

I am now stuck in Chicago, with no bike, a useless trailer and no place to sleep for under $135 per night. What to do? Where to go? How to do it?

I am feeling great sadness.

Chicago! (Day 22-23)

2009-07-24T00:12:00.000-07:00

After setting up my tent near a bridge just south of Gary, Indiana, I realized I just waded through a knee-high field of poison ivy to get there. So, I hid my bike behind some trees, stowed my trailer on a mound of mud under the bridge, and trotted over to a nearby tavern -- The Groggy Morning Sports Bar over on County Line Road -- for a quick clean-up. I ordered the 75 cent draft beer (which comes in a tiny, plastic 5 oz. cup) and dashed to the men's room to scrub and scour my tainted legs and shoes. After wiping down any potentially ivy-infected skin, I returned to my stool to enjoy my 3/4 of a dollar Bud.

Then, to add a little more atmosphere to the already displeasurable surroundings, the Karaoke machine got kicked on and I got to sit back and enjoy off-key, slurry renditions of songs ranging from Garth Brooks to Vanilla Ice. My cue to leave was when some grey, long-haired version of my father stepped up to the stage and mumbled his sour version of Phil Collins' "In The Air Tonight" to the inattentive crowd of fat ladies and drunk farmers.

After stumbling back to my tent and falling sound asleep, I woke up the next day to the threat of rain and the prospect of cycling though dangerous neighborhoods. I made it through the day without any major problems and arrived at a Motel 6 in Hammond, IN, for an early-afternoon retirement. By 8pm, I was getting restless and was tempted to visit the gentleman's club next-door, Deja Vu Showgirls of Hammond‎. I was particularly enticed by their sign that read: 1000's of gorgeous ladies, and 3 ugly ones. But, before I could enter, my senses came back to me and I returned to my motel room. I might have gone inside if they had a sign that read: You're guaranteed not to leave here broke, with a depressed, empty-feeling.

The next morning, it was off to Chicago! I checked-out of my motel and headed north... going through crappy, busy industrial areas, where the narrow shoulders are infested with discarded pieces of metal and shards of glass. These roads are also filled with an endless stream of large, boxy semi-trucks, chugging only a few inches from your bike's handlebars. It makes for a very unrelaxing bike ride.

The last stop in Indiana was East Chicago -- a dark and depressing strip of crumbling buildings, cracked sidewalks and dangerous-looking men. While stopped at a street corner, a shabby (but bulky) man with half his teeth missing, slinked up next to me, and held out a cell phone and a tiny ear piece. He then cornered me up against a wall trying to get me to buy the phone from him. "Ten dollars!" he bellowed at me while displaying the obviously stolen merchandise. I told him I had no money and didn't need a phone, which elicited the response: "Eight dollars!"

I shook my head and slowly saddled up onto my bike, trying to make it clear I wouldn't be a customer but also trying not to insult/anger the guy. The hulking man slyly looked around, noting the thinning out traffic, and moved in closer. "Come'on, man. Seven dollars. It's got an ear piece. See?" I told him again that I didn't need a phone and he responded with, "You can sell it!" By this point, my feet were firmly on their pedals and I gave him a sympathetic shake of the head and took off before he could stab me with the cell phone's antenna.

A few miles later, I was in the state of Illinois and in the city of Chicago. After going through a few more shady neighborhoods, I found myself on the Lakefront Bike Path that runs along the Michigan Lake shoreline for 17 miles through the city. It was nice to be off the road and away from speeding cars, but soon I realized I had a new annoying thing to contend with -- douchebag cyclists. Once again I had to deal with these obnoxious, shiny-panted dudes racing their bikes up and down the narrow pathway as fast as they could, ignoring safety and/or courtesy. All these guys looked like they were practicing for the Olympics and their constant whizzing and wurring, along with their incessant shouting of "On your left!" ruined any possibility for a nice relaxing ride into downtown Chicago.

The day ended with me roaming the Naval Park for a statue of Bob Newhart. It took me almost an hour to find it, but when I did, it was like magic... sitting face-to-face with a replica of the psychologist character he played in the 70's. I immediately broke down and told him all my problems. He was very understanding.

Pork Chops and Amish Folks (Day 20-21)

2009-07-20T08:32:00.000-07:00

I woke up in the trees, gathered my bike and trailer which were strategically hidden behind logs and bushes and got on Route 6 heading west. Biked close to 20 miles to the town of Nappanee, IN where I stopped off at the library for an hour or so and managed to drop my video camera three times in that period. After reaching the west side of town, I made a quick stop at Amish Acres -- an odd tourist attraction created from the 80 acres of the Old Order Amish farm. This is the place where, during my 2001 walk, I got semi-threatened by a tattooed Spanish man who claimed that "his body could kill my body in a second!" (Watch the WF trailer to see him in action.) After a brief jaunt through the 19th century property, I was back on my hard bike seat and traveling west again, trying to make some decent progress.

Not much else exciting happened that day. I biked along some old farm roads, passed some Amish folks in carriages and bought some new sunglasses at a Family Dollar Store. Then, while resting at the Dairy Queen in Bremen, I spilled about three tablespoons of liquefied mustard onto my pants and over several of my maps. Trying to not explode with deranged anger that would cause locals to gawk and gape, I just nodded my head and quietly murmured "far out" like the Big Lebowski and adjourned to the men's room.

The next day, I emerged from a weedy, tangly patch of trees and biked into the next town of Walkerton. After that, it was just biking, biking and biking. I finally got to the town of Woodville, where I heard there was a cheesy Wizard of Oz museum/gift shop. However, after cycling three miles out of the way to the supposed address, all I found was a house with a "For Sale" sign out front. So, I headed back for Route 6, looking to get some dinner. I was in the mood for a relaxing sit-down supper with table service, and feeling impetuous, I stopped at the very first place I saw -- The Rosewood Family Restaurant. And still feeling wildly spontaneous, I ordered the very first the thing I saw on the menu -- the stuffed pork chop dinner. Both were bad choices.

The food was odd-tasting and the waitress was odd as well. I got one of those "cheery" waitresses that have a permanent grin pasted on their face and talk to you like you're four years old. No matter what you say, you get an overly-sympathetic, sugary response with dumbed-down, unabashed enthusiasm. It's a shame when I waste a portion of my tiny nest egg on crappy food and cornball service.

However, one amusing event was when this perfectly abled middle-aged man parked his shiny, suped-up hotrod in the handicapped spot right in front of the restaurant. At first I thought he was simply being a lazy jerk, but after watching the patrons giving the car a "going over" whenever they came in, I could tell the guy parked it by the entrance so the folks could fawn over his "awesome" car. I could see the square-headed man gleam with satisfaction every time he saw some envious fellow crouch down and check out his ride.

After my lousy meal, I biked another 4 miles or so and camped under a bridge that was enveloped with poison ivy.

Like the WIND! (Day 19)

2009-07-17T05:48:00.000-07:00

Having woken up in a new state, I started off the day feeling energized. I had a few set-backs the day before, but that was in Ohio... THIS is Indiana!

First stop in the Hoosier State was the town of Butler, where I loaded up with cheap candy bars from the Family Dollar store. While waiting on line, I asked the cashier of any good places to get breakfast. While she was thinking, a stringy man with dirty overalls and a mouth full of chewing tobacco stepped in and mumbled, "Oh, uh-yeah, you kin go to Maria's Pancake House over by the interstate. They got gud home cookin' and yull git yer money's worth!" Taking his advice I cycled to the interstate and stopped at Maria's. The place was packed with rotund farmers and truck drivers, so I sat at the counter, which was mostly empty, and got two eggs, bacon, hash browns and two pancakes for $4.95. The food turned out to be fine, but the experience was ruined by a pair of grizzled men who plopped down on the stools next to me and immediately lit up their cigarettes. It's nice to know that there are some states in the US that still allow gnarly old men to blow stale cigarette smoke into your toast. What a country!

After a Marlboro-y breakfast, I was on the road for another 20 miles or so before reaching the mid-sized town of Kendallville. The highlight of this grand little community is that it is home to the Mid-America Windmill Museum -- only one of two museums in the USA dedicated to collect, display, preserve and tell the story of wind power.

Admission was only 4 bucks, so I shelled out the cash and immersed myself in windmill history. The most dazzling part of the museum was the "windmill garden" out back, which was basically this huge field filled with all kinds of wind-controlled devices -- from the old fashioned Dutch windmill houses to modern wind turbines. The least exciting part of the museum was the mandatory 10-minute video presentation featuring a locally-hired actor, who was acting like a "scientist" by wearing a lab coat, nerdy-thick glasses, and occasionally cracking his voice ('cause everyone knows scientists don't ever reach puberty).

After leaving the museum and waving goodbye to Larry Poppy, the windmill caretaker, I was back on the road and heading west on Route 6. About 10 miles later, I passed through Wawaka, which is home to 1950's baseball commissioner Ford Frick. After soaking in the magnificent 12-inch wooden sign commemorating their homegrown hero, I pedaled away to the town of Ligonier and stopped off at a KFC. I wasn't particularly hungry, but I remembered this KFC from my 2001 walk, where I plugged in my cell phone to charge and then forgot about it when I left. I had to walk two miles back to retrieve it after discovering an empty pocket on the road.

While waiting the 20 minutes for my order to come up, I chatted with some local youths who were returning from a softball game for their church. One of the guys showed me his elaborate tat of praying hands and nodded at me as if I should get one too. I just flipped my index finger at the inked arm and grimaced, hoping my lack of words would encourage him to go away. Instead, he continued talking to me about his church and about his tattoo. I just wanted my chicken strips. Finally after several awkward moments, they arrived.

I ended the day camping in some trees about five miles west of the KFC.

Directions Are Subjective (Day 18)

2009-07-15T10:07:00.000-07:00

I woke up from the mosquito-infested woods next to the muddy Beaver Creek and did some filming of me crossing back and forth on the rusted bridge. After 40 minutes of crappy photography, I pedaled off on County Road P. In western Ohio, all the roads are on a grid and are named in ascending letters from south to north, and ascending numbers from east to west... so you always know how far you've biked at any time. I continued on Route P, counting up the cross roads from 7 to 19, when I reached the town of Napoleon, OH and passed a church with a sign that read, "JESUS IS ALIVE. HOW ARE YOU?"

"Tired," I replied.

After a quick stop at the Campbell's Soup Factory north of town to see the world's largest soup can, I went to a Big Boy Restaurant for a late breakfast. As I chowed down on my scrambled eggs, I started considering taking a room at the local Knight's Inn for an early rest... but after consulting my latest bank balance... I realized a motel stay was not in my budget and biked out of town. Of course, in my anguished grief over my paltry savings, I got distracted and didn't realize I was on the wrong highway. I was actually heading due north instead of due west. "A minor set-back!" I facetiously exclaimed to a tweeting bird on a nearby power line. I then turned my bicycle 90 degrees and headed for my originally intended destination, waving to the speeding motorists with sarcastic glee.

A few miles later, I was on Route 6 West and back on track... but that didn't last long. I traveled about 18-19 miles on 6 when I came to a crossroad one mile north of the town of Williams Center. Wanting to stop off at the town, I took State Route 567 due south. After a quick and disappointing visit to the town's one and only mini-mart, I was off again. My plan was to take a diagonal road that would take me north-west and back onto Route 6. But somehow, I got my bearings way off and ended up on the wrong road and going due south. And I went 3-4 miles before I realized I was going the wrong way, acknowledging my stupidity by giving imaginary companions high-fives! So, I flipped my bike around, and returned to Williams Center to survey the land and consult my map again.

"Ah-ha," I asserted while pointing to my tattered map, "here's where I made my mistake!" I turned my bike and headed on the next road... which turned out to be wrong as well. But at least this time, I was going due west, so I didn't have to backtrack completely. Pulling out my compass and giving my map an additional gander, I turned my bike one last time and was finally heading north. When I reached Route 6, I mouthed the words "Hooray," while rolling my eyes, and started heading west again.

From there, it was to the next town of Edgerton for a toasty Subway sandwich dinner. I ended the day by crossing the Indiana State Line... and finally was able to cheer without it being saturated in self-mocking sarcasm.

Fill-Up Boxes (Day 16-17)

2009-07-13T13:08:00.000-07:00

I woke up in my tent under the bridge without any gunshots or scary moments during the night. However, I didn't get much sleep, due to the thundering rains that came through and the loud squealing of some distant cat or lemur or emu. But by the time 9am rolled around, I figured it was time to "get up" and on the road. I stood up, somewhat crooked, and shook out the dirt from the inside of my tent, and shook off the raindrops and slugs from the outside of my tent.

The rest of the day was the usual mix of biking and filming. After passing through the medium-sized town of Norwalk (where some punk stole my unopened bottle of Mountain Dew Berry Blast off my bike rack while I was in the library) I decided to get off of the busy Highway 303 and hit a farm road for a more scenic and calmer ride. My hope was to avoid the constant din and danger of speeding traffic, but it turned out I chose to bike on the area's second favorite thoroughfare, which also happened to have zero shoulder. And it was like that for the next 18 miles or so until I could get onto Highway 20, where it was just as busy, but at least it had a small shoulder to accomodate my wobbily cycling.

By dusk, I finally reached the town of Bellevue, OH, where all the stores and restaurants seemed to be boarded up and closed forever. I managed to find a beleaguered Burger King on the outskirts of town that still had its lights on and its doors intact. Inside, I met a gang of elderly folks sitting around their own personal Algonquin table... laughing, pontificating and sipping their 50 cent cups of coffee (senior special). They all seemed quite intrigued by my biking adventure, especially one 72-year-old man, who informed me that he was a fellow cyclist that has accumulated nearly 3000 miles over the last few years. Worried about the weather, I asked him if the next town of Clyde had any decent motel choices. He recommended that I stay at the Winesburg Motel just outside of town: "locally run and much more reasonable priced than that Redroof Inn."

Taking the 72-year old, former pipe-fitter's advice, I cycled the six miles to Clyde and checked into the Winesburg for $45 (that's including tax)! The room was decorated with a late-1970's despression motif -- something out of a Roger Corman movie (one of the ones he produced, not directed). After resisting the temptation to take acid and hang myself, I slowly drifted alseep, dreaming of velvet paintings, cheap rayon shirts, and the music of Rush.

The next morning, it was out of the Winesburg and onto a railtrail that went from Clyde to the town of Fremont, some 7-8 miles away. After getting lost for about 20 minutes, I found my way to a local Kentucky Fried Chicken for an early lunch/late breakfast. I was feeling a bit weak and needed some fast, oily energy.

Inside, I stepped up to the counter and ordered one of their new 5-DOLLAR FILL-UP BOXES. (By the looks of their latest ad campaigns, it seems as though KFC is trying to compete with Subway's 5-dollar foot-long subs.) I looked up at the picture menu and eagerly pointed to photo of the 2-piece box, where, according to the menu, you get 2 pieces of chicken (leg&thigh or breast&wing) with a biscuit, a side, and a drink. But when I requested the white meat, the listless young lady behind the counter informed me that that would be a dollar more. I stared at the the picture menu again -- there was nothing there that said white meat was a dollar more -- no astericks, no footnotes, no nothin'. Like an infant child trying to communicate for the first time, I gestured towards their menu board with a strained expression, as if I was saying, "But... but... but..!" The teen gave the menu an obligatory glance before returning her expressionless gaze to me and reiterating, "Well, it's a dollar more." Not having the energy for a fight, I relinquished and paid the six bucks for a "FIVE DOLLAR BOX."

As I left the KFC, I noticed a big vinyl sign advertising that they do catering and that you should hire them to cater your next event... which seemed like the most absurd proposition. "Hey John, this wedding reception is great. The best part are these gigantic buckets of chicken! What high-class catering service prepared this fabulously greasy meal?" Your guests will never know it was KFC. (Wink!)

From there, it was another 40 miles or so of cycling through mostly farmland and into the town of Bowling Green. I ended up camping about five miles west of town under a small rusted bridge.

Choose Your Lane (Day 13-15)

2009-07-09T11:09:00.000-07:00

After having a random rude encounter with the young dudes from Girard, I pedaled north-west through Warren, OH, and then west into the Sugar Bush Knolls. This was the last stretch of mild hills and valleys I had to bike through before hitting the flat and straight roads of western Ohio. Since, I knew rain was on its way, I figured it would be as good of a time as any to take a day off at a motel.

I thought about staying a night at the Tallyho Motel that advertised a suspiciously low rate of 36 dollars per night. But after looking at the cracked and crumbling facade, I was fearful that most of the Tallyho bedrooms had seen their fair share of tallies and ho's. So I continued on to the town of Streetsboro, where I was able to book a room at another Microtel Inn. "We're right by the Bob Evans," the eager hotel clerk informed me on the phone, as if that was a great selling point. "And... uh, we got both smoking and non-smoking rooms," he quipped with nervous excitement, as if revealing a new and novel selling feature.

After spending a full day holed up in my Microtel room, I set off again, facing dark, unpredictable skies. The weather channel stated the chance of precipitation was 40%, but the day before when they said the chance was 50%, we only saw a few drops, so I figured I'd take my chances. And even though a few short showers did come through, they were fairly brief and light, and I stayed more or less dry.

However, even though the weather was fine, I still had to deal with ornery assholes... this time, not in the form of obnoxious teens in speeding Hondas, but in the form of a snide, middle-aged jackass in a pick-up truck.

It was early afternoon and I, along with several other vehicles, were stopped at a red light outside the town of Hudson, OH. While waiting for the light to change green, I had three lanes to choose from. Generally speaking, cyclists are supposed to stay as far to the right as possible, but since the far right lane was RIGHT TURN ONLY, I shifted over to the center lane... since I was continuing straight and didn't want to cross paths with any right-turning vehicles. Meanwhile, a nosey, scornful jerk-o in a pick-up truck pulled alongside me in the right lane and cynically shouted, "Hey! You guys can't seem to decide whether you're a car or a bike!" Not sure he was talking to me, I turned to the guy, puzzled. He then stuck his knobly arm out his window and pointed at me. "You're not supposed to be in the middle of the road like that!"

I then shouted back with as much gruff as possible, "That's a RIGHT TURN ONLY lane you're in! See?" I pointed down to the painted arrows on the pavement. "I'm not going right! I'm going straight! I'm in the correct lane!"

Somewhat embarrassed, the guy reluctantly conceded the point... but for some reason felt compelled not to end it there. "Yeah, well... you're right this time, but most of the time, you guys are all over the road--"

I cut him off there. "I'm not those guys." Then, raising my voice even more and pressing my hands against my chest, I bellowed, "I'm MEEEE!!!" I got particularly angered at this point because I hated being lumped in with all those spandex-wearing, douchebaggy, speed-racing cyclists with 300 dollar sunglasses and 3,000 dollar attitudes. I'm just a guy in 12 dollar shorts, biking at my own sweet time, and obeying the rules of the roads as best as possible.

He was taken aback by my angry outburst, and wanting to be one up on me, quickly adopted a condescending, acerbic attitude. Sitting up in his bucket-seat throne of superiority, the pick-up driver sniffed, "Are we having a bad day?"

My only response: "No, not until you came along and started jerking me around." The man just shook his head and acted confused as to why a perfect stranger would be lashing out at him and just smirked at me with mocking pity. With this, the light turned green and we parted ways... but it took several miles before I was able to shake off the annoying exchange.

From there it was to the Town of Brunswick for a quick meal at the Burger King. After chowing down my burgers, I was off again and shortly in the town of Valley City which is the size of small parking lot, but is the "frog jumping capital" of Ohio. I guess they aren't big enough to be the country's capital, just the state. When I went to the local mart to get specifics of the town's claim to fame, the shop keeper just muttered, "Yep. We still do that." When I pressed him some more, he just stared at me, placidly, and just said, "During the August festival," and then excused himself to the beer cooler to re-stock it.

After that, I got back on my bike, went another 8-9 miles and camped out by the east branch of the Black River outside the town of LaGrange. This was my first night in the tent since the Grove City "shotgun incident," but I was fairly calm and managed to get at least 4-5 minutes of sound sleep.

Biking Can Sometimes Suck (Day 12)

2009-07-06T12:52:00.000-07:00

I left my vile, sleazy motel room after spending the entire night trying not to physically touch the room in any way. I carried my bike, trailer and backpack down the flight of stairs to the ground level and dropped off my room key which was encased in a shell of grime and grit over the last three decades. From there, it was back on the road, heading west, out of the city of Youngstown (which is named after John Young, an early settler who established the community's first gristmill... and got a city named after him.)

Even though cycling across this great land can have its high moments, it is often blotted with numerous painful and annoying events. Aside from lousy shoulders, breakneck hills, torrential rains and oppressive heat, you have to deal with your occasional asshole. Since leaving New York, I've had several obscenities and sarcastic utterings shouted from passing cars and gawking residents seated in their faded lawn chairs under the safety of their wooden porches. And today. I inspired someone else to make the effort to insult and/or upset me.

It was a late Monday morning in the suburb town of Girard, just outside of Youngstown, and the weather was cool. Traffic was mild on this residential street, when two young men in a red, dented Honda turned onto the shady lane (a cartoon of their local college mascot frothing at the mouth plastered along their rear window). They were probably returning from an early morning bravado contest or a ritualistic, homoerotic circle jerk, and they needed to let out some pent-up rage. That's when they saw a man on a bicycle just a few blocks ahead of them.

This lone cyclist was pedaling hard, had a large trailer in tow and was obviously on some long journey... and without a doubt needed to be taught a lesson for having the audacity to exist in their field of vision. The driver downshifted his beat-up car, bringing it to a low hum as to not alert the cyclist of their stealthy approach. The passenger quickly rolled down his window and got into position... arching his back, stretching his neck and jutting his testicles. They puttered down the street, quietly swinging along the left side of the cyclist. Their time was about to come. They were about to declare their manhood and establish themselves as the dominate males on the block. They were directly to the left of the cyclist. He still didn't even know they were there. What an idiot this guy must be. He deserves whatever wrath they can unfold onto him.

The time was NOW! That's when they pounced!

"Blaaaaahhharr!" the robust passenger screamed out his window, unable to suppress his gleeful smile! Then he and his driver watched intently to their right to see if this sudden turbulent outburst would cause the cyclist to swerve or --if the gods were on their side-- lose balance and careen into a tree or signpost. But alas, all they seemed to cause was a brief shutter and a stern look from their unwitting victim.

Even though they were unable to cause any serious physical or emotional harm, the two young men were still able to relish in delight for causing a random biker 2 seconds of startlement. They couldn't contain themselves. They laughed and cheered as they sped away from an obviously angered man. Ha, ha, ha! This is one for the books! Their loud scream caused a man on a bike to shimmy for a fraction of time! And now they could safely escape down the road and relive this wonderful moment for years to come.

Then... a red light! A traffic signal that halted their escape. As the car slid to a stop, the two men shared a look. Not one of worry, just... concern. The driver checked his rear view mirror. Their former victim was still a lengthy four blocks away. The young, baseball-capped passenger assured his partner-in-crime that the cyclist was undoubtedly still shaken-up by their eloquent and sophisticated blitz and would in no way have the courage or strength to approach their 1997 Honda fortress. They were safe... or so they thought. The driver stared into his mirror, not believing what he saw. The man was actually cycling faster and seemed to be heading right for them. Was this possible? Did this guy actually want to retaliate? How could he possibly retort "Blaaaaahhharr!?!"

However, instead of waiting to see what pitiful response this pathetic cyclist had in store for them, the driver made a commanding decision and made a right on red and drove away... their aggregate four gonads reduced to the size of a flea.

All Is Well (Day 12)

2009-07-03T16:07:00.000-07:00

I woke up from my comfy Microtel room after getting a good night's sleep unmarred by images of sweaty farm hands with shotguns stalking me through the dark hills of Western Pennsylvania. I grabbed my bike and the few belongings I brought with me last night and left the motel in route to my tent in the nearby forest. I found the dirt road about a half mile down the highway. I slowly pedaled through the greenery keeping my ears and eyes at full alert. I found the foot path to my left and dismounted my bike. A few steps later I got a view of my abandoned tent and trailer -- both in the exact same state as when I left them last night. No gunshot holes, no rips or tears in the tent, no menacing messages written out in blood on the ground. I let out a sigh of relief and convinced myself, now in the light of day, that I just heard two men arguing while setting off fireworks... at least that's what I told myself to ease my mind.

Once my tent was taken down and my trailer was loaded up, I was back on highway 208 heading towards the town of Volant where I had my last major steep hill to take on in Pennsylvania. After that, the hills were still present, but they were becoming less frequent and much less arduous. I'm not saying they were gentle slopes, but at least they were no longer these harsh, dramatic inclines that seemed to be practically perpendicular to the approaching road.

But just as the roads were leveling off, the rain started coming down. Hoping that the storm was going to eventually pass through, I took refuge in The Cheese House outside of the town of New Wilmington. It was this large dome-like building with a three-story ceiling filled with specialty foods, snacks, seasonings, toys, nick-knacks, and... of course... a variety of cheeses. But surprisingly, the selection of cheeses was not nearly as huge as you might expect from a place that boldly calls itself the CHEESE house. After strolling the aisles for 30 minutes, I ended up buying some goat-milk fudge and some Amish jalapeno pepper cheese. I bought the latter only because I fell in love with the label that had a dippy cartoon of an Amish man with steam coming out of his mouth and fire coming out of his ears. Boy! That's some spicy cheese!

Once the rain let up, it was back on the road and finally into the next state of Ohio. Once inside the borders of the Buckeye State, the roads became amazingly flat and straight. All the hills magically disappeared.

I celebrated my entering of a new state by booking a room at the creepy and crummy Knight's Inn outside of Youngstown, OH. For a mere 30 dollars (plus tax) I got a room with a bed, cable TV, hot & cold running water (minus the hot), a stained carpet and several floating STDs. What a bargain!

Western PA (Day 10-11)

2009-07-02T10:09:00.000-07:00

I took a full day off at the Super 8 at Clarion to let my muscles rest and let the rain storms pass through. I spent most of the day watching endless news stories about Michael Jackson's death.

The next day, I loaded up and hit the road again. First thing on the docket -- I had to go down a steep hill, cross the Clarion River and then go right back up another hill. Once on semi-level ground again, I celebrated with a much anticipated hot dog lunch. I found a strange, little hot dog "house" just outside of the town of Shippenville. Edward, the 83-year-old owner and operator, served me two soggy dogs and a heaping of right-wing propaganda. As he squirted mustard along the top ridge of my second warm dog, he proclaimed that the country "is in the wrong hands" and that "socialism is about to take over." After espousing several Limbaugh talking points, Edward admitted that he was, in fact, a "crank," but at least he's fulfilled one of his dreams -- i.e., owning his own hot dog stand. He said he used to be an exec at Philip Morris some years ago, but gave up the chance of being "filthy rich" by quitting his job and buying a modest hot dog business. "Now I'm just filthy," he told me, "and my wife can attest to that!"

Although politically, we were on different sides of the universe, we still shared a few chuckles and had a nice conversation. He even gave me a free hat before I departed and wished me well on my cycling journey.

From there, it was more hills and turns along the woodsy route 208 to the mini-town of Emlenton, PA. When I hit the town I suddenly remembered that this was the place on my 2001 walk where my suntan lotion mysteriously exploded in my bag and I had to backtrack to a gas station to buy a 12 dollar replacement. Ah, memories.

From there, it was up another steep mountainside with lots of twists and turns and a 2-inch shoulder along a very precarious, sheer drop into the Allegheny River. I got passed by loads motorcycles out broom-rooming for the day, as I sweated up the treacherous slope. As bad as it was, at least it wasn't raining on me.

25 miles later, I was in the sweet Grove City where I adjourned to my favorite, fun-filled eatery -- the Elephant & Castle Restaurant. Once seated at the bar, I had myself a pair of pints of Sam Adams Summer Ale and a hearty helping of their Shepherd's Pie that had a distinct meatloafy flavor to it. Around 8:30pm I decided to go out and find myself a place to camp for the night. I passed a Micrtotel Inn about a mile later and decided to call them up to what their rates were. The young man on the phone quoted me a rate of $79 plus tax... which was a bit more than I wanted to spend, so I pedaled on. THIS IS WHEN THINGS GET A BIT SCARY...

About a half mile down the road, I found a narrow, dirt path that wound and weaved into some nearby woods, which seemed well-hidden and quite secluded. After setting up my tent, darkness unfolded onto the land and I curled up into my sleeping bag ready to get some shut-eye. But, for some reason, I had this eerie sensation as I tried to fall asleep... which I just couldn't shake. Something just didn't feel right. Maybe it was the thin layer of fog that creeped along the forest floor or the howling dog some couple miles away, but I had a strange feeling like I was on the set of a "Blair Witch" sequel. However, I'm a rational person and I was able to convince myself that this spooky vibe was all in my head and soon drifted off to sleep.

Then, around 1am, I was awoken from my sleep by a loud BANG! I sat up, still a bit groggy and confused... then I heard the sound again. BANG! I wasn't sure if it was a shotgun or what, but it was definitely some sort of explosion. Then, I heard something that sent chills down my spine -- two men arguing. "What the fuck did you do???" one man desperately growled to the other.

Then another loud BANG echoed through the forest! Another voice answered back, "Shut the fuck up! You better... (garbled) ...or I'll... (garbled)!"

I was wide awake at this point. And I was freaked out. I don't know if I was delusional or being extremely paranoid, but I swore I just heard the sound of two men committing a murder. The two voices got fainter, but I could still hear the crazed desperation in their voices. My heart was racing at this point... as panic shot through my body like an arrow. What if they really did just kill someone? And what if they came stumbling upon my bright white tent that practically glowed in the dark? The sound of that last explosion kept repeating in my head. I could picture two Pennsylvanian hillbillies at the foot of my tent, leveling a shotgun and firing into my chest. I held my breath, diffidently listening for any ominous sound. All was quiet except for that same distant dog howling into the sky.

Even though I couldn't hear the two men any more, by that point, I couldn't calm myself down. Even if I was mistaken... even if there was no crime committed in those shadowy woods... I knew I would never be able to fall asleep. So, I quickly and quietly grabbed my small backpack (which carried all my essentials), put on my sneakers and crawled out of my tent. I lifted up my bike (which was detached from my trailer) and tiptoed down the path until it hit a service road. From there, I got back on my bike and pedaled down the road, onto the highway and back to the Microtel Inn... leaving my tent and trailer behind.

I walked in the hotel lobby and booked a room for the night. For some reason, the rate dropped to 59 bucks... which was ironic, because if I had been quoted 59 back when I called earlier I would have skipped the woods altogether and booked the room right then and there.

Reaching Clarion (Day 9)

2009-06-30T03:51:00.000-07:00

After camping on top of Rockton Mountain, I got up the next morning, assembled my bike and gear and enjoyed some downhill coasting into Luthersburg, PA. From there, it was a few more hills and turns, taking me to the small town of Reynoldsville. Since it was noon, I decided I might as well get some lunch, so I went to George's Hotdog Diner on Main Street. I'd been having a hankering for a hot dog for the last few days and figured George's was the way to go, but once inside, I got convinced by the worn-out, dowdy waitress to order the all-you-can-eat pizza special for $4.99 instead. While scarfing down the doughy pizza at the lunch counter, I chatted with Mike, a young optometrist from Dubois, who was also indulging in the all-you-can-eat special a few stools down from me. He ended up eating eight (8) impressive pieces of pizza, while I barely was able to polish off five (5). As he paid his bill, he wished me luck on my bike trip, warning me that I had three major hills between Reynoldsville and the next town of Brooksville. "Are they big?" I timidly asked.

Mike paused to think as he laid out the tip for the waitress. Then, as if he knew his answer was going to ruin my day, his whole body exhailed and he solemnly admitted, "Yeah. They're pretty tough." Then he reiterated, "Three of 'em." He tossed the last crust of bread down his gullet and got off his stool, shaking his head in sympathy. "And I can't imagine biking up those hills after eating all that pizza."

Mike's warning was spot on; I had to bike three major hills, just as he described, over the course of the next 14 miles, and, just as he predicted, my pizza-ingestion caused major problems as well. By the 4th or 5th mile, my stomach started feeling like a slab of cement, and nausea started to creep up my throat. Every time I reached another gut-wrenching hill, I thought vomit was surely on its way. Along this stretch of road, I kept passing billboards for Edgar Snyder & Associates (a local accident law firm), in which, Snyder, the bald, grey-faced lawyer would be pointing straight ahead, next to big bold letters that read, "ACCIDENT?" For some reason, each time I passed these ubiquitous advertisements, the nausea would increase and the only thing that would help make it abate is if I answered the billboard by saying "No thanks. You?"

By the time I reached the depressing town of Brooksville, I decided to continue on for another 18 miles to the Super 8 Motel in Clarion. Of course, I had to pedal up another steep hill out of Brooksville, where I was going so slow, some college student carrying a keg up the hill almost passed me. Having some 20-year-old drunk on my tail made me more determined and I leaned into my pedals and picked up speed. 18 miles later, I reached Clarion, tired, sweaty and still a little nauseous. Unfortunately, I had to bike another 2-3 miles south of town to get to the motel... and naturally, there were a couple dandy hills along the way.

As soon as I reached the Super 8, I checked in, dropped off my stuff and jumped into the pool, cooling down with the dead bugs in the chlorine and urine infested water. Ten minutes later, thunderstorms came raging in and I retreated into my room.

Up and Down and Up Some More (Day 8)

2009-06-29T10:11:00.000-07:00

I have been spending the last four days going up and down several hills... a painful and quadriceps-numbing experience... taking me into central Pennsyvannia. Yes, I can finally say central! I reached State College, PA on Wednesday (Day 8), which is the geographical center of Keystone state. While in town, I stopped at a bike shop near the university to have my gears, chain, tires, etc. checked out.

As I gingerly wheeled my bike and trailer through the shop (trying not to knock any displays over), some cycling douchebag in shinny, skin-tight pants and a 200 dollar helmet laughed heartily as I passed by. "Whoa! I'm impressed! You're braver than me to go cycling wearing those sneakers," he bellowed while pointing to my Nikes. I just smirked and shrugged, not knowing what exactly was wrong with my footwear.

After a quick check-up at the shop, I was on my way to McDonald's to fill up on burgers and fries in anticipation of hitting the toughest hill yet -- 2100 ft. into the sky.

Once my belly was full of fatty meat, processed bread and greasy potatoes, I headed out and started up the steep incline. Fortunately, they've done some renovations on the highway since when I walked through in 2001, so the grade wasn't entirely unmanageable. However, that didn't stop me from having to stop a couple times to catch my breath and toss my sweaty hemlet onto the ground to let my head dry off. The sun was in full-force, and sweat was streaming from all directions. One good thing -- I had a nice detailed topo map of the mountainside, so I always knew exactly how far along the slope I was.

By the time I was up and over the peak, I was feeling mighty weak with limp-noodle legs. I stopped off at a rest stop which was more or less a picnic table next to a small parking lot in the middle of the Moshannon Forest. I collapsed in the shade of a rickety shelter and tried to regain my composure. While panting on the ground, a man in a rusted Toyoda pulled into the lot, climbed out of the driver's seat and immediately lit an unraveling cigar that looked like it was purchased back before our Cuban embargo. He sauntered over to my soaked, tangled body that was sprawled in the grass and asked the basic series of questions about my bike, my trip, and what the hell I was doing. As I mumbled my standard answers, the man's face crinkled with annoyance, realizing my tepid responses were rather half-hearted. He then tapped his jacket that was emblazoned with a patch that simply read "Captain" as if to encourage me to find some fire in my speech and give him his undue attention/respect... but it just made me less-excited to talk to him. Finally, the man got the hint that I was more interested in quietly recharging my body with some oxygen than waste it talking to him, and he shuffled back to his car, grumbling something to the effect of "Don't tread on me!"

After the man drove off and I rejuvenated my lungs and muscles, I got back on the bike and cyled down the hill to the next town of Philpsburg. From there, it was off to Clearfield, PA, some 18 miles away, which I reached right before dusk. The main road was being worked on, so I had a nice bumpy ride through town. A quick stop at the library and at the local Sheetz convenient store, and I was back on my bike and on the road heading west. This is when I hit an unexpected millstone -- another long, tough mountain going from 1500 to 2200 feet. I thought all my mountainous obsticles were behind me, so I was understandably pissy as I went up what seemed like an endless uphill climb. It was one of those moments when every time you thought you were at the top, you go around a bend and the road would keep climbing up. By the time I reached the top, it was pitch dark. I pitched a tent and fell asleep a few seconds after driving the last stake.

More Hills (Day 7)

2009-06-24T08:18:00.000-07:00

Woke up around 10:30am and left my patch of weeds in the town of Chillisquaque, PA and crossed the river into Lewisburg, PA (much easier town to pronounce). From there, it was what looked like a straight shot west to State College... some 55 miles away. But my map was deceiving. Inside that "straight shot" were many tiny turns and hills, keeping my legs in full burn mode. And even though the cycling was long and arduous, I still took the time to take a detour north on a dirt road just so I could pass through a covered bridge. At one point, the Keystone state had something around 1,500 covered bridges, and today over 200 have survived through the years, so I wanted to pass through at least one at some point during my travels. Apparently, Pennsylvania has more covered bridges than any other state, giving it the grand title of "Covered Bridge Capital of the World."

After cycling through Mifflinburg, it was a good 20 miles of nothing but farmlands and forests, and I got especially caught off-guard when I reached Bald Eagle State Forest and faced a sudden long and winding hill. To add to the misery, there was zero shoulder, so while I struggled up the 10 degree incline, my wobbly bike and trailer weaving around potholes and roadkill, I also had to keep a watchful eye out for speeding pickup trucks zooming from behind. It was a taxing and tense time. I ended up having to take a break about halfway up the hill, collapsing in a bed of grass next to some narrow fishing access road.

After reaching the peak, I cruised down the other side of the hill at a nice speed, reaching the town of Millheim, where I bought two 20 oz. bottles of Mountain Dew Berry Blast for $2.22. From there, it was more hills and valleys for the next 12 miles into the township of Old Fort. There, I stopped at Brody's Diner for dinner. I got the "Baked Pasta Special" for $6.95, which looked like it was just all the old stuff they had lying around the kitchen thrown onto a plate. The Penne pasta looked and tasted like it was boiled at least three times prior to that evening. But, at least I got some much needed carbs... as tomorrow, I have one more major ridge on the Allegheny Mountain Range to tackle, and I need all the energy I can get! Carbs, do your work!!

The End of Rain? (Day 5-6)

2009-06-23T09:04:00.000-07:00

A few hours after checking into the HoJo's, the rain seemed to stop and I started to get upset that I threw in the towel so early in the day... but then the rain came down again and I rejoiced, knowing that I made a wise move.

The next day, I was back on the road by 10am, accompanied with a few short rain showers, but nothing anger-inducing. I passed through Allentown without stopping and continued north-west towards Blue Mountain (1,200 ft.). Before tackling my biggest hill yet, I stopped at a Burger King to get some quick energy food, e.g., Whopper jrs. and Cheesey Tots ... both off the "value menu." But do you know wasn't a value? ...their tap water. "I gotta charge you fifty cents for the cup" the unsympathetic, tight-shirt-wearing manager mumbled. I just shook my head and mentioned our lord's name in vein as I exited the restaurant.

Blue Mountain was tough, but not impossible. Since it was a well-maintained highway, I had a decent shoulder and the grade never got crazy-steep. I had to stop twice along the way... just to catch my breath... but I never had to walk my bike. When I reached the top, my legs were wobbily and my panting was unrelenting, so I hopped off my bike for a short break. Then, when my back was turned, a gust of wind came roaring through, and my bike tipped over and ploughed into the ground with a loud clang! I then screamed many curses, afraid that the impact damaged my rear derailleur again. My loud outburst caught the attention of Ken, the owner/operator of a small restaurant/inn on the top of the mountain. He asked me if I was OK and offered food and drink to calm my nerves. I thanked him, but declined.

I then declined the mountain into the town of Tamaqua. From there, it was in and out of these small pockets of rundown coal-mining towns, which are now nothing more than crumbling housing structures and heaping piles of garbage. By sunset, I made it to the town of Mahanoy City and spent the next hour trying to find out out how to pronouce the town name. As far as I can tell, it's pronounced mah-hah-noy, with the accent on the "ma." My friend Blakeslee found something online that indictaed that locals just say "Mah-noy"... cutting out that middle syllable... but from the ten or so folks I talked to that day, no one said it that way.

The next day it was more hills, up and down, up and down. I went through Shenandoah (which had a coal miners memorial), Ashland, Centrilia, Mt. Carmel and then into the great-sounding town name of Shamokin, PA. (Pronouced Shah-moh-kin!) This old coal-mining town used to be a bustling hotspot in the area with a population of over 47 thousand, but now only has around 20 thousand and not much in the way of an industry or even a personality. From Shamokin, I went up and around the Seven Points mountains and arrived at the town of Sunbury. Funny thing, when I walked through Sunbury back in 2001, I got many rude and obnoxious comments screamed at me from folks in passing cars, which usually sounded like "Blah-dee-arg-ha-ha-haaaa!" And this time around, even on a bike, I got 3 or 4 obnoxious outbursts from passing cars. Most were unintelligible, except for one guy who took the time to stick his head out the passenger window and shout, "Hey, nice bike... faggot." I didn't know how to respond, so I just yelled back, "I have a suspicion that your sentiment towards my bike is not entirely sincere." The guy just stared at me blankly as his partner drove him away and over the horizon.

On main street of Sunbury, I met a guy named Edward who was out walking his dogs, one of which was quite disturbed by my large pack and bike trailer and basicaly howled at me several times. A local alchy by the dollar store joined in with the howling. Edward was a muscular, big-necked, talkative fellow and -- not unlike my friend Ray in Emmaus -- it was a little difficult to extricate myself from the conversation. But he seemed like an affable enough man (despite the fact that he was a security guard at the local mall) who liked to use his dogs as a conversation-piece. He wished me well and I pedaled by the howling bum by the dollar store.

From Sunbury, I cycled another 6-7 miles to the small town of Chillisquaque where I set up my tent for the night in a patch of weeds by the river... just out of view of passing cars. Chillisquaque. Now you try and figure out how to pronouce that!

Cycling through Pennsylvania (Day 3-4)

2009-06-22T11:51:00.000-07:00

After spending hours cowering in the New Hope Library, hiding myself from teh downpour, I was able to find a local motel online that was considered to be relatively "cheap." And by "cheap," we're talking $125 a night. But since the rain didn't look like it was going to abate any time soon, I pedaled the 2-3 miles to the Nevermore Hotel and checked myself into the most economical lodgings in a 20-mile radius.

The next day, I got up and cycled from New Hope to Emmaus, having to tackle many hills and valleys along the way -- including two small mountains. It was a little difficult at times since the roads were not well-maintained and there wasn't any effort to lessen the grade. In fact, when I was climbing the first mountain, one sharp turn lead me to what looked like a gigantic wall... but it was just the road continuing up the hillside. The sudden steep slope caught me completely off-guard, and with my lack of momentum, I slowed down to a standstill within a few turns of my pedals. I then had to push the bike up the hill on foot for a few hundred yards until it leveled off enough for me to start pedaling again.

While taking a break in the small valley between the two mini-mountains, I stood on the shoulder of the road studying my maps, when I was startled by a local resident who quietly sidled up beside me and blurted out, "Hey! That's quite a trailer ya got there!" His name was Ray, he was grey, old and recently had a stoke, but he still scared the beejesus out of me when he magically appeared by my side. I then spent the next 15 minutes pinned by Ray's inarticulate conversation about my bike, his old bike, the boy scouts, and his daughter that lived in some town I have never heard before (he pointed towards some distant woodsy mountainside, thinking that by gesturing in a certain direction, it would somehow make me suddenly know the town intimately).

After escaping the friendship of Ray, I went up and over the second mountain, racing against nightfall. I hit the peak just as dusk was settling in and zoomed down the far side along the narrow, crooked road at a breakneck speed. I rode the brakes most of the way down, especially around the hairpin turns, as my bike and trailer rattled wildly. The way my heavily-packed trailer bounced around with a clatter, I thought it was actually going to overtake me a few times. As night fell, I reached the bottom of the hill and found a small bridge to camp under just outside of Emmaus, PA.

The next day, the rain came pouring down again just as I got my tent packed into my bag. I cycled around 9-10 miles through the sheets of rain, finally reaching a Perkins restaurant just south of Allentown. I went inside for a breakfast and got about 5 different people come up to me and joke, "Heh! Not a great day to be biking, is it?"

So instead to continuing to bike in the rain and continuing to get jokey remarks about biking in the rain, I went to the next door Howard Johnson's to get a room for the night. The rate was $109 plus tax, but I was able to talk the manager down to $85.

I'm hoping this precipitation ends sometime soon. Meanwhile, it's CNN, TBS and HBO for the day.

New Cycling Trip (Day 1-2)

2009-06-18T10:01:00.000-07:00

Well, I stupidly have decided to go on another long-distance cycling trip. Ever since completing my walk across the country, I seem to be unable to adjust to normal life and I continue to find another reason/excuse not to look for a job. My newest venture is retracing my 2001 walk from New Jersey to South Dakota. The purpose of this trip is to try and film some additional footage for my "Walking Fool" documentary. Why did I decide to bike it instead of simply renting a car? I don't know. I guess, like I said, I need to make everything an "adventure." And so far, my adventure has consisted of lots of rain.

I left Sandy Hook, NJ around noon on Wednesday. At that point, the precipitation was not happening, thank god. From there, I managed to make it all the way to Princeton in a little over 6 hours. I stopped off at Jay's Cycling Shop to have my pedals looked at, which were squeeaking and annoying the hell out of me. The laid-back, bearded Mitch graciously took a look at the pedals, tightened them up and oiled my chain -- all for free. When I told him of my biking embarkment, he seemed rather impressed, revealing a tight grin. Also impressed was Mitch's coworker, Cody, who told me that I was a "free soul," as he sucked on his Camel unfiltered cigarette.

From there, I headed north. That's when the clouds began rumbling and shedding water droplets onto my head. The rain was fairly light, but since the winding Cherry Valley Road had its fair share of steep hills I had to climb, my mood was quickly souring. The rain finally died down just as I reached the small town of Hopeville, where I went to a Hungarian restarant for dinner. I had the Chicken Paprika and an iced tea. Eva, my bleach-blonde waitress, was outright amazed that I cycled all the way from Sandy Hook... and in just one day. As I departed, she told me to "be safe" three times.

As I left Hopeville around 8pm on county highway 518, I knew I only had about 30 minutes of daylight left. And with the rain beginning to fall again, I knew I had to find a bridge to camp under... and find it before it got dark. My map indicated that there were a few creeks along highway 518, but as I reached each one, I discovered that the underpass was extremely narrow with water flowing from edge to edge. I needed to find a bridge that had some sort of landing undernether where i could stow my bike and trailer,a nd hopefully set up my tent.

Finally, after much searching, I found a bridge on highway 31 that had a small landing underneath. But when I woke up this morning, I discovered the water rose onto the land and was streaming right under my tent. Whee! I tried to stay positive as I packed my sopping tent and gear, and as I hopped over the raging stream from rock to rock, carrying over my heafty bike and trailer.

Once out from under the bridge, I loaded my trailer, attached it to my bike and then cycled about 12 miles to New Hope, PA. I'm now at the local library, trying to see if I can find a hotel that's close and not outrageously expensive.

I don't know if this biking trip was such a wise move. It looks like it's supposed to rain for at least the next 10 days. If that's the case, not only will biking be incredibly unfun, but I won't be able to do what I was intending to do, i.e., film.

Done! And done! (Day 22-25)

2009-06-01T05:13:00.000-07:00

It's official... I'm in El Paso, TEXAS... and thus concludes this foolish biking trip. I completed 1,002 miles in just over three weeks, which is not bad considering my three day layover in the Phoenix area.

Many thanks to all the folks I met along the way who took the time to stop and talk to a goofy, bearded man who occasionally smelled like a Habitrail full of gerbils. Also, thanks to all of you who have been following this cycling adventure and leaving comments on this blog. Leaving quick, cheery messages actually made a huge difference on this sometimes grueling trip and often helped boost my morale.

So, here's my final video. It's a little long because it's summarizing the last few days and I was also feeling a little self-indulgent. Hope you enjoy.

From Las Cruces to El Paso it was just a sliver under 60 miles, totaling (like I said) 1,002 miles for the entire trip. CLICK HERE to see the end of this journey in interactive form.

One last note, even though this is the end of this bike trip, I will still be updating this blog... mainly on the task of completing THE WALKING FOOL documentary and pursuing my long, heartfelt desire to act. Plus, I'll continue to share the occasional interview of the wacky folks I meet in my ongoing travels.

Biking to Las Cruces (Day 21)

2009-05-28T10:55:00.000-07:00

Things are coming to an end soon. I'm getting a little tired of cycling (especially in the desert) and the roads out here are brutal on my bike. Lots of bumps, holes, and cracks with loose, pointy trash scattered about. Hit something along the way today and my rear wheel is out of true again. Will need to get it mended tomorrow if I hope to continue on to Texas.

While in the small town of Akela, I biked about a quarter of a mile to the C-store, which had this long, amusement-park-like frontier facade. I went inside to get something to eat, but all they had was overpriced snack food and a hot dog that's been on the roller-grill since the Reagan administration. The lady working there recommended I go to the "casino," which was back by the highway exit, for a freshly-made meal. I realized I had already biked past the bland, windowless "casino" before, but at the time, I thought it was some administrative office for the highway, not a place of food and betting. But thankfully, the lady's info was right on the money. I got a drink, chicken sandwich and fries for 6 bucks and relaxed in a nice, chilled room... which was empty except for the occasional local who came in to buy cheap cartons of cigarettes. And even though it wasn't technically a "casino," I found out that they did have bingo twice a week.

It was another hot, hot day in the 100's and I managed to bike 60 miles, reaching the town of Las Cruces by sunset. The total miles since I began 3 weeks ago is 943. CLICK HERE to get closer to the action.

Crossing the Continental Divide (Day 20)

2009-05-26T06:17:00.000-07:00

Before leaving the Arby's in Lordsburg yesterday, I asked the roast beef server behind the counter if there were any services off of I-10 in the 59-mile stretch to Deming. He told me there was the the Continental Divide Store in Separ, about 20 miles away... which also happens to be one of the oddball landmarks noted by Roadside America. Figuring it was my only place to get supplies, I got up this morning, went to the shop, and loaded up with their overpriced food and drinks. And because I was feeling rather quirky, I bought a bunch of fireworks as well. I didn't really get a good vibe at the store and wished I didn't have to give them so much of my precious money. But it was another hot day, and figured I needed to be properly supplied for the next 40 miles or so in the desert.

While taking my picture in front of the over-sized tepee next to the store, I met a pair of ladies who were on their way from Florida to Phoenix to start a new job. Along with them were two dogs and a cat. They seemed a little weirded out by my beard and my eagerness to talk to them, but became more amicable once I offered to take their picture in front of the large conical tent. I even got both dogs and the cat in the shot.

From Separ, I got back onto I-10 east. When consulting my maps earlier, I was originally planning on taking a frontage road that paralleled the freeway, but then I found out it was nothing but a bumpy dirt pathway. So, I continued on the busy interstate. I soon discovered something else -- there was another service station (along with a Dairy Queen) only 8 miles after Separ, and then another service station 6 miles after that. I wish I knew that before, otherwise, I wouldn't have spent a dime at that Continental Divide Store. And since I was already overloaded with overpriced potables, I didn't even stop at any of the other shops.

The end of the day brought me to the midsized town of Deming, which had a Kmart where I could finally get a spare tube for my trailer wheel. As I was getting back on my bike outside the store, I met an out-of-work carpenter out on his bike as well. He told me his birth name was Andrew, but now calls himself Drew. He explained that too many people back east used to call him Andy, which he hated and actually led to several altercations. So now, to avoid fist fights, he tells people his name is Drew. During the rest of our conversation, I kept mostly quiet and let him do all the talking, in fear of accidentally calling him by the wrong name.

After getting some food at the BK and some supplies at the Dollar Tree, I checked into a Motel 6 on the east side of town. I actually ended up having to switch rooms -- twice! -- because each one I went into had dirty floors and unmade beds. Finally, the third time was a charm! I actually entered a room that was cleaned and vacuumed and didn't have piles of used, pubic-hair-encrusted towels strewn in the bathroom. However, I think the maids are going to get a vicious tongue-lashing from the manager tomorrow, who was not so pleased with having to keep moving me around from room to room.

I biked a total of 44 miles -- another unimpressive distance, but one that is becoming the trend ever since I left Benson, AZ. This brings the grand total to 881.5 miles. CLICK HERE if you doubt me!

New Mexico (Day 19)

2009-05-24T14:31:00.000-07:00

Well, I have finally made it to New Mexico... and I got to celebrate this state crossing by biking up a hill. It actually wasn't terribly bad. I was able to reach the summit without having to stand up on my pedals.

Once inside the NM border, I went to go visit the Steins Ghost Town off of exit 3. Even though the former railroad station town had over a half-dozen of the original buildings from the late 1800s still intact, it turned out to be a rather dull and uninspired place. The buildings were pretty dilapidated (almost to the point of being unrecognizable) and they were juxtaposed with the visible Interstate-10 (only a few hundred feet away), which ruined any possibility of being "transformed" into the 19th century. But, it didn't matter too much, since I was planning on going to the better-known, Shakespeare Ghost Town in the next town of Lordsburg, which I heard was a little more impressive and well-preserved. However, by the time I got to Lordsburg some 20 miles later, I was feeling hot, tired and thirsty and didn't feel like pedaling the extra 5 miles to go to the ghost town.

With the trip to the ghost town nixed, my next goal was to find beverage-- FAST! Once I saw the golden arches of a McDonald's, I eagerly pedaled to the front door and rushed inside to get a burger and (more importantly) an ice cold fountain drink. You can imagine how disappointed I was when I saw several hand-written signs saying "no sodas" displayed at the front counter. So, I headed back out into the 100-degree air in search of another fast-food venue. I called my friend Jeff, who said Google Maps indicated a Subway shop only 500 feet from where I was. But we soon found out -- Google was wrong! All that was at the said location was a liquor store and the home of Jamie Gum. So, from there, I went to the last fast-food option in the area -- a Taco Bell. I wasn't too excited about going there because I just ate Taco Bell leftovers for dinner the night before. But my lack of enthusiasm turned to sharp horror when I entered the dirty and dismal place. As thirsty and cotton-mouthed as I was, I couldn't bare eating at that disgusting Taco Bell with unclean tables, shifty workers and piles of dirt swept into the corners.

I finally found an Arby's on the east side of town. It sort of smelled like a uriney homeless man, but I think that was just the curly fries. All in all, it was tolerable, and at least they had an outlet where I could charge my cell phone and laptop.

After munching down my bacon-cheddar-roast-beef sandwich, I biked another 10-12 miles along Interstate-10, totaling around 55 miles for the day, and 837 miles for the entire trip. CLICK HERE if you want to crunch my numbers.

More Flats (Day 18)

2009-05-22T08:14:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd make it to the New Mexico Border, but I ran into another bike problem that delayed that state crossing. Somewhere outside of the town of Bowie, my rear trailer tube got somewhere between 25-30 holes in it. After using up almost all my patches and half a role of garden-hose-repair tape I borrowed from a kindly gas station attendant, the thing still wouldn't hold any air. I finally managed to mend my other tube and was back up and running again.

After wasting all that time trying to fix my tire, I was soon running out of daylight. But I did manage to bike another 13 miles to the next town of San Simon. I then spent the next couple hours hanging out at the one and only truck stop, eating half-day-old pizza and watching Bill O'Reilly on the dining area's TV set.

I cycled around 39 miles today. CLICK HERE to see the boring details.

The Thing? (Day 17)

2009-05-20T08:51:00.000-07:00

Yes, after reading and hearing about it for days and days... I finally laid eyes on THE THING? The proliferation of billboards advertising the "Mystery of the Desert" certainly piqued my curiosity as I pedaled closer. The idea of this odd and mysterious "museum" nestled inside an old farm shed hearkened me back to the days of the 1960s. That was a time when tourist traps like this dotted the highways all across America, as families loaded their station wagons with Samsonite suitcases for their two-week vacation on the road. The constant barrage of brightly colored billboards advertising their modest attraction would help keep the kids focused on nagging their parents to pull over. And by the time they reached the much talked-about exit, mom and dad would be equally curious as well. How could they resist at that point?

So when I reached Exit 322, home to THE THING, I was struck with nostalgia and intrigue. The entrance to the "museum" reminded me of the sideshow attractions hidden away on some side alley in Coney Island. And the price was just right ... one dollar for adults and 75¢ for children!

It was hard to get an answer from the man behind the counter what exactly the "thing" is... even after going through the museum. But the only way you can even get a sense of what the "thing" is, is to drive or bike your way to Dragoon, AZ and see it for yourself.

It was a rather hot day today -- over 100 degrees -- and after going 12 miles of solid uphill action, I was mighty gross and sweaty. But, I felt ALIVE! I only biked 40 miles, but considering the heat, the hills, and the time i spent with THE THING, I'd say it was a decent ride today. CLICK HERE to see where those miles went.

A Break in Benson (Day 16)

2009-05-18T05:28:00.000-07:00

I've decided to take a day off from the biking. The idea came to me when I found a Motel 6 in Benson, AZ for only 32 bucks a night. (Cheap!)

On my way to the Hotel, I stopped at a mini-mart in the small town of Pantano. While waiting to pay the cashier for my bottle of Mountain Dew Code Red, I couldn't help but overhear the conversation this young lady was having on her cell phone. I didn't get the whole story, but from what I could tell, she was discussing some common "friend" who was currently on trial. She said stuff like "Don't talk to any lawyers, 'cause their just tryin' to dig up any dirt they can find on him," and "They say he shot her twice, but I don't believe nuthin' they say." I really wanted to inquire about the story, but figured I should just give her her distance.

Then it was off to Benson. Since it was getting unbearably hot, I decided to actually bike the last leg shirtless (the ladies on I-10 sure got a treat that afternoon). While hanging outside of a Taco Bell waiting for check-in time at the Motel 6, an independent truck driver named Ed stopped to ask questions about me and my bike. He said he admired my courage and my sense of adventure. In return, I told him how I admired the stamina and strong-will of independent truck drivers (especially during last year's gas crisis). He simply waved his hand and said that Jesus provides him with whatever he needs to make it in the world. Then he asked me if he could buy me lunch, or at least a Coke. I thanked him but graciously declined his offers.

So, I've now biked over 700 miles so far on this trip. And more miles are to come. CLICK HERE to see a full-color map.

Cycling Through Tucson (Day 14)

2009-05-16T10:39:00.000-07:00

Made my way to Tucson, Arizona... a pretty laid-back, friendly town. When I was in search of directions, everyone was kind and helpful... including a fellow biker who looked like Alan Hale's cousin and said that I was "inspirational!" He also noted that both of us were wearing yellow tops with black short and that we looked like "a pair of bumblebees!"

I biked around 42 miles today. Not bad considering the time i spent lounging at the Brooklyn Pizza Shop. CLICK HERE to see the circles and zigzags I made in Tucson.

Cycling to See Ostriches (Day 13)

2009-05-14T05:35:00.000-07:00

Well, it's good to be out of the Phoenix area and back on the open road. It's been pretty flat and you can really lean into those pedals and go, go, go!

The highlight of the day most certainly had to be Rooster Cogburn's Ostrich Ranch. I highly recommend stopping by if you find yourself on I-10 between Phoenix and Tucson. For 5 bucks you can get really get up and close with the massive birds.

Next to the emu, the ostrich is my favorite flightless bird. Ostriches are the largest living birds in the world and can run at speeds of up to 40 MPH. Plus, they can live to be 50 to 75 years old.

After leaving Cogburn's, I relaxed at a nearby DQ where I met a cool couple on their way back from camping in the Coronado National Forest. We talked about my walk across the US, my biking trip, and other adventures. The guy told me about his brother-in-law who kayaked from Vancouver to Alaska and how a pair of legally-blind friends want to cycle across the USA on a tandem bike. I guess that would be a case of the blind leading the blind.

I cycled a little over 60 miles today. I was able to crank out the miles after I left the DQ by the ostrich farm. I did nearly 17 miles in just one hour. It helped that I had a nice, smooth frontage road to cycle on with little bumps and very few cars. CLICK HERE to see where I have gone.

Behold! The $100,000 Tumbleweed! (Day 12)

2009-05-12T05:48:00.000-07:00

With a mended bike, I'm finally back on track with this cycling venture. I'm now heading southeast, paralleling Interstate-10 towards Tucson. I would have made a little more progress today if I didn't spend nearly 2 hours in search of the world's most expensive tumbleweed. I heard about it from the awesome Roadside America, and I was determined to find this exuberant and elusive tumbleweed structure.

It's starting to get hot down here in the southwest. I can tell, because my bottles of Gatorade go from ice cold to being on the brink of boiling within a few minutes after being purchased.

I biked 42 glorious miles today, and I enjoyed 27 of them. CLICK HERE to fulfill all your mapping dreams.

Troubles Are A Brewin' (Day 8-11)

2009-05-10T06:53:00.000-07:00

Well, my bike got sick! Very sick!

While making some good progress on I-10 and on the verge of breaking my highest mileage in a day -- my rear derailleur went SNAP-CLANK-CLICK-ZIP-KA-PING! Suddenly, I found myself outside of the small town of Buckeye, AZ with an out-of-commission bicycle and feelings of despair. This became another opportunity to yell many curses loudly into the sky and at my bike.

I called the bike shop back in LA to tell them what happened and they seemed rather unsympathetic. Through the help of my friend Jeff, I was able to locate a bike shop about 16-17 miles away in the town of Goodyear. I called them up and they graciously came out to meet me at a nearby Burger King. After a brief inspection of my bike, they concluded I needed a new derailleur, cable, and a derailleur hanger -- which had to be special ordered.

So, I've been sitting on my ass for the last three days, waiting for the bike shop in LA to send the hanger to the bike shop here in Arizona.

See? This is the problem. When I have to rely on mechanical devices... they end up breaking. When I walked across the county, the only "mechanical device" I had to rely on was my backpack straps. That was about it.

Sigh!

So, over the last four days, I advanced about 110 miles -- totaling around 430 miles so far. CLICK HERE to study it up.

The Folks You Meet in Buckeye (Day 8)

2009-05-08T06:43:00.000-07:00

While hanging out at a Burger King waiting for some bicycle repair men to arrive (I will elaborate more on that in the next entry), I met a self proclaimed nomad. I don't know what his name was because he kept changing it... it was either Bill or Joe or Martin (he referred to himself by all three names).

While he and I sat on a bench outside the BK for nearly two hours, here are some of the amazing (and somewhat doubtful) claims he made:

• He walked across the country three times.
• He hasn't had a fixed address since he was 14.
• He owned three flower shops in Southern California which were fronts to launder money for the mob.
• He spent 21 days in a Wichita city jail for walking on a toll highway.
• Simon and Garfunkel stole one of his poems and put the lyrics in their song "Homeward Bound"
• He lived under an Atlantic City boardwalk for 8 years.
• When working for a 7-11 in Compton, the Bloods and the Crips used to accompany him to the bank when he had to make the weekly deposit.
• He has over 40 "godchildren" all across the country.
• He got tasered by the cops three times in Louisiana and simply pulled the wires off and walked away.
• He took three trains from Philadelphia to Atlantic City just to punch a guy in the jaw.
• One of his poems got sold to someone for over $30,000.
• He is the only survivor from his platoon in the Vietnam War -- all the others have died under "mysterious circumstances."

The Grand Canyon State (Day 7)

2009-05-07T08:47:00.000-07:00

I am finally in ARIZONA! I thought I'd never get here! Hooray for me!

After crossing the border, I had another substantial hill to climb -- not as bad as the Patton Museum lady indicated, but it gave me a decent workout.

After passing through the town of Quartzsite, my plan was to get off of I-10 and veer north onto Route 60, mainly because there looked like there were no services for 90 miles on I-10. However, after my friend Andy did a little internet search, we learned that there was one small gas station about 30 miles from Quartzsite (on Vicksburg Rd.) and then another gas station about 50 miles from there. So, I figured I could handle 50 miles without any services.

One bad thing was that when I called the gas station on Vickburg Road, the lady there said that their place was 5 to 10 miles south of the Interstate. (That meant another 10-20 miles tacked onto this leg of my biking trip.) When I asked her whether there were any other services closer to the highway, she categorically and cheerfully said "no." This news depressed me, until I reached the Vicksburg exit and discovered that she was flat-out lying. There were two gas stations, a mini-mart and a cafe, all within a few hundred yards of the exit. I cheered aloud -- HOORAY! -- until I discovered a small candy bar cost $1.09 -- BOO!

After biking nearly 60 miles, I camped at the top of a small hill in the desert. CLICK HERE FOR MAP DETAILS.

Still Cycling (Day 6)

2009-05-05T05:57:00.000-07:00

After a good 60-mile ride yesterday, I managed to get in some decent miles again today, making it to the town of Blythe -- my last stop in California! After discovering another flat tire on my rear trailer, I had to mend my tube in the middle of the desert under the blazing sun. (I uttered many curses into the sky.)

While cycling on Interstate-10, I passed the same State Trooper three times as he was pulling cars and buses over left and right (well, only on the right). This meant every time I had to pass them, I had to veer onto an actual highway lane... which is dane-jer-us!

While lounging at a Starbucks in Blythe, I was approached by a fellow cyclist -- a German man named Hans, who is cycling all the way from Los Angeles to Boston. I was mighty impressed. And even though I just got through walking across the US, I have to admit, I felt like a wimp next to this clearly virile and healthy man. Even though his blog is mostly in German, you should CHECK IT OUT, for the cool pictures alone. This is what he had to say about our encounter:

Allerdings machte mir die die Fahrt durch die Wueste bei der Hitze zum Ende hin schwer zu schaffen und ich war froh mein Ziel um 15 Uhr erreicht zu haben. Bei Starbucks traf ich noch Mark (The walking fool ) der im letzten Jahr Coast to Coast zu Fuss bewaeltigt hatte. siehe : www.walkingfool.com

I did a little under 40 miles today -- CLICK HERE for map action!

His Name was Patton (Day 5)

2009-05-03T09:55:00.000-07:00

Getting closer to the Arizona border... should be there tomorrow! After about 30 miles of uphill cycling, I went to the Patton Museum to relax and learn. While there, I chatted with a bunch of the volunteers about the museum and southeast California. They gave me the lowdown of what to see and do when I get to the town of Blythe tomorrow. "There's a bowling alley" one big guy eagerly said.

He was quickly corrected by his coworker, a young mousy lady behind the counter. "Naw, they shut that down last year," she bellowed back at him. The big guy then shrugged, having no alternate suggestions. I then left the museum to bike another 20 miles to a cafe in Desert Center for a chicken-fried steak dinner.

Considering I had a big hill at the beginning of the day, I made decent progress on this fifth day. I biked a little over 60 miles -- making my total so far just over 222 miles. CLICK HERE to see all the exciting details.

What, No Cycle? (Day 4)

2009-05-01T04:42:00.000-07:00

Well, I started off the day with all intentions of biking into the desert, but after a small spill on the bike and a slight lack of energy, I decided to chill out at a hotel for the night and regroup a bit.

I went to Tri A Bike in Palm Desert in search of a spare tube for my trailer tire, but they had nothing in the right size. But they did have plenty of advice and encouragement for me -- which was free -- and they also sold me some power bars -- which cost me around ten bucks.

I ended up biking 14 miles from the dried river bed in Rancho Mirage to the motel in Indio. CLICK HERE if you find this paltry distance fascinating and you want to see details.

What, Me Cycle? (Day 3)

2009-04-29T07:46:00.000-07:00

Day 3 started off bad, but ended quite nicely as I got to coast my way into the Coachella Valley, where over 125 golf resorts awaited to deny me entrance. Many of the gated entrances bore "NO BEARDS ALLOWED" signs.

Getting through Palm Springs was a little tricky, as there was some sort of rodeo, round-up, texas-hold'em festival going on that blocked the main street. But once I was through the hullabaloo, I biked another 10 miles or so to the neighboring town of Rancho Mirage, where I found a place to camp under a bridge on Bob Hope Drive.

I biked approximately 54 miles today, making a total of 147.5 miles so far. Not hugely impressive, but at least I'm not going backwards. CLICK HERE to see the progress thus far.

What, Me Cycle? (Day 2)

2009-04-26T04:21:00.000-07:00

What can I say? I am continuing on with this crazy attempt to bike to Texas. I wish I was a more experienced cyclist... sometimes I feel like an idiot on the road with my big trailer. But it helped strike up a few conversations along the way, most notably with the folks at the Mona Lisa in Redlands, CA.

At the end of the day, I went into a convenience store to buy some food and drink and a lady said, "You have a bug on your backpack." I was so drained of energy, all I could do was say, "Okay."

Didn't make as many miles today as I did yesterday... but I did pedal, I swear, I did pedal. CLICK HERE to see my progress so far.

What, Me Cycle? (Day 1)

2009-04-24T07:03:00.000-07:00

After my bike and trailer got stolen, i decided to dig deep in my pockets and buy another bike and trailer. As soon as i picked them up at the bike shop... i was off... heading east! I have no idea how far i'm going to make it. My butt is already sore from one day's worth of cycling.

I ended up biking a little over 60 miles. It would have been a little less if i didn't have to do a 4-mile loop after the LA River bike path took me to a dead end. Whee! CLICK HERE to see a map of my first day's route.

Leaving Los Angeles, Take Two

2009-04-20T19:45:00.000-07:00

The new bike has been ordered and is ready to be picked up tomorrow morning. After nearly a week delay, I am ready to try and leave LA for the second time. If all goes well and I don't wimp out, I should be out of Los Angeles Country by this time tomorrow. Then, if I can maintain a relatively decent pace and no major mechanical failures occur, I should be in Texas sometime next month.

I made myself my own opening credits to help inspire me and keep me moving along.

Gone in Less Than 24 hrs

2009-04-16T20:10:00.000-07:00

I just spent a thousand bucks on a new bike on Tuesday in preparation for this 1,000-mile, LA-to-Dallas cycling trip. I was all packed, turned in my apartment key, and was ready to head out... when some cocksucker stole my bike outside the Santa Monica Library in broad daylight!

Bought on Tuesday, stolen on Wednesday. Now, that's efficiency!

After an anxiety-filled night at my cousin's home, I woke up today and decided to give the bike shop a call. I wanted to see what kind of possibilities there were for replacing my stolen transportation. I still don't know if I really want to shell out the dough for another bike and trailer, especially when my cycling skills are kinda sub par.

I have to make my final decision by Monday. If I give up on the biking idea, I'll probably end up busing it back east. My main fear is buying another bike and then finding out I suck as a long-distance cyclist somewhere in the Arizona desert.

Why so Glum?

2009-04-15T23:40:00.000-07:00

Something very bad has happened... which may put a major strangle-hold on my plans.

Must go to sleep right now... but tomorrow I will have to make some hard decisions.

Getting Ready to Leave LA

2009-04-15T18:11:00.000-07:00

The time has come to leave Los Angeles and put myself in motion. My plan is to head out of LA and bicycle to New Mexico where retired couple, Marie and Ken, are hiking the 730-mile Grand Enchantment Trail. I'm trying to arrange a meeting at one of their pit stops so I can interview them about their walk across America in 2005. After that, it's off to Dallas, Texas.

I just bought a new bicycle and a cargo trailer for $950 and I'm gearing to start pedaling east in the next day or two. Since I no longer have an apartment in West Hollywood, I'm hanging out in Santa Monica until my cousin Bridget and her fiance Kevin get home and I can crash on their spare bed.

I'm currently in the lovely Santa Monica Public Library, killing some time. I'm a little giddy because this is my first attempt at blogging from the road. When I did my walk from NY to LA, I had to relay my entries to friends, via phone calls. This, in turn, resulted in blog entries being about 30-50 days behind schedule. Hopefully, I'll be able to keep up the pace once I hit the road... and I hope to God that my future entries will be more exciting than this one.

Extra Work

2009-04-08T22:29:00.000-07:00

The last couple weeks or so, I've been doing background work for a few TV shows. This is known as being a lowly extra. It's pretty easy work and you get free food, but the pay is horrible. You get 8 lousy dollars an hour; that's McDonald's wages.

My first prime-time appearance happened tonight on the season finale of the show "Life" on NBC... which will most likely be the series finale as well. I play one of the homeless folks at a shelter and I got 0.2 seconds screen time! I'm the blurry guy with a blue hoodie. No autographs, please!

Finding a Barber Shop, Pt. 2

2009-02-19T19:12:00.000-08:00

Still looking for a decent barber shop in Hollywood. After going to the loud and happenin' Floyd's Barbershop, I was looking for a place a little more low-key. Enter Franco's Barbershop -- with the wackiest barber I've ever seen. Franco was a little hesitant about being interviewed at first, but once he got going, it was hard for him to stop. He seemed adamant to prove that his place was very successful.

The Tonight Show

2009-02-11T20:57:00.000-08:00

Went to a taping of "The Tonight Show" with Jay Leno. Got a great seat in the third row and was able to be part of the group of folks who come up to the stage and shake Jay's hand at the beginning of the show.

But the more exciting part was before the show, when Jay came out and opened the floor to questions. When he found out I walked across America, he invited me on stage to get my picture taken with him and even insisted that I sit in the guest chair, so I could pretend I was a guest on the show. Nice guy.

The Price is Wrong

2009-02-06T11:30:00.000-08:00

A few days after arriving in LA, I tried to get picked on "The Price is Right." Even though I did make it into the audience (front-row seat), I wasn't called down to Contestant's Row. But there's a nice shot of me doing a goofy dance in the studio. The episode just aired today... I'm the fool in the bottom-left corner.

Finding a Barber Shop, Pt. 1

2009-01-28T06:51:00.000-08:00

I haven't had my hair cut since I walked through Nebraska, some 6 months, 1,800+ miles ago. I did a Google search of local barber shops in my Hollywood neighborhood and every place looked way too hip or fancy.

So I decided to go out and visit a few of the places in person and assess my hair cutting options.

Visting the Central Library

2009-01-25T02:38:00.000-08:00

After procrastinating for several weeks, I finally got off my ass and went to go get meself a library card. I decided to go to the Central Branch about 8 miles away in downtown LA -- for a little biking adventure and historic journey.

Getting around on bike in LA can be tricky, but so far, no major problems. The library was huge, but a little confusing. However, I did get a card and took out several books.