day fifty-six: trap pond state park to assateague state park to newark (60+26 km)

Was up late blogging and otherwise meditating on my imminent end of trip so didn't get up till nearly seven. Toileted, then discovered that my lighter was out of butane. One of the other tenters had a blow torch, which he dialed down enough to light the stove; but then the flame went out as I was attempting to adjust it, and that person had already struck camp and left. Finally found someone in the main part of the campground who had a book of matches that he gave me.

When I finished preparing breakfast, I saw why the flame had gone out so easily: the fuel was virtually empty. The final drops I poured out gently on the picnic table top to evaporate away.

Fixed the front derailleur problem that had so been bugging me; the cable had slipped or stretched so that it no longer would go into top gear. The rear rack was loose; turned out that one of the critical screws was missing, so I stole a screw from somewhere else. Once everything was fixed and packed, I sat outside the toilet block for a half hour while my phone charged.

All the way over to US113 I was on quiet roads, up along the lake then through small towns, and a state forest where the sides of the road were strewn throughout with an amazing amount of litter. Once I emerged from the forest, the roadside litter went back to normal levels. Heading east I had a fairly stiff breeze in my face.

Joined 113 in Selbyville, just north of the Delaware-Maryland line, which I'd pretty much been following since the previous evening when I turned off the highway to head to the state park. Stopped for a Monster Java and an Arby's turkey sandwich on the Delaware side.

Sixteen kilometers south on 113 I came to Berlin and the turnoff for Assateague: getting close. When I turned off 376 onto south 611, I stopped to buy a bottle of wine for later celebration, plus a bar of scented soap. The cashier asked me where I was riding from and to and said to please post something on their Facebook page. I promised I would. She asked if I was going to spend the night on the island; I said I'd be riding on to Newark, MD. Really?! Your going to ride that much further? We're talking about less than fifteen miles.

Crossing the bike bridge to the island, I stopped to talk to three cyclists who were reading one of the historical plaques on the bridge. They asked where my final destination was, and I said "here". Why here, they asked -- as if Assateague were the strangest place in the world to end a cross-continent trek; so I explained about my friend Caroline/Turtle living nearby. (I also think the barrier islands are pretty cool.)

Headed to the state park beach directly over the bridge. There were maybe a couple dozen people in beach chairs or strolling along the beach. Tried to take my bike out into the very shallow areas where the waves just barely came in. But while I was struggling to compose a good photo, a much larger wave came in and knocked over the bike, getting me very wet at the same time. So I retreated with the bike and just took the front wheel out into the water.

Showered off the worst of the sand from my feet in the beachside shower block. Took a few last photos, then headed off more slowly back the way I came.

(My overall distance was 6032km or 3748mi.)

day fifty-five: lums pond state park to trap pond state park (138km)

Today's ride was sponsored by the numbers 71, 13 and 24.

Rose at quarter till six. Had to make several trips back and forth to the toilet block. Not only was this the most expensive public campground so far this trip; it had the longest walk from the tent-only sites to the toilets.

Had second breakfast over the Summit Bridge and on to Middletown. Couple at the next table asked where I was riding from and to. "Oh, I could never do that! ...Though my husband did a lot of riding when he was younger."

Low-grade fever continued from yesterday. Bought a ridiculously overpriced pair of Advil tablets at one gas station, which took a while to kick in but did help.

Made the mistake coming in to Dover of staying on US13 rather than taking Alt13. So instead of seeing the capitol and downtown, I saw one long business strip. After that I realized that "Alt13" meant Old 13, so when Alt13 would veer off, so would I. On one of those diversions I stopped at a thrift-shop-and-grocery, where I bought what had to be the cheapest vegetables of the trip. The cashier just looked at my pile of vegetables and said they'd be a dollar.

Had to cycle the last 10km to the campground on two-lane roads in the dark. More often than not, the drivers would switch to high beams when they saw me. Must be some instinctive reaction. The shoulders were extra wide -- thank you Delaware! -- but oh, my eyes.

Tonight is -- barring mechanical breakdown -- my last night on the road. I am tired (from the low-grade fever, I'd suppose), sad, excited and pleased, all at the same time. When I started this journey 17 July, I was expecting to finish around 21 August. By 10 August I had only reached the geographical center of North America. I lost three days from broken spokes and consequent freewheel problems (two full days and two half days), one day for illness, and two-and-a-half days due to heavy rain (having not been rained on once on my bike the whole way till I reached Pennsylvania). I dealt with stomach problems and long long long climbs (and equally mad descents!) in British Columbia, swarms of vicious black flies in Montana, crazy winds in Minnesota that had me wanting to quit, obnoxious drivers in Ohio, flattering admirers in Pennsylvania. I have met incredibly generous strangers and visited with friends and relatives, most of whom I had not seen in years. I have seen (and smelled!) some of the sobering effects of climate change, and I have seen (and heard) the sobering reality of just how badly this country is divided, its inhabitants living in (at least) two nearly noon-intersecting realities. In one, Clinton is a Commie traitor, and Trump has made America great again, while the spirit of the Confederacy burns on, brightly. In the other, Clinton is a flawed but intellectually deeply competent leader, Trump is a pathological liar, and the Civil War (which was really our second civil war, as my history professors at university pointed out) is a closed matter. One side is seething with hate, the other all but trapped in despair. Both sides are so very afraid and angry, in their own ways, and intolerance is all around: every time I see (as I did again today) a sign in a store saying "we reserve the right to refuse service to anyone"; every time the fear and anger get in the way of dialogue. So many of the problems I saw seemed like unhelpful distractions from the very real problems this country, and world, are facing -- problems that are rarely acknowledged never mind addressed.

I started this trip needing to find myself again and remind myself why it is exactly that I'm alive (a question that too many people, I think, never bother to ask). I'm not sure yet -- after all, the trip isn't *quite* over! -- but I think I've found the answers I needed. If nothing else, I have had some truly wonderful moments and life, of course, finds its truest value in a scattering of such moments.

day fifty-four: lancaster to lums pond state park (85km)

Beastly tired last night when I crashed to bed so sluggish getting up and sluggish through breakfast, shower and packing. By the time I did my blog entry and dropped off my trash, it was 11:30: my latest start yet. Thinking it could be the two days of riding in the rain to Middletown, could be having no functional Thermarest because the glue patches dissolved in all the wetness.

Stopped almost immediately for second breakfast at Red Robin. The salmon sandwich was fine but rather expensive: $25 with the Guinness and tip.

Spent pretty much the rest of the day on PA896, which became DE896. The skies were solidly overcast the whole time but the rural scenery was amazing: fields of corn, tobacco barns stuffed with drying tobacco, rolling countryside. I waved to all the horse-and-buggy drivers and they all waved back. A barefoot man mowing the lawn with his riding mower stared at me with admiration, continued with his mowing, then looked back over his shoulder at me.

The section of Delaware I crossed into was, I learned, claimed by Pennsylvania for over a century even as it was governed by Delaware. A joint commission awarded the "wedge" of land to Delaware, a decision ratified by Pennsylvania in 1897 but by Delaware not until 1921!

In Newark I saw several businesses named Claymont _______. I wondered how close by Claymont was, as my sister lived there for ten years. I visited her, as I recall, just once. Passed the SEPTA/Amtrak station. Passed the University of Delaware football stadium.

Darkness started falling around 6:30: an hour earlier than normal. I felt light rain. I seemed to be running a low-grade fever. The road got insanely busy but, thankfully, the shoulders were two-and-a-half meters wide. The road turned into a motorway for a couple miles, so I got off onto Business 896 through some small town. Missed the turn off for the campground as it was only posted from the south! Knew I'd gone too far a kilometer later when I came to a large bridge I was sure I wasn't meant to cross.

The "primitive" campsite is $27 for the night, *plus* a mandatory $4 "reservation" fee: by far the most expensive state park yet. I had only $17 on me and -- naturally -- payment is cash only when the office is closed, which it was/is till 11:00 tomorrow. A gentleman who was trying to figure out the self-registration system himself -- he'd accidentally reserved for *next* weekend -- gave me the remaining $14.

As I was settling in, a big, strong-looking gentleman came over from the next site and said he'd paid for this site, too. He came across initially rather aggressively but quickly relaxed and said it was fine that I stay -- which was good because by then it was pitch dark.

day fifty-three: middletown to lancaster (60km)

Went to Hardees to toilet and have first breakfast. Pastor Kim arrived and took me to the Brownstone Cafe for second breakfast, her treat. Put a new inner tube on the front tire, figuring I'll patch the old one later. Nothing dried out overnight but that's the humidity for you.

Rode back to the Middletown Home to visit Betty Burger and tell her what an important formative influence she'd been on me, and Mary Brandt who, despite being over 90, looks and acts younger than many or  most people in their 60s. Had lunch at Hardee's with Joel Medvidovich, an old childhood friend who lived just down Kelso Street from me, in Paxtang. He's running a billiards room and brewery in Harrisburg. He's very proud of his Russian imperial stout (my favorite kind).

Left town around three after picking up groceries at Giant's. Felt a whole mud of emotions, largely wistful. The old 230 Diner just outside town is all boarded up and half falling down. Long, drawn-out hill up from the Swatara Creek past the roller skating rink that still is, apparently, a roller skating rink; then a fairly level ride.

Stopped at the bike shop near the square in Elizabethtown to get new bike shorts. Cousin Carolyn saw from Facebook that I was in town and said to drop by, even though they were about to leave for Micaiah's wedding rehearsal; so I did, for five minutes or so. Last time I was by was 2009. Still remembered the house number.

Got a milkshake at the drive-in restaurant in Mount Joy -- no malts unfortunately. At the Turkey Hill, the attendant Brett asked what I was doing and, when I explained, gushed "that's awesome!!" and insisted on shaking my hand. Its moments like this that really make the trip.

Forgot that 230 merges onto the 283 expressway below Mount Joy, and there are no warning signs; you're just suddenly there on the highway. Got off the next exit and made my way back to old 230, through Salunga and Landisville.

Lancaster seems to be the land of the endless traffic lights. They aren't the modern LED kind, either; so they must be costing the city a fortune. I seemed to hit most of them red.

Arrived at the campground shortly before nine and found a tent-only spot. (The sign at the office, which was closed, listed just two sites as open, both with full hookup; but when I looked around, all the tent sites were open.) Night watchman came by. (This campground has got staff than I've ever seen at a campground anywhere.) I explained that I'd set up where I did because all the tent sites seemed to be free. "None of them are free!" I started to offer to move until I realized what he meant, so I assured him I would register and pay when the office opened in the morning.

day fifty-two: mexico to middletown (97km)

Weather forecast was gloriously wrong again today. The chance of precipitation this morning was supposedly 0%. It rained the entire morning, occasionally moderately hard. I had to wait for a break in the rain to make breakfast, and then I had to pack up in light rain.

The campground owner asked me some friendly but pointed questions about my intended route. I got the distinct impression that the state police had been following up on me which, if true, seems awfully silly.

Stopped for second breakfast just down the road in Thompson rön at a pizza place (the only option). Had a black olive and mushroom pizza -- decent overall, but the mushrooms were out of a can.

I took the shortest possible alternative route for going around the 8km of missing old highway before Millerstown. This would have been fine save for the rain and the often very steep gradient. (The roads were woods roads mostly but in good shape.) I had to walk much of the way up and brake for dear life on the mad Tumblr back down. Turned out bikes definitely aren't allowed on this section anymore as the "motor vehicles only" sign was quite prominent this time. (I didn't bother to check at the western end, but I came out directly at the eastern end.)

Stopped for coffee at the Christian coffee shop on the square in Millerstown -- chance to dry out and warm up a little. Took the next section of old highway to Newport, where I turned off to head over the "mountain" ridge to the one-room schoolhouse where my friend Bill lives and where I, long ago, used to camp in the yard, on my own or with Billy and Abe. So I learned that Dottie passed away some years ago already from a recurrence of her cancer. It couldn't have been so long after John. I was tempted to stay and tent in the yard again for old times' sake (and the possibility of meeting Abe) but also eager to reach Middletown. So after an hour I bid my farewell and headed down to Duncannon to see if the underpass under the Norfolk and Southern line was flooded out. It was. Didn't look deep so I started through only to discover, a third of the way through, the water getting surprisingly deep very quickly and the current not so surprisingly strong. When my bike threatened to float away I knew I had to turn back.

Taking  old 11/15 south through town posed another problem. The old highway came out onto the new a quarter mile before the motorway ended -- with again a prominent "motorized vehicles only" sign on the ramp. So I headed down the dead-end stump of the old highway from which I had to climb a ridiculously steep embankment to continue. I should just have broken the law for a quarter mile. Ended up tearing my shorts on one of the guard rail posts at the top of the embankment.

The road was not nearly so dangerous as I'd remembered it, though the one place where there was virtually no shoulder had to be in a work zone with only two very narrow lanes for the traffic. Stopped at a portapotty in another work area to take a leak, only to find out occupied by another cyclist! Passed through Marysville where, when I was younger, we would turn on PA850 to go to church camp. Crossed the Harvey Taylor Bridge into Harrisburg about twenty past seven. Here I was, back in the city where I was born.

On arriving Middletown I suffered my first flat tire of the trip -- not surprising it happened given all the rain and all the broken glass of been doing my best to avoid. Walked the last couple hundred meters to the church, where all my wet things are drying out in the pavilion and I am camped just to one side. The last time I tented in this yard -- in the very first tent I ever owned (a $30 orange pup tent) --  I was either still in high school or not more than a year out. My how the neighborhood has changed! (...As I knew it had but only got to see for the first time this evening.)

day fifty-one: woodbury to mexico (144km)

Good and dry riding, despite the apparent threat of rain, with some unwanted excitement in the evening. It having been permitted in the past for cyclists to ride on the shoulder of US22/322 through the Narrows beyond Lewistown, and with no"motorized vehicles only" sign to indicate that that had changed, I felt reasonably confident in taking that route again. I had gotten as far as where the old highway used to be accessible via lifting the bike over a low barrier -- it no longer is (the highway has been relocated to pass above the old highway on a very steep slope), when I got pulled over by the state police. This was a limited access highway with no bicycles allowed the whole way to Harrisburg, they had received a call about me, etc. I said that bicycles had been allowed on very specific segments of the highway in the past (those for which no alternative route is readily available and where the are no interchanges to deal with) and pointed out that there was no usual "motorized vehicles only" sign where I entered the highway off old US22. He seemed to allow that, but he also said that "motorized vehicles only" is posted on all the on ramps and, well (though I had the good sense not to say this) I entered the highway via an on ramp, and there was most certainly no sign posted. The cop insisted that my bike go in his car, and even though it was immediately obvious that it would never fit, he insisted on spending the better part of half an hour trying to force it in. He finally gave up and allowed me to do what I'd wanted to do in the first place, which was to ride the mile to the next exit (with him following behind). Thanks to the delay, I had to ride the remaining half hour to the campground in the dark, which I was not terribly happy about. I haven't been able to find information about whether bikes are allowed any more on two of the remaining segments, but so far as I can tell the cop was wrong about one thing: bikes still *are* allowed on the Clark's Ferry bridge and down to where the old highway starts again just below Dauphin. (The alternative road, on the other side of the Susquehanna, is truly dangerous to cycle.) Meh. One can't really argue with a cop, and I didn't try. He was reasonably friendly in the end, making sure I knew how to reach the campground, but I admit I still resent all that time trying to cram the frame into a space it could not possibly fit -- not to mention the damage he could have done to my bike in the process.

I had second breakfast at Mamie's in Martinsburg, where I discovered that I'd lost the light off the front of my bike (very possibly back at Mom and Judy's) and listened to the voice mail I'd gotten at four this morning local time. It contained only quietly babbling voices in the background. The (Swedish) number rang back while I was eating. I told the woman I could not hear her properly -- there were babbling voices in the line, in the background, once again; and asked the woman to please send me an SMS or an email, which she seemed to agree to do -- though I've yet to receive anything. Who knows. Perhaps it was just a telemarketer.

From Martinsburg I climbed over Pulpit Ridge and dropped precipitously for four kilometers to Route 26, which I followed up along Raystown Lake and into Huntingdon. There I ran into my only two road closures of the day, necessitating minor detours; a third section of road that had been closed by the flooding was now open again, with a brief detour required through a parking lot where the water was too deep. Should have taken pictures and forgot. Stopped at the local bike shop for a new light.

US22 to Lewistown is still a decently quiet road, climbing away from the Juniata River along a tributary till Mcveystown, where it drops back to the river. Old US22 through Lewistown has changed a lot since the last time I passed this way ("new" US 22 goes around town on a limited access highway), as has the highway through the Narrows, which is now four lanes (it had been three, much of it tight against a sheer rock face that now has disappeared). Quite possibly bikes *are* no longer allowed on that section (though it has very wide shoulders, so that I was more than two meters from the traffic), but it should in that case be posted in the customary way. My guess of course is that the rules haven't changed and that the cop simply didn't know about the provision.

Reached the campground tired and grumpy. Ate a Cliff bar and chatted with my friend Caroline, at whose place in Maryland I will shortly enough, I hope, finish my trip.

day fifty: curwensville recreational area to woodbury (109km)

Heavy rain morning, despite weather forecast for no rain. Many small villages with no shops and few places to shelter. Took the two-generations old US220 south from Bellwood through Altoona.

day forty-nine: shippenville to curwensville recreational area (103km)

Decent cycling weather today, finally: still muggy but much less so, temperatures in the low 20s. Threatened to rain most of the day despite the insistence of the weather forecast that it almost certainly wouldn't.

Had second breakfast in Clarion, next town down the road from the campground. The sweet roll was the largest thing I've ever seen: four times the size of a conventional sweet roll and dripping with frosting.

Met up with Kammy in Brockville at the Opera House Cafe. Mike autographed a copy of his book while I downed two smoothies and he drank a coffee. (He had one person come to his book signing last night.) I was expecting a non-fiction book on climate change, but no, it's a parable inspired by Mark Twain and"The Day the Earth Did Still".

Cycled past a motel I stayed in when I cycled in from Ohio sometime in the late 1980s (still trying to remember precisely when). I remember marveling at the time at its undisturbed early 1950s furnishings, down to the TV sets. Was amazed to find that the motel is still there and still in business, with a bit of modernizing on the exterior.

Turned off 322 -- which in 1985 I'd followed the whole way to Harrisburg -- near the summit of Coal Hill to head south on 219. Was surprised to find a shortcut to Curwensville that Google Maps hadn't thought to mention. Stopped for groceries at the Dollar General in Curwensville (clearly an old industrial town with a large, mostly vacant-looking plant of some kind just outside town, and learned from a historical marker that the process of wrapping individual slice of cheese in plastic was invented here in the early 1950s).

day forty-eight: two-mile park to shippenville (59km)

Rain started just as I was preparing to leave the campground at eight this morning. Tried twice to get started after the rain stopped, only to have the downpour start again. Finally gave up and cycled to town in it, 10km: my first wet ride of the entire trip. Got to town and tried calling Kammy ( my old high school science teacher) but although I had a good data signal, I could not make any calls. Sat at Tim Hortons and drank coffee, drying out while I watched the Kavanaugh hearings. Corey Booker had just announced that he was releasing "confidential" documents to the press, and he was fully prepared in case he gets thrown out of the Senate. All his DP colleagues on the committee backed him up. The questions put to Kavanaugh were mostly not that interesting nor the answers enlightening, though Senator Graham's were downright scary. He asked a series of leading questions (which Kavanaugh wisely sidestepped) saying that, regardless how one felt about abortion, Roe v. Wade was a horrible decision because it established the principle that the Supreme Court had completely unlimited power, barring a Constitutional amendment, to allow/disallowanything. It was the slippery-slope argument on steroids. "Your honor, is the word 'abortion' found anywhere in the US Constitution?" "No, it is not." "And yet they granted this unenumerated right, based on what?" It kinda went downhill from there.

Was still hungry, so I stopped in at an Italian restaurant for a pizza -- which was good, both because I could now call Kammy and because the rain, which I thought finally had stopped, began again in earnest, finally stopping for good a bit after one. It was now too late for Kammy to meet me -- he has his book-signing gig in State College tonight -- but hopefully tomorrow. I'm quite looking forward to reading his book (on climate change)!

The temperatures were better after the rain but the humidity just as high as before: nearly 100%. This meant that, when I climbed hills, I didn't have to walk (save once), but I had to stop frequently, because I was sweating so madly -- even though the temperature was only about 23. It's weird to have the temperatures so mild and yet feel so frigging hot.

Stopped early because I couldn't find any other campgrounds for quite some distance, at least along my preferred route of travel. Forecast for the next two days looks good though, before heavy rains on Sunday.

day forty-seven: conneaut lake to two-mile county park, franklin (69km)

Probably the hardest day cycling of the whole trip. The temperatures were only in the low 30s but the humidity was over 95%. Had to walk up the least inclines because I was sweating and overheating so bad. I will never complain about dry Montana heat again.

day forty-six: punderson state park to conneaut lake (104km.)

Got nearly to Conneaut Lake before I took a closer look at the website for the campground and saw the"no tenting" notice. Spent an hour hunting around for a motel that would answer the phone. Discovered after I checked in that I could have stayed at the campground next door. I'd read the website to say they were closed, but it was just badly worded.

day forty-five: olmsted falls to punderson dam state park (70km)

Slow getting started -- left Aunt Ruth's and Tim's just before ten -- and made slow progress all day, partly due to the urban areas I went through, partly due to the horrible road surface till I left Palma, partly due to a crosswind that was meant to be more of a tailwind, partly due to the preparing-for-a-thunderstorm heat and humidity that persisted throughout the day. The riding wasn't bad, if not as scenic as Ohio 82, which I took the last time I passed this way. After Palma though the scenery and road became much nicer. There are some amazingly deep -- for lack of a better description -- river canyons in this part of Ohio, starting with the one just before the airport.

Valley View was *in* the valley, so the view you got was before and after. Berlin Heights was just what the name suggests. Maple Heights was really striking: every (modest) house was immaculate, every lawn well kept. On the surface it was a picture postcard view of the American dream. The whole appearance of the town said, "we are comfortably middle class, and we know it." And oh, I was the only European pale-skinned face to be seen.

After Maple Heights, I went through the shopping district for, by all appearances, a working-class poor community, then it into heavily wooded countryside with some *amazingly* well-to-do homes and at least one house verging on being a mansion.

I have this particular ridge at the campground all to myself tonight. (The campground isn't crowded, as the holiday weekend ends tonight. For many school children, tomorrow is, of course, the first day of school; summer's over.) The thunder is rumbling soothingly now and again, and there's the occasional flash of distant lightning. I still have not been rained on this entire trip, save once at a campground in Montana when I sheltered under an overhang, and another time in the dry comfort of my tent. Saw lots of puddles and wet pavement this evening though, and the last part of the ride benefited from the rain clearly having just passed through.

day forty-four (2 september): findlay to olmsted falls (163 km)

Slow getting off from Uncle Dick and Sharon's as Uncle Dick, not surprisingly, wanted to get a little last visiting in; and I was enjoying the coffee, too. Got away shortly before 8:30 and made good time despite my concerns. It helped that Sharon had fed me very well, and packed a lunch for me -- which lasted until 11am when I sat under a big tree in front of the college campus in east Tiffin and gobbled down all the sandwiches.

Have seen a lot more train activity in Ohio than I did in Michigan, at the level of what I saw out west or above. Got stopped by a St. Louis Southern train in Tiffin. Wasn't familiar with them; will have to look them up. Waited fifteen minutes for a train in Bellevue going by at jogging pace as the line of cars built up.

Took Ohio 113 from Bellevue, which was a good choice at least till I got to Elyria. (Last time I cycled this way I took US 20, which is a really busy road.) Roads into Milan -- Edison's birthplace -- were blocked off by police directing traffic, though they let me through. Here the town was having its Melon Days Festival, complete with a big parade, fancy floats, and too many beauty queens to count. I didn't stay long because the crowds were pretty intense. They were shuttle busing people in from the high school two miles west of town. (At first I couldn't figure out why the high school parking lot was full on a Sunday.)

Should have gotten water in Milan but was put off by the crowds, so I'd run out till I came to a fruit stand turned major country market. Bought cider that I shared with Ruth and Tim. Went past an outfitters in the middle of the countryside -- open! -- but couldn't remember what it was I needed, and I was racing crazy fast downhill at the time. (I need a patch kit for my Thermarest.)

Elyria was a pain because 113, though not a limited access highway and with extremely wide shoulders, was marked "no bicycles". I rode it anyway because there were no obvious alternatives. (Ohio 113 directly parallels the Ohio turnpike at that point.) I was very grateful to leave Elyria behind.

Arrived at Ruth and Tim's in Olmsted Falls 7:30. Stayed up talking to the two of them till nearly midnight. Ruth is all the witty conversationalist I remembered, and it turns out Tim is as well. He's also quite the cyclist.

day forty-three (31 august): grand rapids to findlay (108km.)

Woke early (shortly after five) so I could make it to Aunt Carolyn and Uncle Bill's before their appointment at one. Was off from the campground by a quarter till eight. Stopped in McClure at the gas station for something to drink. Headed over US6 and rejoined Ohio 109 through Malinta to Hamler and then Carolyn and Bill's, maybe a mile past Zion Church, which was a great deal smaller than I remembered it. (The road was closed about a mile north of Hamler. This proved easy to walk my cycle past. Couldn't figure out what they were doing, but Robin (my cousin) said it's for a major pipeline that's going in.) Robin had brought lunch for her parents (beef and egg noodles, like my mom used to make), and I was invited to join. I was trying to remember if I'd met Robin's husband Jim before. He thought I must have (they're coming up on their fortieth anniversary), but I wasn't so sure. (It turns out did meet once at least, at Grandma's funeral.)

Aunt Carolyn and Uncle Bill left for their appointment and Robin and Jim for home. I cycled a few hundred meters down to the road to my maternal grandparents' house. I knocked on the door and Jim Creager answered the door. He ended up giving a tour of the house which, needless to say, looks a lot different than I remembered though there was much, of course, that I did remember. (I was last in the house I think when I was seventeen.) The small entryway with room for coats on either side is gone, replaced by a new door and a wraparound porch. Grandma and Grandpa's bedroom is now the dining room, with a large serving window into the kitchen. On the other hand, the bedroom where I used to sleep didn't look so different, and the black walnut tree I used to climb was still there, though the crook I used to sit in was nowhere to be seen. (So were the barn, chicken coop, corn crib, and well house, all looking from the outside just as they did.) A lot of the changes inside the house weren't ones I'd have made, though I did appreciate all the exposed hard wood.

Jim asked me whether I carried a gun while I cycled; I told him I did not. "I don't cycle as far as you, not more than twenty miles at a time, but I use my concealed carry and always have my gun with me." He also asked whether it was true what he kept hearing on the news, that Europe was overrun with refugees and a basket case of problems. I said the number of refugees was never a flood and had dropped year on year for a number of years. Meanwhile, Europe's view of the US is that it's basically a basketcase of problems.

Leaving the Creagers, I rode out Ohio 18 past my Aunt Florence and Uncle Ray's house, where the stucco appears to be falling off. The old turkey barns have been replaced by big new warehouse-type buildings. The one thing that hadn't changed at all was the swimming pond with its diving platform.

A mile past the farm I heard someone calling my name. It was my cousin Jim, whom I'd last seen at John's funeral. He refilled my water bottle and would have given me trail mix and snack bars, and a lift to Findlay, but I said I was really fine.

As the afternoon went on I developed a severe headache that would come and go, though it increasingly did more of the former than the latter. At first I thought it was the heat, but as the evening grew cooler, the headache got worse. Made it to Uncle Dick and Sharon's in East Findlay much later than I was planning on, around seven thirty. Uncle Dick was outside on the sidewalk waiting. Wondering now if I got food poisoning from that cold (chicken) pizza.

day forty-two: saline to grand rapids, ohio (122km)

Had a scary moment this afternoon: a passing car started laying on its horn the moment it saw me and kept on to it was past. I can't guarantee that I was off on the (very narrow) shoulder at the start, but as soon as I heard the horn, I was. The car kept on honking. I was so shaken that I half stopped, half crashed into the barrier at the side of the road. A little while later, a pickup honked hard right as it was passing. I confess I cursed at length, and loudly. I mean, I get it that they don't believe that bikes should be on the road; but they could cause an accident doing that.

Good to be back on the road after nearly three days off, proofreading. Stopped for second breakfast in Clinton, not because I really needed it but because I'd decided to submit a job application after all, with a deadline at 6pm today. Weather was gorgeous all day: mid to upper twenties, with a light wind from the north.

Stopped a couple times for something to drink -- the first time right after those scary encounters. Just had to fill my water bottles once (and I even forgot to fill them before leaving Josh's). Second place offered me all-you-can-eat free pizza; I wasn't so hungry, so I just took a slice. ("If people don't take it, I'm going to have to throw it away.")

Called Tim and Aunt Ruth. Got them this time. Told them I hoped to make it there (Olmsted Falls) Saturday evening or Sunday morning.

day forty-one: brighton recreation area to saline (48km)

Tried following the Google Maps again, to leave the park, but that led me quickly to a footpath ("no bikes"), and so I navigated instead by a combination of Google Maps, road map, and common sense, eventually arriving in Whitmore Lake and joining old route 23. Had second breakfast at a Coney Island Restaurant: the second I'd seen within a couple of days and, apparently, of no relation to the first. The waitress snorted and shook her head at one point. I asked her why. "That man who just left, his card didn't work, so he said he'd come back and give me ten dollars tomorrow."

There was a lovely cycle path heading in to Ann Arbor, across the old 23 bridge over the river and then along a lake to a dam -- but that didn't last. I returned to old 23 -- Main Street -- and went past lots of freshman-looking students (they can move in to the dorms this weekend). There was one young man with what looked to be his dad. The young man was wearing a "Wolverine dad" T-shirt. Went right past the football stadium, which is downtown, directly on Main Street.

Arrived at Josh's around 1:30pm to do two days' proofreading for a client back in Sweden. Thankfully Josh is happy to have me hang out.

day forty: saginaw to brighton recreational area, hamburg (126km)

Asked the woman at the hotel about restaurants for breakfast. She looked at me oddly then said there was a McDonald's and some other fast food places around the corner. That was, indeed, all I could find. (What I cycled past was mostly slums and rundown industrial areas.) Instead I grabbed something from a convenience store and planned to look out for a picnic area where I could cook breakfast. At the next convenience store I asked about that and the woman directed me to the community park just down the road.

Shortly after I arrived and started setting up, two elderly women drove up and unlocked the back door of the community building in front of the park. There being no water tap in sight, I went over and asked if there was somewhere I might refill my water bottles. The women were clearly terribly relieved I was only asking for water; wondered if they thought I was looking for food or what. They were unloading lots of food from the car, so I asked if they were holding a sale. No, it was a family reunion. A man arrived shortly to join them and help them set up the grill. "That man is cycling cross-country," one of the women told the man. "He only wanted water!" They kept to themselves and I kept to myself, but I did take their photo before I left.

Google Maps directed me onto a road that for several miles was quite good but then went gravel. I checked the map and worked out that the next mile-road over probably was paved. It was. A little while later I stopped at another convenience store to refill water (which I had to buy). Looked closely and realized I'd cycled past the very same corner before, with its sign pointing the way to Howell, MI -- either before my first summer at Interlochen (coming in from Chicago) or after my second (heading to PA).

Had to stop in Howell to take out my contacts and re-moisten them; with the heat and wind, they were drying out enough to interfere with my vision. Bought a chia banana peanut butter smoothie after using the toilet to fix my eyes.

Distance readings were changing erratically on my way out of town, usually a sign that the GPS can't get a proper fix. Ended up going for the nearest campground, to be safe. Still ended up setting up the tent in the dark. The "primitive" campground was maybe 3/4 full. Mine was one of the few if not the only site without a campfire.

day thirty=nine: island lake to saginaw (144km)

The guy at the campground said it was all downhill to Saginaw. That didn't turn out to be true, but it was downhill all the way to Rose City, 7mi.  Quiet former highway from Alger to Standish (which has a lovely train station, albeit no trains) then four lanes, often with no shoulder, to Bay City.

Stopped for a malted milkshake at a drive-in restaurant in Pinconning -- one of the last half dozen in the country, apparently. I told the owner that the only other one I'd ever seen is the Red Rabbit in Clark's Ferry, PA. She offered me free onion rings for the road, which I gracefully accepted, and then a hamburger, which I politely declined. "I know you're not charitable," she said, "but I am" to which I replied, "Erm, I'm not?" I got a photo of her and her children, who run the restaurant with her.

Bay City was lots of busy roads, well to do. Lovely "wild" area south of town, then Saginaw was obviously much, much poorer, with very bad roads.

No camping around Saginaw, that I could see, so I booked a room at the Red Roof Inn. The room was basic but fine. It could have been cleaned better, especially under the bed, and I didn't appreciate the roll-up cigarette floating in the toilet.

day thirty-eight: clear lake state park to island lake NF campground (92km)

Wind was not so strong as the day before, but it was a headwind rather than a crosswind. Temperatures were more moderate at least, so not like cycling into a blast furnace. Had second breakfast in Atlanta, where I overheard the following from a fellow diner, sitting with his wife (I assume), watching Fox News, which I could neither see nor hear (volume turned down): "What this country needs is more assassins. It might sound a bit extreme, but I really wish someone would assassinate that woman." Naturally, I wondered who "that woman" is, though I could and did make some guesses.

Took a break from the wind to visit a craft shop full of concrete, stone and wood figures. The owner makes all the concrete figures herself. Took another break from the wind for a garage sale. In Mio I was drawn in to a restaurant by a sign advertising Friday fish fry. Not too impressed by the food though, so I made a noncommittal positive sound when the waitress asked me how it was.

All alone in the national forest campground save for the hosts, who told me it's been a very quiet summer. "Problem was that the Fourth of July came in the middle of the week, and that messed everybody up. Never got back into rhythm after that." The man said he was bored but was there "for sake of marital harmony. My wife really loves it here."

day thirty-seven: màckinac city to clear lake state park (112km)

Cycled back into town (backtracking!) for breakfast with Lenny at the Brookside Diner ("I have so many friends in the Ukraine who want to come here, but Americans work too hard, they never have time for life; me, I have this business four months a year, work in Florida four months but try not to work too hard, and go to the Ukraine for four months"), followed by groceries from a minimart (my only choice it seems) and a mad hunt for white gas, which I seems to be available only in gallon size. (One place even told me, "I've never seen it in a smaller size" and another place, "everyone's using the [pressurized] cannisters these days.") In the end I bought a gallon from Walmart in Cheboygan and two bottles to try to put the excess in, but I still ended up hunting around the Walmart parking lot for someone who would dispose of the rest. Maybe the sixth person I asked finally did.

Hot and a strong crosswind most of the day. Michigan 33, which I've followed since Cheboygan, is a quiet road. Think I passed just two small towns, next to each other. Feeling kinda crappy so stopped at the state park campground rather than going on four miles to the state forest campground. Shower after three days was nice, but cold.

day thirty-six: melvyn creek to mackinac city (145km)

Stopped for coffee at the general store in Gulliver, about ten miles from the campground; then discovered that the village also had a gas station / convenience store that took cards, so got ice cream and pizza as well. I know; healthy breakfast!

Not much for towns the whole day. Crosswind not infrequently became a tailwind, and it was much warmer... low 20s, perfect temp.

Cyclist switched direction to ride with me a half mile through Naubinway and advise about the Cut River Gorge detour. He asked if I planned to try riding through the bridge out and I said yes, I did. He'd ridden down to the bridge but not across.

Took me another maybe 15 miles to reach the bridge. The only problem I had was that, navigating around the construction materials, I brushed against some fencing that looked like plastic but was metal. I stopped a hundred meters down the road to make sure nothing was damaged, only to discover I was missing my tent. Went back and, sure enough, it was hanging (unscathed) off the fence. The drawstring had caught on the fence and pulled the tent right out.

Stopped for the obligatory pasty before leaving the UP, couple miles before the bridge. Think ground beef and potato pie: not fantastically tasty but heavy, very filling. Got to St. Ignace and discovered that my mobile phone couldn't find any compatible mobile network, and I needed to look up the directions for crossing the bridge. So I cycled back to McDs and borrowed their WiFi.

Seems I was to hop on the interstate down to the toll booth and order transport at the administration building, five bucks. Took maybe ten minutes to get anyone's attention, then waited another 15 minutes ("you might have to wait a minute or so") for the pickup to appear. The driver was very friendly and gave me a rundown of basic facts about the bridge while we crossed. The bridge was opened in 1958. It's longer than the Golden Gate Bridge but not as high. Still, at its highest point it's 250ft. above the water.

Opted for the city campground two miles south of town. Forgot to stop at a supermarket on the way, so I'm left with buying eggs from the self-serve fridge and mixing them with the few items I have left. Going to be another fairly chilly night.

day thirty-five: gladstone to melvyn creek (96km)

Extremely cold and windy: 25km/h crosswind. Quit early.

day thirty-four: glidden lake to gladstone (133km)

Got chatting to a gentleman in the convenience store in Sagola who turned out to be a fervent anti-Trumper, "unlike everyone else around here." He went on, "I'm worried he won't ever wiłlingly to leave the office." I assured him I had the same concern. "At least he'll never get re-elected." I wasn't so sure.

I stopped for a fantastic bean burger at an unlikely tavern in Perronville which, despite still being in the Central time zone by a handful of miles, had -- I noticed -- its wall clock set to Eastern.

It was an inexplicably satisfying feeling to cross the line. Shortly thereafter my day-long detour from Route 2 was over, and I was back amid all the familiar traffic, notched up because I was on my way into Escanaba, a fairly large city.

Stopped at the supermarket in Escanaba for breakfast supplies and listened to the checkout clerk discuss with one of the other clerks his inability to grow a beard or even look unshaved. The other clerk was, apparently the same age and had a full and, indeed, bushy beard. I observed as I was leaving that I hadn't been able to grow a (proper) beard till I was 30.

No fever today. I'm still not back at 100% but I'm a great deal better than yesterday.

day thirty-three: lake gogebic to glidden lake (127km)

Took an old (unpaved!) stagecoach road, leaving the campground, to avoid twice the distance, or more, by paved road, cycling west to go east. It wasn't bad except one place where they'd put in new drainage pipes under the road and covered over with medium-large gravel.

Stopped in Watersmeet for lunch. The restaurant was busy but yhe setvice unbelievably bad. One gentleman went up to the counter, "I've been sitting at that table an hour waiting for someone to serve me!" He did then quickly get served.

Leaving the restaurant suddenly felt quite unwell and realized I was running a fever. Stopped on a national forest road to lie down a bit (and not look like an accident!) till I was ready to go on. Think this is why I've been dragging the last few days. Clearly my body is fighting something.

Lovely state forest campground for the night. Just two complaints: no hand sanitizer in the pit toilets, and so far as I could tell very little maintenance done on the whole site.

day thirty-two: ashland to lake gogebic (122km)

Most of the ride to the border was through a seemingly very sparsely populated Native American reservation. Was having balance/steering problems, probably because my food bag was empty, so I stopped at the reservation's IGA in the one small town to buy groceries. The woman ahead of me at the register was buying cigarettes. Not only did she have to listen to a friendly lecture on smoking from the cashier; she had to log her purchase in a special register -- as (glancing at the register) I saw that all inhabitants of the reservation did!

The cashier asked me if I didn't want a better lemon. Clearly, I hadn't taken a good enough look at it; it was somewhat past its prime and had a soft spot. "I'll go get you one." Outside the store, some women were selling homebaked goods for a fundraiser. I bought a piece of frybread: like a donut but not nearly so sweet.

Tempted when I reached Ironwood, just across the border, to call it a day -- got chatting to a really neat guy on duty at the gas station / convenience store ("just moved here from Flint; such a quieter pace of life here, you don't hear a siren every single damn hour") -- but I'd only ridden 65km till 5pm. Ended up riding another 57km.

day thirty-one: superior to ashland (111km)

Highlight of the day was the bridge out. I knew that a stretch of Route 2 was closed, with a long detour. When I got there, I saw that it was a bridge out (as I suspected), but the bridge was only 0,6mi ahead. I've gone through such obstacles before; one time, in Pennsylvania, I came to an old-fashioned iron trestle bridge with the entire deck removed. The workers invited me to walk across on the bare girders, and I did.

In this case the workers paid me no attention. The new bridge was in place but not the road surface leading up to or from it. I had to lift the bike about 30cm onto the span and lower it again on the othet side. For a wonderful number of miles, I had only local traffic to deal with and the road mostly to myself.

Otherwise there was the spot early in the day where the road suddenly became a limited-access highway for 5mi. I got off at the next exit and, at Google Maps' suggestion, turned onto old Route 2. Sadly, that didn't last, and for the rest of the 5mi. I was on the Tri-county Corridor: a rail trail. That would have been fine but the rail bed was very sandy on places.

day thirtyish: duluth to superior, wisconsin (37km)

A mostly unfruitful day in Duluth. The mechanic I'd had recommended to me in Grand Forks appeared not to be working today -- the mechanic who was there refused to tell me, which was weird -- so I went with the guy on hand. He talked like he knew everything about everything, which is rarely a good sign. I heard him hammering on the freewheel like crazy, which wasn't a good sign either. When I suggested he call the mechanic in Grand Forks to hear how he did it, his response was, "I could, but really there's only one way to do these things." I could have said, and didn't, that each mechanic who'd worked on the freewheel went about it in a completely different way.

I had my doubts, but gut instinct said to give him the chance. He said to come back 1:30-2:00, so I retired to the coffee shop on the corner to do an urgent paper review. When I came back, he told me there was no way to get the freewheel off. The way he'd chiseled at it, attempting to create several new grooves to get the extraction tool into, absolutely no one else is going to get it off, either -- not any more! It is, however, still quite usable -- until such time as another spoke breaks. He charged me 15 bucks for labor. "I should have charged 80 for all the work I put in." Maybe, but one traditionally doesn't charge for unsuccessful work. And the mechanic in Cranbrook had put in a whole lot more time, and done various other useful things for me. but only charged me modestly more.

What really annoyed me though was that, cycling away, I felt some unusual resistance. Climbing the insanely steep hill overlooking Duluth to get to the camera shop (to buy a new charger), it really became noticeable. So I stopped and took a closer look at the wheel. Here, with all the pounding and chiseling, the ball races on the axle had tightened against the ball bearings so they were grinding. I think I caught it in time, but I could have done real damage. The mechanic totally should have noticed and fixed that before returning the wheel to me. Of course I hadn't thought to check before leaving the store.

The replacement charger works (what a crazy climb to get it though!) but is the trickiest damn thing to use. I had to get the sales clerk to show me half a dozen times how to put the battery in. Thankfully one charge lasts several weeks.

Reaching the Route 2 bridge -- which both the guy at the cycle shop and Google Maps had assured me was fine to cycle across -- I saw it was posted "no bicycles". So I backed up and called a different bike shop to get their advice, since the long way around was really the long way around. " Oh, it's fine. Just ignore that. I cycle it every day. There's actually a pedestrian walkway" -- I couldn't see it from where I was -- "but it's dangerous as hell. Just stay on the road." So I did.

After all this, I only left Duluth and entered Wisconsin maybe 5:30pm -- no time to go far before dark. Stopped at the first campground, which has a very strange self-registration system, yhough I finally got it sorted. Two neighbouring RVs offered me food; I must really look starving. (I haven't lost any weight!) The one was a crew of workers doing pipeline installation on 12-hour shifts. The youngest of the crew is a seventeen-year-old high school student.

day twenty-nine: warba to duluth (111km)

Second breakfast at the Great American Roadhouse, with lots of kitschy memorabilia and photos. Theit cranberry bread French toast was pretty good.

Arroving Duluth area, I asked Google maps how to get to the campground. The route it suggested was fairly long and circuitous and required some backtracking. But it also offered a much shorter route. Heh. I almost missed a key turn because it was across a vacant dirt lot -- which led to a footpath of sorts, into the forest. I cycled the first 600m then got off and walked, maybe 1.5km after which I reached something like proper road again and then, suddenly, suburbia.

I asked the woman at the campground office for a secluded site. (I knew they had tenting-only sites.) "Well, I have two left." One was right by the entrance, the other by a pavilion. I forlornly asked which would be more secluded. "The one by the entrance, I suppose. But it is right by the entrance." Then when I was turning to go, she asked whether I might like something more secluded -- and directed me to one of the tenting-only sites I'd wanted in the first place! "It's walk-in only, but I suppose that's okay, because you can wheel your bike in" (!).

The two guys at the next site rode in in a car. 😎 They're going to spend a few days mountain biking. Talked a while to the one, who grew up on the Nez Peirce reservation.

day twenty-eight: bemidgi to warba (138km)

Dramatic change of weather: I was actually slightly cold the first part of my cycle ride. Highs were only in the low 20s.

Chippewa National Forest was nice (though, resorts at every turn!) but even briefer than the map suggested. Campground at the dam on the Mississippi west of Grand Forks was full so ended up having to ride throigh to my originally intended destination, in the dark. With good lighting and a wide shoulder (which I had) it's safe enough but tiring, because the oncoming cars never switch to low beams. Sometimes they see you and switch to high beams. That happened once just as the car was passing. At least the campground was easy enough to find, and the campground host had said, when I called, to take any site.

day twenty-seven: erskine to bemidgi (103km)

The wind was still pretty crazy when I got up and tried to put the tent away. Over the course of the day the wind graduałly shifted to the west and became a tailwind, if a somewhat unreliable one. Heat was crazy so I took things easy. Car stopped and asked if I needed something, and offered to tow me. "I have a 15ft rope. I've done it before." I politely declined and said that all I was short on was water. He gave me his coffee. Half an hour later he was back with bottled water, OJ, potato chips and cheese!  Another car stopped and offered to throw my bike in the back.

Called the campground where Sherry and Wayne, whom I met the othet side of Devil's Lake, were staying. Sure enough they had a tent site for me, but I had to pay over the phone as the owner was heading to bed. (This was 8pm.) Took the route through town and crossed the mighty Mississippi -- all 15m of it, a largish stream. Arrived at the campground at dusk to find Wayne in the washroom. Tent site was nice and set back from the RV spaces. Didn't bother with dinner.

day twenty-six: east grand forks to erskine (96km)

Had my most challenging -- and miserable -- day yet, with 37-38C temperatures and a cross-/headwind of 25-30km/h. Essentially the entire day I was in a low hill-climbing gear, struggling to make any progress. The wind was uncomfortable any time I'd stop to take a drink, and steering was occasionally awkward. A couple of times I thought maybe I'd broken another spoke, but it was just the craziness with the wind. At one point and for several minutes at least the smell of smoke (from Canada apparently) was quite strong -- the strongest I've experienced yet (though people have complained for days about the smoke).

My average speed for most of the day was 10km/h. People jog faster than that. It was like I was going up a hill that never ends. Didn't help that this part of Minnesota makes northwest Ohio look hilly, and there's pretty much nothing to stop the wind.

Had the good fortune to have an outfitters directly across the street from the Red River campground, so I was able to replace the white gas that had finally run out, after making it ałl the way from Vancouver. Second breakfast was at a coffee shop, which was a bit unfortunate as there was what looked like a popular diner down the road. Stopped to fill water bottles and buy something to drink every town I came to.

day twenty-fivish: larimore dam to east grand forks (60km)

Spent nearly three hours at the bike shop but the mechanic got the freewheel all the way off, which the guy in Cranbrook thought couldn't be done. Till I visited the second shop to check for bike tires and got something to drink, it was after five. No campgrounds for some distance east so I stopped at the state park just over the bridge into Minnesota. The attendant who checked me in is studying accounting at UND.

Grand Forks is an insane sprawling mass of a city... endless business strips and four-lane avenues. Nice downtown district though. Part of it's closed tonight for a street fair, which I rode past. Someone told me it's a Prince tribute, which is odd because I've heard absolutely no Prince played... rather a mix of '80s and '90s stuff including Green Day, Twisted Sister, and Guns 'n Roses. It's still going strong, clearly.

Had to ask again to borrow a hammer to drive the stakes into the sandy soil. The guy invited me back for hamburgers. I have been such a bad vegetarian on this trip. Food in front of me, I eat.

day twenty-four: kenner's campground to larimore dam (120km)

Another short day today, this time because I again broke a drive-side spoke, somewhere beyond Lakota. Had to cycle somewhat slowly and carefully till I could get somewhere (Michigan) to retrue the wheel to compensate, and naturally that took time, too. The fate of the rest of my trip is largely in the hands of what I find for bike mechanics in town tomorrow, and how much time they need. Looking like I should replace the tires at the same time. These guys are good but nothing like the tire sone years ago that I figured I got 10,000 miles from.

I'm growing tired of the lack of consistent shoulders on Route 2 not to mention the dual carriageway. Of Route 2 stays four lane through much of Minnesota, I'll look for alternate routes. Route 2 was such a great cycling road through Montana.

 Woman came over from one of the neighbouring campsites this morning asking if I wanted carrot cake to take with me. She and her husband are on their way from Alberta, where she teaches at university, to the town in Minnesota where she grew up. I know the campground in that town where they're staying the next ten days; it's right along Route 2 in a couple hundred kilometers. So I may see them again.

Stopped for second breakfast and groceries in Devil's Lake, which looks like a tourist-trap town that's overgrown into a city. Their big thing is catering to fishermen. Stopped for a drink in Lakota and,vof course, in Michigan, where I trued my wheel. Drank like crazy today.

day twenty-three: granville to darby, north dakota (kenner's campground)(160km)

Almost missed the diner in Granville; it looked like a VFW post, not a diner. Ate a big breakfast then went to pay only to be told that I was all paid up! Almost forgot to go to town hall and pay for the campsite (5 bucks).

Passed the geographical center of North America in Rugby. Josh messaged me from Ann Arbor to ask where the hell I was. I explained that I was running behind schedule.

Had bowel problems in the evening, second time on this trip. Wonder if it wasn't the water from the campground, which sat oddly on my stomach.

Stopped at the convenience store in Leeds for a drink and contemplated staying in the canpground by the road. The cashier gave me directions to the (free) town campsite. Still, it was early, so I rode on. Sometimes I had a wide shoulder, sometimes I had to ride on the white line.

Called ahead to the intended campground to make sure they had space. The guy said something about using the self-registration station. The campground was 2km down gravel roads. I couldn't believe there'd be anything there till I arrived. The "registration station" turned out to be a lock box where one could also pay for firewood -- nothing more. Grateful for the hot shower.

day twenty-two: stanley to granville (135km)

Learned this evening that -- after many crazy convolutions -- I will not be allowed to study programming at the local college after all. The problem is that they do not accept the high school physics course I took, and although I took the course a second time this spring and completed it 6 July, the adult education program was closed all of July until two days ago, and now the national grade database is locked until next Monday. That I provided evidence of completing the course (and receiving an A) does not count because I lack the official record -- for a few more days than the college was willing to wait. Hey, at leadt this gives me a few more days to finish my ride.

Ate my second breakfast at the diner in Stanley. The waitress was great, but the food was decidedly mediocre.

Stopped for water mid-afternoon at a house where I'd just seen someone drive in. The woman was very friendly and happily gave me water. "I have a friend who does that sort of thing. I could never do it myself."

Finally have gotten to the point in my trip where people are more impressed by where I'm riding from than where I'm riding to.

Made it to the bike shop in Minot with an hour to spare. Learned that the cyclist I met in Wolf Point (and saw go by just beyond Williston) had been in six hours earlier. My glue job on my shoe has been holding brilliantly for three days now, and I didn't see any shoes on display anyway; but I did replace my helmet, which had started falling apart.

Stopped again for water at a bar along the old highway in Surrey. Chatted with a woman at the bar while I waited for the bartender. "I took in a group of cyclists last year when my husband wasn't home. He was so furious when he found out. 'You didn't know a damn thing about them. They could have done anything to you.' But I took one look and knew they were okay. They sent me such wonderful pictures, too, when they reached Maine!"

Camping tonight in the Granville City Campground. Once again, I have the place all to myself. Not clear if there's a charge or not. Tried calling the number posted for after hours, but got no answer. Will check in at the town offices in the morning.

day twenty-one: williston to stanley (121km)

Staying in the Stanley municipal campground tonight: electricity, hot showers, and no charge! ...Directly across the tracks from the Amtrak station. Found this place on Google. Policeman came and registered me, which just consisted of photographing my ID. There's a cafe just past the Amtrak station for my second breakfast tomorrow. Want to get up early so I can make it to the bike shop on Minot before it closes at six and make it another 30km to a similar campground to this one.

Stopped at the post office before leaving Williston to mail a few things to myself c/p my sister. Cycling down the highway afterward, a car waved me over. It was the postmaster. I'd left my camera on the counter! I told her this was service above and beyond the call of duty.

Blazingly hot and water hard to come by. I stopped by a farm for water because I saw two men out in the yard. I guzzled down a bottleful of the (well) water and refilled both my water bottles -- but threw most of it out when I shortly reached a gas station, because it tasted so awful.

Stopped for a pizza when I got to to town. Asked for directions here from the convenience store clerk from whom I bought the pizza. Her directions were mostly useless, but thankfully I have a mobile signal again.

day twenty: wolf point to williston (166km)

Caught off guard by the time change at the border. Logically North Dakota should still be on Mountain time. Could not find the RV parks (two?) I was meant to be passing and arrived to town -- thanks to the new time zone -- much later than intended. Had a good mobile signal outside town (really, first city I've come to since Vancouver) but no connectivity once in town -- consequently left flying blind. So, again at a motel, but hopefully for the last time for a while. Oh, and the last bike shop here closed, but my most recent glue job on the shoe appears to be holding. Next bike shop is in Minot.

Cooler weather yesterday meant better progress; temperature was only 27C. Helpful gentleman directed me off onto old highway 2 before Culbertson. "You'll avoid a number of mini-mountains. Heck, this highway is so bad I'm going to go that way myself!" Thankfully this time the road stayed paved. Forced back onto the new highway just before Big Muddy Creek -- at a guess, the old bridge was no longer there. Temperatures are to reach 40 by tomorrow and stay there for a few days.

Had to bite my tongue a couple times in recent days. One time a shopkeeper, who did not know what he was talking about, held forth on socialism. Another time, at a restaurant, a man held forth on genetic modification like a real authority -- and, again, hadn't a clue. Probably should have held my tongue when the man at the diner in Culbertson asked if we had problems with "the Muslims" in Sweden, too. I said no, but the far-right basically neo-Nazi party is doing worryingly well in the polls ahead of next month's elections.

day nineteen: fort peck to wolf point (85km)

Left shoe came apart leaving the Chinese restaurant. Stayed in the community park with a couple from Boston heading west to Seattle.

day eighteen: malta to fort peck (146km)

Out of mosquito/black fly country!

day seventeen: chinook to malta (145km)

The actual distance was only about 113km, but then leaving town (because the time was still early) I decided to take old Highway 2, which parallels the new road. For the first few miles, it seemed like the perfect choice. Then the pavement became more primitive, but that was still okay. Then when I reached the national wildlife refuge, it went to loose gravel. That still would have been okay, but the small black flies that had been eating me all day (and stung! worse than a mosquito) went to town, and now that it was cooler, the mosquitoes were out in force as well. I tried to carry on for fifteen minutes but had to turn around. There was no paved road over to the new highway, and the two gravel roads I met looked sketchy (and didn't appear on my map) so I went all the way back to town. It was pretty well dark till I got there, and I was covered in bites, so I did the cheap motel route again rather than carrying on back to the campground.

I seriously wonder what the flies were. Unlike mosquitoes, they showed no preference for bare skin but happily bit through shirt, shorts, socks. The heat of the day didn't phase them. They weren't put off much by DEET. I mentioned them to the hotel manager, who simply called them "gnats", a handy catchall term. But these things were bigger than what I'm used to calling gnats. The touring cyclist Ilya who warned me in the morning that I was entering mosquito country was, I suspect, really talking about the flies. (Like the three other cyclists I met shortly before him -- by maybe an hour -- he started from Bar Harbor, but he knew nothing about them.) I'm desperately hoping to pass from their territory soon.

day sixteen: chester to chinook (140km)

After yesterday's grueling 25km of temporary road surface, the worst I had to deal with today was a bad pothole in Havre (pronounced differently by everyone I talk to!) that I didn't see. Cross my fingers on no damage to the wheels. The heat of the day had finally started to cool a bit till I reached Havre. Temperature was "down" to 36. Leaving Havre, there was a noticeable change in climate: the air was less dry, and I saw trees for pretty much the first time in three days. Campground that I first stopped at had no toilets on site so no tenting, but the owner directed me on to this city park -- the third I've stayed in now. Refilled my water bottle while I was there; boy, the sulphur content is high!

More (small!) towns today than yesterday -- nearly all off down side roads over the tracks, to the north -- so water was less of a problem. Think I never went more than 15km between towns. First town was the hardest for finding water; knocked on a door first, then the postmaster directed me to the adjacent (closed) "restaurant" ( more like bar), but then I hit it lucky at the Conoco car shop. The guy sold me peanuts; I got a soda out of his vending machine; and he directed me to the restroom to refill my bottles.

Tried to follow the signs to a restaurant in a later town -- no luck -- so I ended up having lunch (a very non-memorable turkey Swiss sandwich and crisps) at a bar on the main highway.

day fifteen: cut bank to chester (120km)

The words for today are "hot and insanely dry". Finally now starting to cool down. Ran out of water half way here from Shelby. Tried a grain silo where there were obviously people working -- I could hear their voices -- but I couldn't work out where they were. Ended up getting water from the cooler in the basement of the adjacent (unlocked but empty) Lutheran church. (Turned out I had to use the cooler; when I went to use the toilet I discovered that the pipes were off.)

It got hot fast after I left town, around 8:45 after a visit to the local Albertsons. On the way, chatted to a tourist who'd stopped at the side of the road. He filled my empty water bottle with Gerber's baby water, which I'd never heard of. He said it was " processed differently" than "regular water" and he understood it to be healthier.  Reaching Shelby, I stopped for a drink at the gas station, then bought another, and looked up what baby water is. Turns out to be unflouridated. Leaving town I decided I was hungry so I went back to the one restaurant in town, where I proceeded to drink several more glasses of water. The food (biscuits and gravy, hash browns, and eggs)would have tasted good except that it wasn't warm at all.

Quite disappointed that I saw no Amtrak train, despite following the rail line all day. I should have seen the eastbound late morning and the westbound early evening. I know that the trains especially on this route are often wildly off schedule, but still. Lots of BNSF freight trains.

Got to town just before 7pm. Checked out the Lions Park, which did not appear to be open for tenting. Asked a couple at the supermarket, who gave me (bad) directions to the city park, which does. It's not nearly so nice as the one in Eureka, but it is a safe, cheap place to sleep, for which I'm grateful. Just have to get away before the sprinklers come on in the morning.

day fourteen: sprague creek campground to cut bank (171km)

Five minutes after I finished last night's entry, a Korean gentleman from the neighbourong site came over and struck up a conversation. We talked until he noticed me yawning, then we both headed to bed. 😃

Up at five, half an hour to toilet (per usual), then Kathy's leftover stirfry, Bruce's peas, and my half lemon and pasta. Off by 7:25, 25 minutes later than advised. Still made it to the top before the bike ban came back into effect at 11. The road was not bad, but the drivers were crazy. Most of them went clear to the other side of the road, which really was not safe to do. It's not like I was the only cyclist, either, though I was the only one carrying weight. Everyone else were day riders.

Lovely ride up then the summit was sheer chaos. I'm not sure where I've seen so many people. I stayed long enough to buy a cookie and a park patch, and refill my water bottles.

The ride down was crazy fast as usual but surprisingly short. Ate lunch -- a black bean burger and a stout -- at Rising Sun, shortly before the park gate. Stopped for a drink at St. Mary's, then found myself walking part of the way up the quite steep incline to Hudson Bay Divide. After that it was rolling terrain to Browning (where Bruce advised not to stay) then flat flat flat till I plunged downhill into Cut Bank. I was tired and it was late, and Google didn't help with any campgrounds, so I splurged on a motel room. The offer of a free breakfast didn't hurt. 😃

day thirteenish: talon trail (columbia falls) to sprague creek campground (47km)

No mobile signal this evening so writing this out by hand for later. Caught the shuttle bus from the visitor's center here so I could reserve a site, then cycled back and here againonce it was past four o'clock and the cycle ban lifted. Really needn't have worried; the other cyclidt/hiker site is still unclaimed. I'm pretty sure I could even have gone on to Avalanche Campground, even though it was officially full. My impression is that msny of the rangers don't know about these sites.

No oats for dinner tonight. I forgot to buy more in Whitefish. So I had the leftover pancakes Kathy made me instead. Must remember oatmeal tomorrow.

Feels seriously wrird to stop so early, but I figured the time to do Logan Pass is in the motning. Funny: tomorrow will be my last serious climb, my last real mountain -- although Bruce tells me the rest of Montana isn't as flat as I'm remembering it.

Couple of interesting conversations today. An attractive young man was oohing and ahing over my bike ("is that a custom-built bike?") when I stopped for lunch outside the park at the Wandering Gringo Cafe. And the woman behind the counter at the restaurant/gift shop/convenience store just outside the park entrance persuaded me to do the Going to the Sun Road after all ("you haven't been here before? oh, then you have to!"). Still, feeling lonely this evening after the wonderful conversations of thr ladt teo nights. Finding it hard to strike up a conversation here at the campground.

day twelve: eureka to 618 talon trail, columbia falls (126km)

Slow getting started as the sprinklers came on in waves, and I was having to shift my gear around to try to avoid it getting wet. Was nice though being able to grab a breakfast coffee from the (24-hour) gas dtation across the highway. The UK guy who's been cycling around the world for 14 months bought me a second coffee. He was interested in riding together for a while, but I find it's really hard to match pace, so I politely declined. Thought I'd see him later in the day as he was only going to Whitefish, but I never did.

First maybe 15km I followed the old highway then back out on the main road with occasionally very narrow shoulders. Stopped for lunch break at Dog Creek; started with a smoothie then ordered a pizza. Manager gave me a couple protein bars to take with me.

Called cousin Bruce from Whitefish. He drove down to Columbia Falls to meet me and offered to take me and the bike back to his and Kathy's place, but I was in the mood for writing and it was, in fact, a lovely quiet ride 18km, most of it along a highway to a border crossing that's now permanently closed. Bruce built the house himself, and it has all the fun eccentricities of such places -- makes me think of the house my Grandpa Rayle built. It's wonderfully secluded in the trees. I tented in the yard and listened to the trains go by along the river through the night.

day eleven: cranbrook to eureka (118km)

On the road again! Left Cranbrook 11am after second breakfast. Wheel rode well. Yet another day of essentially flat; could have gone further except for the hour I spent at the border. Typical. Cyclists get "special" treatment. Didn't maybe help that I had a lemon with me, though I declared it. Lemons are, I was told -- I kid you not -- an "invasive species". In any case, no citrus are allowed in. In the end I was told "welcome back".

Stopped just to get a drink at the petrol station in Jaffrey before turning south on a backroad to escape the traffic and shave off 5km. Back on the highway 24,km later, topped again, just for drinks and to spend down my Canadian money, at the "general store and Rliquor store" in unincorporated Grasmere: a V8, a Starbucks Frappuino, and -- quite by accident -- I. meant to get another V8 -- a Pepsi. (I don't really do soda.)

So strange crossing into the US. Suddenly everything is one extended business strip, most of the way from the border. Really wrird stuff to: golf courses, fancy pubs, RV resorts, a pizza place. This was long before I got to town. Passed the one campground north of town that showed on Google Maps but was not inpired; it was basically a glorified RV park and not such a nice one. Thankfully saw this municipal campground only because of all the tents already set up. Everyone staying here tonight is a cycle tourist. Sat and talked and shared wine with them for far too long.

day tenish: cranbrook to lumberton and back (29km)

Went to collect my cycle wheel this morning at 11 only to find that Elijah, the mechanic, had completely failed to get the freewheel off. His recommendation was to ride on and trust the other 35 spokes to hold. I was skeptical but seemed to have few options. I did a test ride back to Lumberton, sans bags, which went fine until I went to turn around to head back. Playing with the gears, which were behaving oddly (the wheel had slightly changed shape), I attempted to select the lowest gear in back, only to have the chain go into the spokes.

Returning to town, I checked in again at the campground where I'd left my panniers and returned to the bike shop to see if they couldn't build me a new wheel. Elijah didn't like that idea, so he had a go again at removing my freewheel -- and this time it worked! ...Sufficiently. (He couldn't remove the core unit, but he was able to take off the sprockets, which is what matters in terms of changing spokes.) He proceeded to replace all the spokes I'd mangled with the chain plus the one that started this whole mess, but then it was past six (closing time) and he ran out of time. So he promised it for 9:30 tomorrow, yay!

day nine: creston to lumberton (97km)

Big thing is I lost a spoke. Not surprised after that 30km downhill over temporary road surface. Happened along North Moyie Lake. Walked to the nearest campground, which looked lovely but was closed. The provincial park campground was full. Couldn't get a proper data signal to look for more options. Asked a woman walking her dog at a provate RV resort what she knew. She tried to be helpful and got her whole family involved but, in the end, her suggestion was to bang on the "shop" doors and ask if I could camp despite the camping prohibition. I couldn't get to the shop past a locked gate though and didn't think  I was too comfortable with the idea anyway.

Walked till midnight, when I was blinded by the lights of the lumbermill in Lumberton. Saw some folks out partying on their patio and stopped toask them for their advice. Ended up sleeping in the one person's backyard (amidst the dog poo!) and getting a ride to town this morning with another. Jesse is a welder at one of the local mines on a four-day on, four-day off schedule.

Still debating whether to cycle back to Lumberton and do that stretch. Part of me is still very much a white blazer, not a yellow blazer. 😉

day eight: Salmo to Creston (84km)

Up and over the big one: Kootenay Pass, nearly 1800m, the highest point till I come to Glacier. Had been warned that the mountain was dry but, in fact, there were plenty of small streams cascading down the sheer rock faces where the road blasted through. I was plenty hot but not thirsty.

The ride down (over 30km!) was spoiled by the temporary road surface: they'd stripped off the top layer of asphalt preparatory to resealing. (Supposedly the work is to be finished by Summer 2018. I don't think they'll make it.) The sign at the summit said the roadwork extended from the pass to Summit Stream. I thought, Summit Stream will be near the summit, right? Turned out to be the stream I followed the whole way down and finally crossed at the bottom -- when I could not have been more grateful to have proper road surface again!

I was amazed to cross a wide, swampy area followed by huge, flat fields -- the first farming I'd come upon on this trip -- with the next line of mountains looming in the background. I was welcomed to town by a large Ramada Inn followed by a standard business strip, with the Pair A Dice RV Park and Campground nestled in among. Very grateful for the free (not coin-operated) showers.

The shorts problem seems not to have been a rodent after all. It's something the leather is doing to itself. Hoping to find a new pair in town, otherwise must wait till Cranbrook. Too bad the new pair won't be natural chamois.

day seven: mud lake to salmo (94km)

The wife came early -- said she wanted to give me a chance to climb Paulson Pass before the heat of the day. I was on the road just after 8:30. Psychologically hard to start the day on a steep incline!

The descent into Castlegar was (mostly) gradual, as promised. Stopped for second breakfast and to charge my phone / update this blog at the first coffee shop I came to, right off the exit ramp into town. Rode into town to meet Doug from Warmshowers, who would have hosted me the night before if I'd been a bit faster up the pass. He loaded me up with Gatorade then pointed me across the street to a Greek restaurant for lunch. The Greek restaurant was closed, so I went to the German restaurant next door. The owner had an accent that sounded oddly familiar: almost Russian but not. She's from Moldova, married to a German.

I feel like the routine every day now is to climb at least one pass. Leaving town (around three) I ascended 800+ meters to Bombi Pass, walking much of the way as it was steep and the sun blazingly hot. The descent was, per usual, death defyingly fast. I was worried about getting cold because the temperatures were notably cooling but instead it was just pleasant feeling the sweat blasted away. I think the cyclists are foolish to avoid this route; the scenery is amazing and, when the climbing gets too hot or hard, there's always walking.

The last 11km to Salmo were along a narrow valley. Stayed in the municipal "overnight rest area". When I took off my cycling shorts, I saw what I hadn't in the morning when I put them on: something had chewed a nice round, fairly large hole in the chamois lining!  Thankfully the underlying fabric is undisturbed, but I will need a new pair of cycle shorts from the next cycle shop I pass. Must have happened when I was staying at Mud Lake (I slept in the cabin, which I discovered afterwards I wasn't meant to do), but I had the shorts right beside me and never noticed a thing!

day six: boundary creek to mud lake (103km)

Stopped and grocery shopped in Grand Forks, the largest place I've seen since Greater Vancouver. Blinked and missed Christina Lake (the town) so before tackling the mountain I followed the signs downhill to the Marina Patio Burger Bar to refill on water. Ended up paying $4,50 for 1,5 liters, yikes.

Glad I did the climb in the evening but boy it was slow. Got caught by oncoming darkness shortly before the summit. Tried following directions to get to the rail trail and camp, but after 20 minutes I hadn't reached the trail and the side road was going exactly back the way I came... Obviously the former highway.

The shoulder back on the highway was wide and the night air cool so I put on my Sam Browne belt and continued my climb on foot. A couple stopped and convinced me to let them take me over the summit to a campsite at Mud Lake. The next morning (so, this morning) on her way to work, the wife stopped back and gave me a lift back to where they'd picked me up, with a refill on my water.

day five: osoyoos to boundary creek provincial park (85km)

Long climb up from Osoyoos to the summit of Anarchist Mountain, though the gradient really was not bad. Disappointed at the elevation on the summit, which was only a bit over 1200m. Had to Yogi for water at a rest stop, because I was already out. Went to a B&B for more water, though that was a mistake. The people (Swiss Germans who spoke limited English) were friendly enough, but the gravel road was a pain on the ride down and impossible -- as it turned out -- to cycle up. Indeed, I struggled to walk it. Oh, and it was over 1km long.

Just down the road I came to -- of all things -- a Mexican restaurant, in the middle of otherwise nowhere. The owner was married to a woman from Mexico City. She did the cooking, he waited tables and baked cinnamon buns. I had the enchiladas, then was persuaded to have hibiscus iced tea and a cinnamon bun.

The summit was another 5km then a wild ride downhill and over a bridge across a scarily deep canyon -- then a brief climb and, as the restaurant owner had warned me -- I plummeted again till I got to Rock Creek.

Didn't make it quite as far as the intended Greenwood, both because I found the provincial park inviting and because I was clearly running some fever. The bee sting area continues to hurt and is somewhat swollen, but there's no indication of infection.

day four: hedley to osoyoos (91km)

Another slow slow day for a number of factors. I sat at least two hours in a cafe in Hedley waiting for my phone to charge. Made good progress down the valley till I stopped three times for late lunch :-) then the terrain got rollercoaster rolling. That really slowed me down. The actual mountain wasn't too bad in comparison, but starting up it I suddenly lost bowel control and just had time to reach the bushes. The fresh cherries I ate for first lunch went more or less straight through undigested. No idea if it was something I ate or a failure to wash my hands properly at some point or clean my pot properly or what.

Coming down off the mountain, a bee and I collided at high speed. It got caught hanging on to me with its stinger in my arm, which hurt like hell. Still hurts a bit this morning. Felt in no state to ride on from Osoyoos up the next big mountain, so I went looking for the nearest campground. Didn't see the provincial patk on my map so ended up taking the last spot at Cabana Beach commercial campground. For what I paid I almost could have gotten a motel room on the other, unfashionable side of the river. Attendant Bernard very friendly, very chatty though; rnded up hanging out talking to him at the camp store till it closed.

day three: crabbie creek to hedley (110 km)

Again no mobile signal last night, even though I was in a campground outside town. The people who let me share their site (the campground was full) claimed they could get a signal if they stood just right but I had no luck.

Stopped for second breakfast at the park lodge; felt decadent, but the food was good, if simple, and I was able to charge my phone and make a blog entry. I bought samosas for lunch but no groceriesvfrom the store, which really was targeting the casual camping crowd. Chatted with the guy at the next table, who asked the eternal questions: where are you riding from/to.

The rest of the day I mostly followed the river, except for one stretch where it cut through a narrow canyon. There I climbed Sunday Mountain -- slightly lower than the previous day's pass. Past the summit the terrain was suddenly much drier -- a phenomenon I had studied back in high school but never had personal experience of.

Stopped for rewatering and groceries in Princeton. The young man at the grocery store asked me what I had on the bottom of my shoes and stared in amazement. "I've never seen that before!" Small town BC.

I almost stopped at the Provincial Parks campground that wasn't on my map, but the price was high, and I wasn't quite ready to stop. Got to the target campground and rode around the loop looking for a spot. There were lots of suitable flat spots, but I had the feeling I was meant to stay at a designated site. Riding around a second time I ran into loose gravel and went down. Guy came over to see if I was all right -- really, only my dignity was injured -- said the campground was indeed full but he and his wife had plenty of space. So that's what I did. I was short on water, and no water pipe -- never mind showers! --in the campground, so they loaded me up on bottled water.

day two: hope to crabbie creek (67km)

Have to check the name of the campsite I stayed at last night when I have a better Internet connection. (Still, no knocking free wifi!) No mobile signal most of the day yesterday and none at the campsite, so no way to do a blog entry. Generally poor progress, but I was pretty upset over my latest difficulties pursuing further education (or, really, retraining), plus I wasn't feeling so great after all the sun I took Tuesday, plus I was heading into the mountains -- so, major climbing. As the day wore on, I got off and walked a lot. Missed the campsite first time I passed, and the second, before I finally worked out where it had to be. It was not well marked. Worried how to hang my food; ended up putting it in the outhouse, which was rodent (and bear) proof. Woke early to the sound of trucks testing their brakes before the long uphill I had just recently climbed.

It was insanely windy when I woke in Hope -- to the extent that even walking was uncomfortable. Loudly cursed the world when my tent started to blow away. Even when I caught up to it it took all my effort to hold on. A woman saw (or likelier heard) my difficulties and came over to assist. I got the campground attendant to open the laundry room so I'd have somewhere to roll the tent up. In general everything took several times longer to do than normal, with the wind. Thankfully it was dying down till I got on my way, around noon.

Water was a real problem. Not only was it again difficult to drink it fast enough, but streams were few and far between, much of the day, and often down an impossible slope. Thankfully found water not long before the final ascent to the pass, but I still had just one liter till I got to the campsite and, despite the name, no creek in sight. My pasta this morning was... rather chewier than I like it. :-)

day one:new westminster to hope (144km)

Didn't make it to the campsite I'd booked for tonight at Silver Lake Provincial Park. I got caught by darkness and I was quite tired (and probably dehydrated; I could not drink enough today). Silver Lake would have been 12 more kilometers, much of it gravel, a fair bit of it uphill. Day wasn't helped by an accidental 8km detour. I must have just been following the flow of traffic and not realized I'd turned.

Feeling sad because my plans to study in the autumn appear to be ended. The university will accept the mark I got for a physics course I took this spring but the central admissions agency for Sweden will not. It serms comically ridiculous.

supplies day

• cycle computer to replace the one that fell off or got stolen at Wreak Beach
• stove fuel
• plastic spoon (actually spork)
• DEET (but only 30% 'cause this is Canada)
• socks to replace the extra pair I forgot to pack
• camp soap
• contact lens solution

Alan drove me back to Jeticho Beach to get a proper picture of me standing out in the water of the Pacific.

trial run

The hotel Alan got is in New Westminster, right along the river, so after I reassembled the bike at the hostel (following two breakfasts), I rode out to the end of the peninsula. I couldn't really access the beach right out at the point, so when I got to Wreak Beach I parked the bike, locked it, took the valuables, and headed down the many many many steps to the beach for a selfie with the surf in the background. I knew it was Wreak Beach when various nude joggers went by. (The last time I was on Wreak Beach was 1984, but it was a relatively cold day and the beach was empty.) Came back up to find my (cheap, old) cycle computer gone. Whether someone took it though or it just fell off somewhere (the retaining clip was broken, so the unit was quite loose) I do not know. I backtracked a ways in case it had fallen, but no luck.

From Wreak Beach, I followed the peninsula around to the river and then the river for the 25 or so kilometers to the hotel. Drank nearly two liters of water in route plus stopped for an iced tea (insweetened). On reaching New Westminster and just a couple kilometers from the hotel, I developed sudden severe bike problems: a weird looseness in the handlebars and a tendency for the brakes to seize up. Took me several tries to figure out the problem, but it seems to have all been caused by an obscure loose screw that just needed tightened.

jericho beach

The immigration official looked unconvinced that I would reach Montana in six days. I said I should be doing 160km per day, so it does work out.... He also wanted details on exactly what sort of bike I had (the frame is a Surly Long Haul Trucker). But he let me through in the end.

I was skeptical of taking the bagged bike on the train and even less convinced that I'd get it on the subsequent bus, so I took a taxi to the hostel -- the first hostel I ever stayed in, back when I was doing my newspaper internship in Bellingham.

I'm too tired to assemble the bike tonight. That will wait for the morning.

I have been so severely depressed the last few months. I needed this trip so badly. My soul needed this trip so badly. So... first 25km is tomorrow, to meet up with Alan!

göteborg (stigbergsliden)

Almost never got started today. Arrived at the station to learn that Västtrafik trains were not running at all today -- they're the only ones that take bikes -- plus the whole train system was in chaos due to a fire. For a while it looked like I was going nowhere. Västtrafik said that the first train I could take would leave at 7:30 tomorrow -- too late to catch my flight. Wrote to Daniela, who figured out I could take a bus to Trolhättan and a train from there, which worked: two hours on the bus, one hour waiting in the station, 45 minutes on the train. Arrived to the hostel about 7:15. One roommate, a woman from northern Italy.

preparations redux

I changed my mind about the Thermarest and bought the compact one they had at the Nature Company.  It's 4cm shorter than Alan's, folded, and -- hopefully, unlike Alan's -- it will self-inflate.  Plus it's a sexy green.

I took off the pedals, seat post and handlebars, wrapped the frame in bubble wrap, and -- with Kevin's assistance (hej Kev!) -- got the bike into the bike bag.  The old pedals stay behind; the new ones went in the small pocket of one of the panniers. The suitcase (with all the panniers and stuff to go on the bike) feels a bit worryingly heavy but, hopefully, not over 23kg.  (I still have to pay for it, unfortunately.... €100 I think.)  The heaviest item is the tent, which is a tad over 4kg, followed by the sleeping bag at maybe 2,5kg.

My neighbour Osama is going to water my house plants while I'm away.  Kenneth (the landlord) will feed Shadow Lord (my cat).  Kevin (hej Kev!) and Anders will water the office plants.

Hoping to get off relatively early tomorrow so I can look around the office for anything I've missed.  Seems like I usually manage to forget something.

preparations

The new bike pedals arrived today.  (My right pedal has felt a bit loose for years, as in the shoe doesn't clip in tightly, and the tension adjustment doesn't seem to help.  Seemed like time to replace it.)

Realized a couple days ago that my RidgeRest was no way going to ride well on my rack.  I'm going to borrow Alan's ThermaRest instead or, if it doesn't fit inside my bike bag, buy a new ThermaRest in Vancouver.

The first three nights out of Vancouver are fairly well mapped out.  The plan is always to do detailed itineraries three days in advance.  Hope to arrive at Caroline and Chris' place near the coast in Maryland shortly after the ides of August.