Priscilla

I have been wanting to hike the Pacific Crest Trail for at least 12 years. Over the years, I've geared up for it several times, but something always kept me from actually going. It was probably just fear, but I'd rather blame it on something else, like the constant responsibilities of life. For various reasons (mostly due to weather), one must begin the hike sometime between mid-April and mid-May. At the beginning of last year (2009, in case you can't remember), I really, really, really wanted to go. But my father had just died of brain cancer and a new boss had just been elected to head the office where I work. I was depressed about my dad, and I doubted my new boss would give me a five-month leave of absence to go hike in the woods when there was work to be done. So I decided that 2010 was going to be my year to go. Somehow, I was going to make it happen. It was time to do something for me -- something big and life-changing. But I had said that so many times before and never quite made it. Yet, I felt more resolve than I ever had before. And being newly single and childless, I had fewer people to answer to in my personal life. So I set my sights on the prize and decided to go for it. I had a whole year to plan for it. I had no excuses.

Sometime during the summer, my mother invited me to a presentation at the Institute of Human and Machine Cognition. The presentation was being given by a guy named Pat Crawford, who is the program director for WUWF, which is the local public television station. To raise money for public broadcasting, Pat had ridden his bicycle from Pensacola to Canada on a trail developed by the Adventure Cycling Association that mirrored the route of the slaves on the underground railroad. He rode by himself, camped along the way, blogged about his experiences, and raised a respectable amount of money for the TV station. The slide-show of his trip was informative and, as if you haven't guessed, inspirational to me. After all, I had to get to California somehow to begin my hike. Why not ride a bicycle?

It looked simple enough. I hadn't ridden a bike in years (nay, decades), but so what? Riding a bike is a lot like . . . well, riding a bike. Once you learn how, you never forget. You also never forget, if you've done enough of it, which I had as a child and teenager, how badly your crotch hurts from those seats, or how badly your neck and shoulders hurt from holding your head up so you can see the road in front of you. Of course, Pat never mentioned that, but I remembered it from personal experience.

Which brings me to Priscilla, my beautiful bike (er, trike). By the way, I hate the word tricycle. It makes me think of those little red Radio Flyers that most of us rode as young kids. Like this:

Not that there's anything wrong with kids' tricycles, but I'm not a kid anymore.

Or it makes me think of those three-wheeled contraptions that elderly people ride to the store with the wire basket on the back. Like this:

No, no, no. My Priscilla is not a "tricycle." It's a trike. More specifically, it's a recumbent trike, which means that I get to peddle from a comfortable reclining position. No sore crotch. No sore neck or shoulders. Sore legs, perhaps, after 50 miles per day. But no hobbling around at the end of the day waiting for my business to regain feeling or -- worse -- feeling like someone just kicked me with a steel-toed boot (a couple hundred times). "Oh, you get used to it," I've heard people say. Really? I think not!

So I searched the net for alternatives and discovered the whole world of recumbent bikes, and more specifically recumbent trikes. I learned that there were two kinds: deltas and tadpoles. All have three wheels, of course, but the delta trikes have one in front and two in back. Tadpoles, on the other, have two in front and one in back. Now, when I say two wheels in front, I don't mean in front of the pedals, I mean in front of the third wheel.

They look cool, but I had never ridden a recumbent bike, much less a recumbent trike. I didn't know anyone who owned one, and none of the bike shops in town carried them. So I hopped in my car and drove to the nearest dealer -- in Jackson, Mississippi -- a four and a half hour drive, one way. It was a great shop. The owner let me test ride all different kinds. Since I ultimately didn't buy one from him, I'll give him a plug here, because I appreciate that I could ride his bikes and see which one I liked. http://www.ridesouth.com/

One thing I've discovered about myself over the years is that I like quality. Top of the line. I definitely have champagne taste. Unfortunately, I have a beer budget. I knew I had to find a used trike. I searched high and low. I hunted on the net. I hunted on craigslist. I trolled classifieds on biking websites. I finally found the one I wanted at a bike shop in Colorado. I had to buy it sight-unseen. The salesman at the bike shop in Colorado assured me that it was in excellent condition. So I took a deep breath and read him my credit card numbers. It arrived a week later in three boxes. In pieces parts. I hadn't tinkered with a bike since my teens. But I carefully unwrapped all the pieces. I found some assembly instructions on the net. It took me all day, but I managed to assemble the trike. I was so proud of myself.

Here are some photos of my baby:

Nice, huh? Yeah. It's a Greenspeed GTO. It's from Australia. The fairing is an add-on, but it was included with the bike I bought. Sweet. Here's the company website. Check it out: http://www.greenspeed.com.au/index.html

My friend and neighbor (you know who you are -- John) dubbed my baby "Priscilla" -- as in "The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert." Another old movie, but a camp classic. The story line goes: Two gay drag queens and a bereaved transsexual ride a lavender motor home, dubbed "Priscilla," into the Australian outback on their way to a resort to perform a show. Of course, they find plenty of (mis)adventure along the way.

This is my Priscilla, and I plan to have (mis)adventures on my way west. In my next post, I'll introduce you to my posse. As far as I know, none of them are drag queens or transsexuals. But I think we'll have fun anyway!

Headed West

Several people have asked me how exactly am I going to get from Pensacola, Florida, to San Diego, California, on a bicycle. Interstate? Bike path? Back roads? The technical answer is yes. (I am a lawyer, after all, and I have to be precise -- or is it obscure?). At any rate, the vast majority of the trip will be on smaller rural roads -- theoretically, lower-traffic roads, which will be relatively safe. At least that's what I tell myself (and my mom). For example (and this is for those who live in or near Pensacola), the route runs the length of Scenic Highway, then down Cervantes to 14th Street (no, not through the train trestle squeeze of 17th Ave), then along Bayfront/Main Street, out Barrancas, and then out Gulf Beach Highway. Piece of cake, right? Totally insane say most non-bicylists I know. But that's the route. Of course, once I leave the Pensacola area, I will be blissfully ignorant that State Road Whatever is the local speedtrack. At that point, I can just tool along, practicing the skill of abject denial.

But while I have the attention of some of you who might be traveling these roads in your weapons of mass destruction, would you mind sharing the roadway? I know bicycles annoy you, but really, I have the right to be here, too. After all, I pay taxes. (Which reminds me, I have to do my tax return before I leave. Boo! Hiss!) And while I'm asking for favors, would you mind moving over a bit when you pass me at 90 miles per hour, honking your horn in my ear? The sand spray from your tires stings my skin and gets stuck in my teeth. I am, after all, lower to the ground on my recumbent trike. Thanks so much! As if.

But I digress. There is a non-profit organization called the Adventure Cycling Association (www.adventurecycling.org) that has developed a network of bicycle routes all over the United States. Here's a map of those routes: (www.adventurecycling.org/routes/RouteNetwork.pdf). The one I and my travel mates are taking is called the Southern Tier route. It is 3,132 miles long and runs from St. Augustine, Florida, to San Diego, California. Since I'm starting in Pensacola, I will have to do only 2,500 miles of it. Only. There are maps, of course, created by the ACA. They detail the route and provide information like elevation change and sights to see and motels, campgrounds, or stores to use. Then, there's this way-cool Google Earth map that this tech-savvy guy named Steve created. Here's the link: (http://tsteven4.qwestoffice.net). Find "Southern Tier" under "Route Maps," then click on "Geo." It takes a minute to load. Then zoom in and click on the features. It's pretty cool.

Well, that's all for now. Stay tuned for photos of Priscilla (my bike) and other interesting stuff!

Sara

I'm somebody now!

Wow, I have my own blog site. I'm somebody now! I'm reminded of Steve Martin in the movie "The Jerk." (Yes, it's an old movie, I know, but I'm that old, too.) When he finds his name in the phone book, he erupts, "The new phone books are here, the new phone books are here! I'm somebody now! Millions of people look at this book everyday! This is the kind of spontaneous publicity, your name in print, that makes people. Things are going to start happening to me now...."

Things are about to start happening to me, too. Good things, I hope. An adventure anyway.

Okay, so here I go! My first post. One of many to come. I hope you enjoy them. You'll get to ride and hike along with me. Only you'll get to do so in the comfort of whatever space you're in. I suspect you'll be warmer than I, more rested than I, and more in tune with what's happening in the world. But, at times, you'll be reading from work. And I won't be there! (maniacal laughter).

I'm leaving in three weeks (and two days). I'm so excited. But nervous, too. I have played all of it out in my mind's eye. Of course, nothing bad happens to me in my mental video. I do not, as my "friends" at work have suggested, get run over, or kidnapped and tortured by a serial killer, or bitten by a rattlesnake, or mauled by a bear, or any of the other catastrophic things they have imagined and posited as my ultimate demise. In my view, I skip along merrily, impervious to death and destruction. After all, perception is reality! And so it shall be.

So come along with me, my friends. Live vicariously. Take an adventure. I'm going to have the time of my life! (big, big smile)