Month: June 2015

In the middle of the night I woke to the thunder of rain on my tent. By the morning the rain settled into a slow dreary drizzle. I cycled unloaded two km into town to search for the archaeological site of the old city walls. Found the walls, but the associated museum was closed.

I wandered about the old city until 10:15 waiting for the museum to open, to no avail, and headed to the next site on my list – Castle Zamk, two kilometers outside of town, in the opposite direction. Castle Zamk portrays an imposing image on the hillside, one and the same castle I saw cycling  into town. Castle Zamk is Disney-esque, a castle clearly under reconstruction as a tourist attraction. The outside gardens are under construction, with the interior unfortunately closed. Like merengue, a pretty place, but unfulfilling in my castle quest.

I headed back to the campground with a quandry. The rain was on the edge of soaking wet or tolerable, yet light enough likely to last all day. I hate leaving in the rain (not to mention the associated packing). I dithered around a while, angsting about departure. From careful examination of the weather forecast I decided the rain should abate between 1pm and 6pm, a window large enough to get to Burgas, only 35 km away. Finally packed and ready to leave, past the checkout time.

Cycling on the Mediterranean coast in Spain, I’d been rained on at least four hours every day for the past ten. I camped on Costa Brava at a five-star campground. A five star campground includes two restaurants, three pools, several guest kitchens, two supermarkets, and tennis courts. Upon waking to more rain, I walked directly to reservation and extended my stay. Three hours later, not only did the rain stop, but the sky opened up to a glorious blue, with a casual breeze off the sea. I only needed my passport back from registration to depart. Yet I couldn’t convince the person at registration that I didn’t care about a refund of $6, and she insisted I had to wait until 3 pm for the right person to refund my money. We went back and forth, and while my Spanish is better than any other language, I failed to make my point. When she turned away, I leaned over the counter, grabbed my passport, and told her I was leaving. She turned around to say, “You can’t leave, I have your …” and then realized what I had done. The gate at the campground was down, but then again, bike. She was quite upset, I wondered for the next half hour if someone would come after me.

No such issues in Bulgaria, even cautioning to be careful, as the roads were slippery from the rain. I had found on the GPS what I expected, a secondary road next to the highway. Those roads, like seeming everything else in Bulgaria, under construction. Packed gravel, but I’ve done much worse. Four km down the highway, I realized I’d left a shirt, socks, and towel hanging on a clothesline a neighbor had let me use. I hate going backwards, but my gear list is really tight  – I don’t have spare gear, and what gear I have is specialized. Back I went.

On the road again, the rain never stopped. The secondary road degraded into mud, brakes and fenders finally jamming with brown goo. After digging them clean twice, I admitted defeat, and hacked my way back to the semi-adjacent highway. No shoulder, but the drivers in Bulgaria are as considerate as Turkey, trucks passing far enough away to not even disturb my ride. While nerve wracking, the remained of the trip was damp but uneventful. Even forewarned that the signage was poor, a neighbor finally redirected me. You can clearly read the sign above the doorbell.

A room for the night included hosing my bike down, and strewing at least some of my gear across the room to dry.

Likely another highway day tomorrow, before I can retreat from the coast, and start towards the Danube. Going to try to rebuild the front brakes tomorrow as well – still jamming.

I awoke in my hospital bed refreshed and ready for the new day. I packed up, and managed to be on the road by 8:30. Everyone keeps telling me to be safe, and where am I more safe than the abandoned 5th floor of a working hospital?

The path today was clearly not all down, but despite appearances I lost elevation. Mountain roads also follow the contours, making everything climbable, leaving me a lot more confident than the other day where I kept having to walk!

Traded notes today with a German couple  I met going the other way. They started in April, and hope to be done by October. Americans measure their vacations in days. Europeans normally measure vacation in weeks, although Europeans cyclists measure their cycle tour in months. No comparison with the Aussies tho, who tend to measure in years. I once met a couple from Australia who were on year seven.

Camped at what can best be described as a lousy campground on the Black Sea. Since my expectations were more in-line with the 5 star camping from Costa Brava in Spain, the campground is especially disappointing. Given the forecast for tomorrow (rain) even moreso. However, this spot is within a few km of two castles and a historical dig (all in different directions of course).

Tomorrow’s plan includes an early and unloaded start, and visit the local points of interest before checkout time at 1 pm. That plan also means I hopefully find out exactly what type of rain before I pack up and depart. The forecast is 60% rain, with likelihood spread out across the day. Scattered showers I will likely cycle through. A steady rain will cause me to stay put!

The spacing of everything in Bulgaria  leads me to believe I’m likely to get caught in the rain with no shelter. One minus to the less developed countries is the limited number of bus stops. Bus stops make great temporary rain shelters, and are spaced at frequent intervals,  so at the leading edge of the storm you can race to the next bus stop, and have 2nd (or 3rd) lunch while you wait out the storm.

This beetle was an iridescent purple, but trying hard not to be photographed:

I spend tonight in a Bulgarian hospital.

This morning I realized that I need to spend more time mapping my route. My map of Turkey is too large a scale, and clearly outdated. The map has topo information, but I need to pay better attention. There’s also rain in the forecast for Thurs. I spent an hour this morning looking at my likely next few days on the map, and decided to change plans, and catch a bus directly to Bulgaria. The cyclists yesterday recommended that difficult route, but a bus to the top of the mountain range gives me a day of rest, and the next day mostly downhill.

I’m regularly asked what do since I don’t speak the language. I cycled to the bus station, and asked about a bus. Some back and forth (which included calling his son who spoke limited English) led to learning the bus was small, and the bicycle and luggage would not fit. *Sigh*  Someone then went outside to take a close look at the bike, realized the luggage was detachable, and gestured that I should remove the panniers and front tire; the bus would arrive in 30 minutes. While I waited, the staff brought me tea, then water, then more tea!

Four people unloaded and reloaded the bus to fit my bike, waved me goodbye, and I was on my way (not quite certain how to bike would suffer the ride). The only remaining problem was I had to change buses. As everyone helped unload my bike, I pulled out my map and pointed to the final destination. They grabbed my panniers, and led me to the other side of the station.

Upon realizing i didn’t have a ticket, someone led me to another part of the station to confirm the plan in English, and then back where I started to buy the ticket. The next bus didn’t have room, but the one 15 minutes later did. Three passport checks later at the Bulgarian border, and I find myself in the border town. The ticket would have taken me much farther, but this is a cycling trip after all. I adjusted the front brakes (again) but the bike survived the trip.

When I went out for dinner tonight, I spent a while trying to figure out what was the restaurant; in Turkey and Bulgaria, abandoned building and restaurant don’t look all that different. I asked for a menu, but they had questions about what I wanted. So the cook gestured me to the kitchen, and pointed at ingredients for yes and no.

I don’t find language an insurmountable barrier. I’ve used Google Translate a few times, but from the response the translations are not very good.

No vacancies in the local hotel, but they referred me to the hospital nearby, where I could stay for the night. Tomorrow should be 70+ km, and camping on the Black Sea.

Not much interesting to say today. Only 60 km, averaging 4 kph (walking) to 48 kph. The selected route directly crosses the hills instead of following the contours, making the route really challenging. Not a lot of shade, and while I’ve avoided extreme sunburn, I am slowly basting.

By early afternoon I was beat, and didn’t really want to go on. So I didn’t. I found a field and took a nap under a tree. An hour later I felt much better. Still walking up hills, but still moving forward.

I stopped for water at a cafe today, and a family asked me to come over and share their lunch with them. I need to add to the FAQ, “How old are you?” It’s about the 3rd question asked each encounter, and then they all tell me their ages.

I’m in a hotel again, having wandered the city a bit to select a hotel off the beaten path figuring it would cost less. It’s nicer than the last one, and at $11.50 how can I not stay?

I hit this wall every trip; it just takes a while for everything to kick in. The miles, hills, sunburn, and some knee twinges are getting to me, so tomorrow is planned to be a rest day, with a bus trip to Edirne. I’ve also picked up some high-calorie snacks which should help, moving forward.

I’ve heard everything on the Internet is more interesting with cats. Dogs are everywhere in the countryside, but in the cities cats rule here.

I’m in a hotel some 90 km from Istanbul with lousy but working wireless. I left this morning with the plan to stay at a petrol station (which on-line indicated had grassy areas where cyclists could camp). Since I wasn’t quite sure where I’d end up, or the best way to keep water in supply, I carried an extra 1.5 liters of water. I go through a lot of water, and camping in a field is hard when out of water.

The plan for cycling out of Istanbul worked perfectly until it didn’t. Following the water of the Golden Horn north left me on a boardwalk most of the way, and Sunday morning traffic was light. Flipping the GPS on and off to save power, and using the cycle computer to track distances, I readily navigated the twists to get me to the old highway that parallels the new one.

I normally refuse to buy bottled water, but by that point I’d drained two water bottles, was headed onto a rural route, and a liter of bottled water is 1 Turkish Lira (about 37 cents) at a gas station (I’m told because otherwise people would drink the water, and they shouldn’t!).

There’s a certain satisfaction looking up and seeing the new highway, while wandering down the old, unused highway. Suddenly the old highway was barricaded with huge mounts of dirt. I’m on a bike. Now I’m REALLY on an abandoned highway. Each time the old highway gets near the new highway, new barricades. Still on a bike. The sections near the new highway had lorries moving about, covering me in grime, but other than that, traffic-free. Finally I emerged to one interchange with a) a huge number of trucks moving in and out, and b) a guard shack on the entrance to the old highway.

The two guards were friendly. They gave me watermelon (which is big in Turkey). They gave me water. They asked all sorts of typical bicycle tourist questions. They were also quite sure I wasn’t going past them to the site of the new airport under construction. So, onto the highway. A lot of traffic, but a reasonable shoulder. Until the highway went from four lanes to two, with traffic redirected to the other side, the lanes divided with semi-permanent traffic cones.

Now the aggravating thing was the side of the highway I wasn’t on looked great; all the traffic is redirected, the road is paved and marked, but still under construction, so closed. I tried to convince the person redirecting traffic to let me (poor cyclist that I am) stay on that side, but he wasn’t having any of it.

Cycling that way is brutal, right up against a guard rail with no median and narrow lanes. If I sideswipe the rail, it jerks the bike around (and worse case snags a pannier, suddenly stopping the bike). Traffic whips by, mostly dump trucks used for the construction. I can’t get water, as I need both hands on the handlebars. I have to focus intently on the road in front of me to make sure I don’t hit an obstacle, yet have enough time to veer gently away from debris. I’m cycling fast, because I don’t want to be there. I can’t stop, because there’s nowhere to go. Even if I did want to stop, I don’t normally have the strength to lift my bike over two sets of guard rails, and I’m exhausted. At that point a tractor trailer carrying a wide load veered left, crushing a dozen or so of the barriers.

I said previously that the Turks are crazy and aggressive drivers. Perhaps more importantly, they’re awesome. That truck went right around me, giving me plenty of room, and screw the other consequences. The drivers often beep as they pass me to let me know I’m there, and they pass me with more room than I’m ever given in the US. Today I completely missed two cars in a roundabout, and for them missing me was just par for the course. I can’t imagine driving here, because I don’t have the awareness and reflexes of the local drivers.

I see a cyclist ahead, walking up the OTHER (empty) side. I called to him, quickly gestured, and he rushed over and helped me lift the bike across the rail. Blissful calm.

He offered me water, and we got to talking. Aydin is an advocate (attorney), with a wife and three kids. Aydin’s bicycle had a flat tire, so he was walking to the nearest petrol station (and I didn’t have the ability to inflate his Schaeder tire). I decided walking was good for me too. There’s some puzzling involved with the air pump at the station, and by the time his tire is inflated we’ve attracted a crowd of adults and kids. Someone bought us watermelon at a nearby vendor. While eating that, someone else brought us tomatoes, a cucumber, and peppers. Despite my protestations, they filled my handlebar bag.

During the hottest part of the day, I without doubt still needed a break. Aydin invited me to lunch across the street, and with his English, and liberal use of Google Translate, we talked back and forth before going our separate ways. I refilled my water bottles at the restaurant, and Aydin bought my lunch!

The highway is four lanes again, and I’m overtaken by two cyclists (whose names I’ve forgotten), one unladen, the other towing a trailer. They themselves had run into each other earlier as friends of friends. They offered me water, and were taken by my Litespeed bicycle (taking selfies with me and my bike as we cycled along, and showing me photos of other Litespeeds). I’m not sure  why, but they must have said “Litespeed” a dozen times. Litespeed or not, they were wildly faster than I was, and we were going our separate ways after stopping at a petrol station. One of them was returning that day  all the way  to Istanbul, where he too had started that morning (very depressing).

It was then I found out that while the Internet says you can camp at petrol stations, someone neglected to tell the attendants at petrol stations. The two cyclists had said the closest hotel was 10 km completely out of my way. I hate backtracking, and especially hate 10 km more when I’m beat. At that point, at the second petrol station, I saw a sign for the Kassandra Hotel. And here I am. It’s not the Ritz, but for $18 it’s adequate. I’ve had a shower and washed everything.

Because I’m not camping, tomorrow I’ll start with a full load of water.

Fuel? The store was right where it was supposed to be, on the way to Asia.

So I biked to Asia today.That’s right. Add another continent. Biked across Europe and part of Asia. Oh yeah.

Okay, so I had to take the ferry to get across. There is a bridge, and I spent a while (and a fair amount of vertical) trying to find a way onto the bridge. And while I’m convinced there’s pedestrian access across somehow, I couldn’t find a way onto the bridge that didn’t likely include my demise. So, prudence over valor. There were other cyclists on the ferry, so perhaps not the worst choice.
Europe:

Made it to the Spice bazaar today:

It’s so crowded (and narrow in places) that the goods are transported by porters with handcarts.  All very Turkish-looking stuff. In boxes labeled “Made in China”.

I forgot to mention yesterday that the “selfie stick” business is booming in Istanbul. They’re for sale on more than every street corner, and business is brisk. I don’t want to say they’ve revolutionized tourism photos , because that typically implies improvement, but they’re in use by significant numbers of tourists. In, of course, boxes labeled made in China.

I miss Marnie, but I’m glad she’s not here cycling in Istanbul. I’ve cycled in capital cities across Europe (and Asia!), and while I’m not entirely happy cycling in heavy traffic, and try to avoid it, I’m comfortable enough on a bike I can usually deal with it. You just have to learn which type of crazy driving it is, and just go with the flow. The traffic in Istanbul is more aggressive than most, likely  Class IV+/V. That said, the drivers are similar to those in the rest of Europe (and Asia!), and generally give cyclists as wide a berth as they can. The brakes definitely work.

Tomorrow I change back from semi-pedestrian to full-on cycle tourist, and leave Istanbul. Cycling out of big cities is challenging as well. A number of blogs talk about how not to cycle in and out of Istanbul, and a couple make various recommendations as to the best route (as well as comments that cycling the bridge into Asia is completely forbidden, so more reinforcement for that decision). I think I’ve found  better route,  assuming GPS help across a couple of critical junctures.

The overall path to Edirne will take a few days across relatively remote landscape.  At least I have fuel, and the forecast is good. I’ll likely drop off the radar for a while. Rumors of my demise will likely be exaggerated.

Thirty minutes tinkering with the brakes this morning when not by the side of a highway with traffic whizzing by, and I think I have the front brake problem resolved. I’m tempted to replace the cable, but the brakes work now, and there’s always the chance I’ll make it worse. I’ll field test tomorrow.

I spent the day aggressively wandering the city (which I believe is a behavior Marnie has previously referred to as a “death march”). Along the way I visited:
Hagia Sophia
A supermarket
The Grand Bazaar
The Aquaduct of Valens
Topkapi Palace

The Basilica Cistern

Sultanahmed Mosque (originally thought it was closed, due to advice intended to have me buy a carpet).

Random thoughts:
Rarely do my navigational skills fail me, but the streets of Istanbul certainly put them through their paces. Most of the streets are unmarked, and follow a less than true path. More that once today I resorted to a compass to confirm my way. However, by the end of the day I could find my way around (and back to the hostel!). I did find that when I wander randomly, I wander randomly the same way, so keep ending up following similar paths.

Central Istanbul is really clean. There’s the dirt that comes with cobblestones, but almost no street litter. All the more amazing is that there are few trash receptacles. The most interesting of the trash receptacles look kind of like a laundry chute. The trash that goes into those chutes disappears under the street somewhere. Once you get to the edges of central historical area, the streets look more like you’d expect.

I read warnings on line about wild dogs in Turkey. I haven’t seen any in Istanbul (only a few dogs with tags punched in their ears). I think all the wild/stray cats here have eaten them. Yes, that’s right Amy; I’m still not eaten.

If you ever need to buy a carpet, Istanbul is the place. If you ever don’t need to buy a carpet, Istanbul is still the place to buy a carpet. If you stand still for a moment looking puzzled (a look I’ve perfected) someone is certain to ask what you’re looking for. “Where are you from?” “I like the US”. “Are you from California?”  “The |attraction| you want to see is closed. You should buy a carpet. I have a shop right around the corner.” “Everyone needs  carpet.” I did this at least 12 times today.

The Grand Bazaar deserves the name. It’s mostly covered, and huge. City streets, all indoors. Appears to be divided into sections: mostly jewelry, mostly hardware, mostly lingerie, etc. Except for carpet stores- there’s always a carpet store nearby. Big enough to wander in and get lost.  Reminds me of the vendor section of a really crowded Con. Times 1000.

Tomorrow’s plan? Bike to Asia.  Find a camping store (fuel for the stove). All the camping stores appear to be right next to each other. On the way to Asia. Serendipity.

Finally in Toronto, I estimated from the planned arrival time in Istanbul that it would take me four hours or so to deplane, unpack, re-pack, and get to the hostel, and made a reservation at a local hostel with an arrival time of 2 pm. Really, it’s not my fault I was late.

Boarding went as expected, and as everyone settled in I realized I had the row to myself! How cool is that on an international flight!  Looks like they filled the plane in from the front, and there are random empty seats around me, but on my own row I have glorious room.

I failed to mention earlier that my flight from RDU > Toronto the toilets weren’t working, but it was a short enough flight to not be an issue.

But the new plane had another issue – the front window was not working. I would normally think a window not working means you can’t see out (important for my pilot!) but in this case it’s some sort of emergency exit, and the functionality is mandatory. Why I don’t know; I certainly don’t want the pilot to get out, and even so there’s an actual door like three feet from the cockpit. An hour later, we learn that the door is out of alignment, the repairs are estimated to take another two hours, and we’re changing planes.

I intentionally picked a flight with only one plane change, to decrease the chance of my bike being lost, and to decrease the wear and tear on the bike. But whatever. It’s not like the box hasn’t already had a hard life with a trip to Ireland and even a trip to Poland (where the box got to be on a different flight and different day *sigh*).

So we deplane (Am I the only one that can hear Tattoo here?). After about 30 minutes, we board again … onto the same plane. Their top-notch mechanics have solved the problem, or they’ve decided in case of emergency to sacrifice the pilot. Either way, we’re underway again.

Except we’re not. A thunderstorm has rolled in, and the storm cell is to take 30 minutes to pass through. Once the storm hits the plane, I can see why, as the storm rages about, at least I’m dry (a happy circumstance I’m sure I won’t always get to repeat this trip). After the storm, we wait another half hour, because the ground crew isn’t allowed on the field when there’s been a lightning strike within five miles, within 10 minutes.

Eventually we’re Istanbul-bound, again. After an appropriately lactose-free meal, I settle in for the quality sleep one can only get on an airplane. My rest is next disturbed by another announcement from the crew. All of the lavatories on the plane have failed (apparently an Air Canada thing?), and we’re diverting to Copenhagen for an emergency landing where our crackerjack ground crew will have the mundane task of unclogging the toilets. Airplane plumbers. Who knew?

The stop is uneventful (if a bit pungent) and again we’re underway. Current estimated arrival time now four hours from the initial plan, and 15 minutes after my planned arrival at the hostel. At this point maybe I’ll get to the hostel before dark. 

We spend another 30 minutes on the runway in Istanbul waiting for a terminal, where we a) get to exit from the rear of the plane,  and b) get to hike a long way to get to Customs. My on-line Visa fur Turkey felt of little consequence, and given you could buy one before we went to Customs. . . It explains why no one had asked me about my visa previously.

Once through Customs, we get to one of the customary cycle touring adventures – where’s the bicycle. Airport staff delight in making sure my tour starts right off with adventure. Bikes are usually classified as oversize luggage, so they don’t arrive with the usual luggage. The delivery point for oversize luggage is usually hidden somewhere else in the airport. Just to make sure I don’t get complacent,  at least once I’ve had the bike wedged onto the carousel.

In this case I asked where oversize luggage would arrive, and was told  “right here”. However, I’ve learned to be skeptical. I was at the other side of the baggage claim from where luggage was to show up. And moderately close to the correct carousel I was also told, “right here”. Since the bike is usually the last thing off the plane, long after my fellow travelers have claimed their luggage and moved on, that leaves me plenty of time in this case to wander back and forth between three different locations, checking for when (nay if) my bike arrives.   

That’s assuming the bike shows up at all. In my flight home from Madrid > Paris > home (with a three day layover in Paris) the bike never did show up. An issue usually, as the bike box also has my gear. Fortunately my friend Cecile talked her way through Customs to find me, and then offered me a place to stay while I was in Paris, overlooking the Arc de Triomphe. The bike never did show up in Paris, it showed up at home three weeks later.

In this case the bike showed up at location #2, apparently none the worse for wear. A lot of assembly and repacking later, I wandered through Customs and the airport, and prepared to leave the airport.

I dread leaving airports. It’s usually my first time in a while fully loaded (and regardless I’ve been on  plane for hours). Airport traffic is intense. I’m unfamiliar with the locals and the traffic patterns. All roads from an airport do their very best to put you on an interstate. None of which conducive to a comforting start. There’s usually a secondary road somewhere, but well-hidden.

In Amsterdam I was standing there, atop the bike, trying to find the best way to leave. I’d just had a cop in no uncertain terms tell me I couldn’t go forward. Then I saw a cyclist riding through a field! Bicycle paths are notoriously hard to see where not adjacent to a road, especially if the grass around it has any length at all. Well, that day I lifted my bike over the fence, walked across the field, and found the perfect  path that lead all the way into downtown Amsterdam.

Not so much today. I spoke with a traffic cop, who expressed a fair amount of skepticism (and I think recommended a cab), before referring me onto a path that was the E-80. Hrm. I’ve learned that one place I really don’t want be (and generally am not allowed to be) is the European equivalent of an interstate, and that’s what he was recommending.

So I didn’t listen to him. Some casting about finally found a route onto a secondary highway. As I prepared to pull out, I applied my front brakes, and they locked up. I pulled out my toolkit. The real problem was that I could see the cause of the issue, but had no idea why it didn’t always cause the brakes to lock up. I don’t know exactly how my front brakes work, but the mechanics of a bike are usually basic. After some tinkering, I finally pulled the entire assembly apart, moved things about, and put them back together. They’re still not working right, but it’s improved.

The route into Istanbul was slow. My GPS couldn’t actually find the address of the hostel, so I had to wander in the general direction. Traffic was heavy, but there was (mostly) a bike path once I got closer to the center of town. Then of course the bike path turned into more a pedestrian path. A norm also appears to be running your scooter or even full motorcycle down the same path, in either direction. When I thought I was close, I asked at an information Point, and got directions; I was within two blocks.

Tomorrow’s tasks: Tinker a bit more with the brakes, find a bike shop, and play pedestrian tourist.

But hey, I’m in Istanbul.

 

It will be hard for some to believe that I actually plan on occasion. In part it appears that I don’t ever because even when I do it doesn’t always work out. I think part if not all of my ability to deal with crisis comes from repeated exposure to my own folly. I’m fairly sure that’s why I prefer to figure out what needs to be done, and then wing it without a long detailed plan – because the plan never survives.

I’ve been reviewing gear and packing for the trip on and off for about four weeks, and it’s a part of the trip I enjoy. Over the years I’ve developed a detailed packing list, revised a bit every trip, providing a checklist to be sure I have everything. As I’ve worked through things, I’ve made a number of purchases in that period, getting the most of my free 1 month Amazon Prime trial. But it seems like no matter how much preparatory packing I do, in the end it comes down to the wire.

Only a few days ago I realized the seams on my Countdown rain jacket (the driest garment I’ve ever owned) were delaminating. I paid a lot for that jacket, but I’ve had it through multiple tours (5?). That jacket is my go-to jacket for just about everything, and I’ve gotten my money’s worth, but that doesn’t resolve the more immediate problem. The jacket is old enough that it’s out of production, and whatever I buy is going to have to come from Amazon (Prime, so I can be fairly certain it will arrive on time). I of course realized this at 1 am on Sunday morning (with my flight Wed. morning). By 3 am I’ve found and ordered a mostly-identical jacket (the Gore Bikewear ALP-X 2.0) that looks like the same jacket two generations later. Not quite the color I want, but given the circumstance, good enough! It arrived on Monday, two days before the flight. No time or field trials, so we’ll just have to see. Some features look improved, others regressed. Time will tell.

That’s an example well within the norm. Bailing plan to try to repair the old jacket, but not necessary, so great!

I started the final packing run through at about 8 pm the night before the flight. I’m using my incredibly detailed packing list, and everything has been previously identified, reviewed, and is just sitting in the middle of the dining room floor.

Andrew dropped by for an hour or so to pick up a spare set of panniers, a handlebar bag, and briefly discuss required gear. Andrew is trekking in the Swiss Alps in early August. He’s always talked about trying cycle touring, so we’re going to connect in Geneva and cycle for a few days before he returns home.  He’s got my detailed list, so not much left to cover there.

So back to packing, using the list. There’s all sorts of little bundles of things on the floor that I’ve packed in the prior weeks. I know the first aid kit has 4 cue-tips, the kitchen kit has a spare 6 matches in addition to the lighter, the bath kit has 4 razors with the handle cut in half. It’s now just a matter of packing everything into the (correct) panniers.

The last thing to pack is normally the tool kit. I use the tool kit to disassemble the bike, which should assure I will have all the necessary tools at the other end. With the front wheel off, my special “protect the front forks” device is in place (to help avoid the front forks being crushed):

With the handle bars turned sideways, I have only to remove the pedals. Now I’m a little leery of removing pedals. First, because I always remember one of the pedals has the threads reversed, and secondly, because before one trip to England the wrench slipped and I sliced my hand open on the chainring, with only time for me to tape it up, but not enough time to have an actual medical professional look at it, making the first few days a combination of touring and medical care.

Marnie helps out by confirming on-line which way the threads of the pedals go, and the left pedal won’t come off. She rechecks on-line just in case. Yes, the direction is correct, and the pedal STILL WON’T COME OFF. I finally abandon the cause after about a half-hour and move on to the right pedal. I’m getting a bit frustrated, and Marnie saves me by reminding me that I’m about to try the right pedal the wrong way. The right pedal won’t come off either! Now I’ve got a problem, as i can’t ship the bike with the pedals on, and the allen wrench has that look they get just before they strip. What I need it a 15 mm wrench. 14 I have. 16 I have. No 15mm. By this point it’s 11:30 pm, so it’s off to Wal-mart, with Marnie along for support.

By this point I’m rambling through options. I need to be at the airport at 8 am, when most stores open. We check the bike store nearby, which doesn’t open until 10 am. Can I fly out, and have Marnie ship the bike the next day? Can I rebuild the box extra wide, and hope the airline will be accommodating? (Hah! BTW). Will I have to change my flight date?

We get to Wal-mart to find that the local one is not 24 hours anymore, and it closes at midnight. And it’s midnight. Marnie finds another Wal-mart in Morrisville, so that’s next. She also determines that Home Depot opens at 6 am. We arrive at the Morrisville Wal-mart, and I find allen keys and a set of wrenches including 15mm. While I’m doing that, Marnie is checking the bike section, and finds an actual pedal wrench (long enough to provide good leverage). We bring everything home.

15 minutes later, with Marnie holding the bike steady, the pedal wrench handily removed the pedals, and Marnie heads to bed. I manage to get everything crammed into the available space (2000 + 1600+400 cu3), and most everything packed in with the bike in the box, all tied back to the bike in case the box comes open. By 3:30 am I’m finally abed.

Now I’m at the airport, waiting for my flight. Have I done the final route planning I was gong to yesterday? The hostel reservation?  Let’s hope that all works out. But that’s now a matter for another day.

Well, I’m at the Toronto airport, I have a hostel reservation, and I’m moving forward.