Travel Reference
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by going in the wrong direction altogether, west toward the coast to dip a tire symbol-
ically in the Pacific. I've had this last one in mind all along, but one cool thing about a
trip like this is it doesn't really matter. It'll be new and eye-opening whatever I choose.
On the other hand, it's the beginning: Is any part of a journey—or a narrative—more
important?
I've been impressed by—flattered and touched by, too—the encouragement and gen-
erosity that the majority of readers have expressed. I've had offers of meals and lodging
in Washington, Idaho, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois, Ohio, West Virginia, and Maine,
and I hereby acknowledge that I am not too proud to ignore such hospitality (though
Maine isn't exactly on the itinerary). Several readers have already alerted me to cross-
country cyclists already on the road, among them a group of students from St. Paul's
School in New Hampshire, who are riding to raise money for the rehabilitation of
wounded American soldiers, and a woman who on her blog is keeping a body count of
animal roadkill. I've been advised to carry Good & Plenty candy (licorice is reputedly
therapeutic for acid reflux) and to take full advantage of technology.
“Loneliness is the biggest problem,” David Goodrich, a 58-year-old cyclist wrote to
me from Sumpter, Oregon, 3,800 miles into an east-west cross country trip that he's also
blogging about. “Stay in touch through these remarkable gadgets. You will have a down
place; use your friends to help you get over it.”
Pretty sound counsel, I'd say.
Of course, I'm hearing from others, too, those who simply know better than I
do—about bicycling and bicycles, certainly, but about life in general as well. From them
I'm already hearing snorts of derision.
Like most people, I think, I tend to be more wounded by criticism than buoyed by
praise, and I'm nervous enough as it is. “You're a total Fred,” one guy wrote, scorning
my new bike as badly thought through, foolishly designed, and overpriced. I don't know
what a Fred is, but surely not anything good.
An online debate has ensued regarding my choice of straight-across handlebars; many
reader/riders seem to think it a big mistake that I'll regret when I face the inevitable
headwinds or when my wrists and shoulders stiffen because I won't have the alternative
handholds and riding positions offered by drop bars. Also, they say, I haven't trained
enough, I haven't planned my route adequately, I bought the wrong saddle, and my rear
cassette is too small; a larger one, with more cogs that would make for easier pedaling
uphill, a grannier granny gear, is something I'm going to wish I had. (Actually, I'm pretty
sure that's true.)
A certain amount of resentment has accrued to the cost of the bike, and this has pissed
me of a bit. I'm convinced most of the attitude has come from people who own cars—I
