It turns out that blog writing and bike touring are uncomfortable bedfellows. When I embarked on my cross-country ride of the USA, I thought a conservative pace of 50 miles per day would leave me plenty of time for sitting by streams and typing away on my chromebook.
The reality turned out to be quite different. While 50 miles per day may be quite modest on a road bike with full logistical support (baggage carrying, food provision and navigation), touring solo presents a different array of challenges. The bike is heavy laden and far from aerodynamic. Obstacles that I would have tossed my road bike over like a feather become Herculean feats of strength. Cross-winds hit the panniers and wobble them unnervingly. Headwinds slow progress to a crawl. Food, shelter and navigational blunders stack up the daily mileage.
Something has to give, and so for the next few months I will be publishing extracts from my daily journal of the ride. I hope one day to give a fuller account, when I find myself somewhere warm and dry and connected to the grid for more than a day at a time. For now, here is a glimpse of the road less travelled:
Day 1 – Wednesday 11th May
I touch down in JFK Airport, New York at 7pm local time. My body clock thinks it’s midnight, and I have been on the road for 21 hours.
I receive a grilling at immigration, the border officers suspicious of my stated intention to ride thousands of miles west on a push bike. “Why the hell would anyone want to do that?” is the general gist. After answering an endless barrage of questions, ranging from my paternity to finances to general sanity, they let me in.
My bike is waiting for me inside a cardboard box. I assemble it outside the airport before a gawking group of spectators, load it down with my bags, and board the metro into Queens. It’s getting dark, so I fit my lights and cycle to my Airbnb. I collapse on a sofa into sleep.
Day 2 – Thursday 12th May
My first night in New York is not restful. Someone has managed to jam the lock on the bathroom door, and my host wakes us up to try and open it. I insert a coat hanger into a small aperture, while she jams an alarmingly large knife into the frame. Eventually it springs open, and we share a brief moment of shared elation. Then, I go back to sleep.
Cycling through Queens is not pleasant. The streets follow a grid system, and there are endless intersections with red lights that prevent me from sustaining any kind of speed. The cars are too big and too noisy for my jetlagged brain.
All this fades into insignificance as I cross the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan. The skyscrapers glint in majestic afternoon sunshine, and I feel as though I am riding through a film set or perhaps a dream.
Day 3 – Friday 13th May
I wake in the night to find there is a leak in the roof of my AirBnb. There are also rats crawling through the walls. I sigh and find a bin to catch the water. I guess that’s how you stay in a private room in Upper West Side Manhattan for less than $100 per night.
At the American museum of natural history, I see the T-rex skeleton that inspired the Jurassic Park logo. Then it’s over to a boutique bakery for an everything bagel with chive cream cheese and pastrami smoked salmon.
Sucked into the tourist scene, I walk through central park in the rain, arrive in Times Square at dusk, and eat a Philly Cheesesteak from a street vendor. Broadway beckons, and I present my ticket for the Book of Mormon. The humour is crude, subtle as a sledgehammer and oh so American.
Day 4 – Saturday 14th May
Through Airbnb experiences, I find myself touring a bunch of speakeasy bars. My companions are three native New Yorkers, three Australian marketing executives and a Portuguese couple. I’m not sure what the punchline is, but the cocktails are fabulous. And ruinous to my bank balance.
That night, the leak in my room returns with a vengeance. I am woken by drips in several new places, and watch with morbid fascination as an entire ceiling panel buckles. Rubble rains down onto the bed where I was sleeping a few minutes before. A couple more cocktails and I reckon I’d have been underneath it.
Day 5 – Sunday 15th May
After airport style security, I board a boat bound for Liberty island. At first, I feel nothing, and question why I have come halfway round the world to look at a bunch of inanimate objects.
But then I stand beneath Lady Liberty, gazing into those great green eyes. I see the golden torch catch the sunlight, and I think how she must have appeared to those hopeful generations of immigrants who braved the treacherous voyage in search of a newer world. What promise she must have held, the first sight of a vast continent where a person could reinvent themselves as anything they wanted to be.
I feel subdued as I board the ship again and watch the statue recede to the size of a hazy green matchstick. We have only just become acquainted, yet our farewell is most probably final.