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Daniel's Assessment

By Daniel Lins - 2008-11-29

I’m lounging here in my friend’s house, satisfied and with a full belly. I have warm blankets, a soft couch, and a puppy sleeping with his head on my feet.

Outside, the snow is falling heavily, coating everything in white. It reminds me of where I’ll be in 10 days: Ushuaia, Argentina, at the southern tip of the world. It’s summer there now, but still cold enough to sustain advancing glaciers and Magellan penguins.

The cold outside reminds me of our shakedown ride last week; our first introduction to the actual hardships we’ll face on the road. Mike, Dan, and I drove to Washington DC to visit my sister, and start the C&O canal TowPath toward Cumberland, MD. It’s a 180 mile dirt/rock path along the Potomac River and C&O canal. In the old days, men and oxen traversed this path, pulling barges upstream through a resourceful system of locks and ropes.

This SHAKEDOWN ride is just that. We’re bringing all of our gear and riding like we would be in South America. The purpose is not to test ourselves so much as our gear. We’re trying to cut down on any extra weight that we don’t need, and make sure to identify what we still need to get. Chris couldn’t make it on this one due to his solar panel research experiment.

We set out late in the morning, full of a hearty breakfast and bright spirits. Our panniers are packed to bursting, and our two-wheeled trailer is pulling smoothly. Mike takes it for the first stretch. Dan puts his iPod buds in and we roll out.

Tooling through town, we change our route twice to avoid major traffic. Some local bikers give us advice on how to beat the dangerous drivers. Before even getting to the towpath, we meet so many people interested in our trip that it is hard for me to focus on the road. I stop to talk to bums, hikers, runners, and even some local diplomats who dole out advice on South American culture.

On the cobblestone walkway in Georgetown, we meet a local college girl walking her disabled bike to the shop. The dudes in the shop make her wait, but she’s got a meeting to catch. Our hero instincts kick in, and we want to save the day. She takes the bike outside and we fix the tire free of charge. It’s a quick fix, and we’re on our way, sad to say goodbye.

We make only 15 miles the first day, due to our late start and talking to so many people. We camp near a hydroelectric dam, and use our Eureka 4 season tent for the first time. A beaver trail is nearby, and we check out some of the trees they’ve felled. The Jetboil camp stoves work like a dream. Our Arkel panniers (like backpacks that hook onto the racks on our bikes) hold up nicely. The construction is super-durable, solid, and easy to take off the bike. The PacSafe locks are fast to use, and the mesh net fits over our gear. So far, so good.

We stay up late and sneak to the edge of the dam, talking quietly about life and our future adventures. The next day, it rains and we use our Showers Pass cycling rainsuits. They work like a charm, but I need to buy a long-sleeve wool t-shirt for the cold.

It rains and rains. All the next day, too. We slog through the mud, wet leaves, puddles, and fallen sticks. No one else is crazy enough to be on the trail. Dan and Mike are real troopers, slogging through the cold rain like thhttp://www.oneroadsouth.com/content/images/158.jpg!ey are old hats. We laugh in the face of adversity. "We are adventure cyclists! This is the life we have chosen!"

The second night, we sleep at a public campsite. Everything is soaked, and we work hard to stay warm. Our synthetic and wool clothes keep us warm even when they are wet, especially when we have the wind-breaking outer shell to hold in the body heat. The campsite is deserted, and doesn’t seem like many people pass that way. We feel safe.

I learned in my Wilderness Medical training that the body needs a combination of 4 things to stay warm: Shelter, Food, Water, and Exercise. If it lacks any one of these, it can make up for it by increasing the other three, to a point. We’re lacking in shelter (wet clothes), so we make up for it by eating more and exercising.

Before bed, we discuss what we should do with our gear. We have this dilema: Keep it as dry as possible under an overhanging roof, or lock it up in the rain right next to the tent. The problem is that the roof is out of sight of the tent, 150 yards away. In the end, we are split and some of us lock it to a post under the awning while others lock it to a tree next to the tent.

We wake to find some of our gear stolen! The stuff under the overhang, out of sight of the tent, had been pilfered! They even tried to steal the bike and the gear which were locked to the post! They tried to cut the cable lock, but were unsuccessful (thanks PacSafe!). So they just stole some food, utensils, one stove, and our fuel canisters.

We fume for a while and then get on the road, glad that they didn’t get more. It is a good learning experience: not to trust any area, no matter how safe it seems.

The next day, Dan’s front wheel starts having problems. Throughout the day, he’d been adjusting the breaks; learning to tweak them for best performance. He’s already on his way to being an expert bike mechanic. We take a look at the wheel, and realize it’s not the breaks at all. The dust cover (also seals out water) on the bearing had rubbed against the fork and the soft aluminum metal was shearing away. It was a mess. We didn’t have the tools necessary to even get the thing off.

We limped along to the White’s Ferry, near Leesburg, VA. The proprietor of the ferry let us us a Pipe Wrench(!) to get the cover off, and we spent 2.5 hours shaving down the aluminum with a pocketknife to make it ridable again. With daylight blown, we limped to a pavilion to sleep out of the rain.

In the middle of the night, we see a light coming toward us. The guys are in their sleeping bags, so I wake them up.

"Look alive guys. We’ve got company!" I whisper. They wake up groggily, and groan their irritation. I walk over to the light, and the man jumps back. His German Shepherd growls menacingly, and I back away. "Gosh! I thought you was ghosts!"

"Sorry about that sir, we’re just camping out for the night."

"Oh, that’s good. I was just coming out for a smoke. I got my backup here, though." He indicates the dog.

"Yessir, I wouldn’t want to meet him alone in the dark." I say, respecting his dog.

More back-and-forth, and he graciously gives us permission to use the pavilion. I’m glad I don’t have to get the guys out of their sleeping bags to move out into the rain.

The following day, we make camp as quickly as possible, getting out of there before anyone sees us. We bike through the rain again, this time on the road. We decide to take the quick way home, via the highways instead of the tortuous route along the river. The hard road surface means we kick up to 15-20 miles per hour instead of 6-11 mph on the trails.

The only problems are the dangerous DC drivers and the lack of a shoulder to ride on. We quickly learn to ride as a unit; turning, changing lanes, accelerating and slowing together. The steep downhills and the grueling uphills strike a harsh contrast as we fight to keep cars from running us off the road and as we bear the middle fingers and dirty looks from impatient drivers.

After a quick 50 mile race, we arrive at Esther’s, and shower to warm up. That night, we take her out to a nice dinner of pizza and catch the latest James Bond 007 flic. Job well done.

Final Assessment

It couldn’t have been a better shakedown ride. It was tough, but we learned so much due to the rain and harsh conditions. Very valuable. And, it was good to set our expectations for the ride ahead. I had been worrying that Mike and Dan may not fully appreciate how much suffering to expect on the road, because all of our training so far has been peachy. But this ride was a good introduction to the ‘comforts’ of the road that we’ll come to embrace.

Peace,

Daniel