Posts
Not perfect...
...but I've definitely had practice.
December of 2015, while staying with two hosts through warmshowers.org, our conversation inspired my posit of the three most important things to pack on any bike tour: flexibility, ingenuity, and resilience. My hosts had a penchant for touring in the non First World sections of the the globe, and they agreed emphatically.
Of note, my planning for that particular tour was riding a salvaged bike from my uncle's house in northern New Jersey to Philadelphia after Thanksgiving, selling said bike on the street, which reimbursed half my bus ticket south, visiting a friend in Ashfield, busing across to visit another friend in Santa Barbara, then figuring out how to transport myself to visit mom and sis in Seattle. I figured out a buying a 1989 Stumpjumper to pull the kiddie trailer my friend's wife refused to let him use with their son amungst California drivers, and then eventually figured out the original bottom bracket grease from 1989 didn't appreciate multiple days of rain. We were, however, just resilient enough to make it!
This past weekend, my first tour of the year was far less extravagant. I'd registered for a educational talk about woodland bees that was just north of Pittsfield, or just over sixty miles away, with a climb over the Berkshires in the way. I wasn't going to make the 9:30AM start leaving that morning, so I packed a minimalist camping set-up, happy that the forecast no longer predicted rain for that night. Ten miles from home, I realized my gear was even more minimal than I'd intended. I'd forgotten my piece of Tyvek for a ground cloth and emergency rain repellant.
I have had some practice with this, so it didn't take any new ingenuity to figure I'd grab a sheet of cardboard as a substitute when I passed through the commercial section of Pittsfield, but maybe I should add a bit of luck as a fourth valuable asset for touring. Part way over Route 9, after eating an early dinner at the rest area that was half closed for storing road construction equipment, I used their rollaway dumpster to dispose the food scented wrapper from my sandwich, lest it inspire any ursine investigations that night. And like any trash bear, I was opportunistic and scavenged a section of discarded plastic lumber wrap to substitute for my forgotten Tyvek.
With a little more luck, I finished the ride to Pittsfield under only a few flecks of rain, but over roads that had received a thorough dousing before my arrival. The lower half of my legs were just damp, not soaked, when I rolled into theo outskirts of town and located the rail trail that would take me north. The trail even had a building with bathrooms where I joined it, but alas, they were just a tease, locked.
A couple miles north, however, those bathrooms were open, and there was plenty of proximate woods for sleeping near that option of morning comfort. Morning, and even dark, however, were still some time away, so I continued pedaling north to see all my options, and that ride included passing under a road after a half mile. There's a reason hobos hang out under bridges. It's dry! Infrastructure noted, I continued north a couple miles to where Google had recommended leaving the trail, but the option of truly dry sleep even if the forecast proved inaccurate drew me back to the the wooded hillside above the underpass, figure I'd have an easy escape if rain threatened soaking.
Woods are great. They offered screening privacy, and hemlocks in particular, prevent a lot of rain from ever reaching the ground, so I plunked myself under the small copse of those evergreens, confirming the leaves were less wet there from the earlier rain. Even the ratty remains of an old sweatshirt weren't soaked and served as an excellent pillow tucked UNDER my Tyvek substitute.
Well rested, I woke and strolled, morning constitutional style, back down to the toilets, happy as a pig in---oh, no, awful analogy. Back south, that put me in the zone that Google Maps defined as a busy area, but even before I learned that the Berkshire Mall was mostly shuttered, I figured I'd be fine early Saturday morning taking the more direct route through there. Plus, I was so early, walking speed seemed an ideal option for covering the distance in the more than ample time I had. I even had plenty of time to photograph a collapse of capitalism.
Continuing to our host's property, I also had plenty of time to walk the section of old, unpaved road that the instructions had cautioned us against. Good thing about bikes, they push just fine through areas that might leave a car stuck, and I was able to bypass all but a couple miles of Route 7, determining that for my return trip in the afternoon, it was 100% rideable.
Even with a short side exploration of the Sugarloaf Trail, I was still the first non-organizer to arrive, but happily not so early as to be a nuisance. The program? It was great. I like time in the woods with other people who like time in the woods, especially when many of them have knowledge beyond mine to share. Extra bonus, the head speaker was super excited about the worms I plucked out of bear scat with a stick, and I was excited to learn the dark segments of their length was actually digesting poo visible through their translucent bodies. Nature is neat, even if "neat" isn't entirely true for all its meanings.
The program was scheduled to end at 3, and after my excusing myself just a little sooner than most of the group, I was back on my bike by 3:30. Forgetting it was not a work day for most, I was trying to ride through the edge of Pittsfield on my route before 5PM. And my route, that was different for my trip home. My friend, and Beast Coast Running grand poobah, Amy had organized a Sunday group run at Chesterfield Gorge in anticipation of the race there in two weeks time. Usually, I wouldn't make the long ride for such a run, but when it's half way home, yup, I'll happily camp another night and not feel any rush to make it home.
Bonus, Route 143, the road to Chesterfield from Pittsfield, is much less trafficked than Route 9, and it that is even more true when there is an indirect detour part way and cars use alternatives to the alternative route. On a bike, on a Saturday, I was confident I could walk through any construction, and the temperature was plenty warm for fording a stream should any bridge no longer exist. It was all fine. Even better than fine, it was super quiet, and I saw less than five cars in ten miles.
Through the detour section, I was clued into an alternative, more direct route on a dirt road by the signs forbidding everyone who'd started using the bypass during the construction detour.
Ahh, I enjoyed that, and after a fulfilling day, I settled into my sleeping bag by the burble of the Westfield River, waking with plenty of time to wander the gorge before the rest of the runners arrived. That scavenged trash ground cloth? I may even trim the edges more cleanly with a pair of scissors.
Comments
Post a Comment