Touring - Do you have a favourite little memory from a tour?

I'm not really talking about the big ones like conquering the Alps or reaching the other end of the great wall of China, but rather just the little ones which make you smile when you're stuck in traffic taking the kids to school or doing the washing up.
Mine is halfway between Koblenz and Cochem on the Mosel, on a long, rainy curve in the road. My friend and I were soaked to the skin, and had been since breakfast. There was nothing on the road except the occasional truck washing us in spray as it passed. We'd seen two or three cyclists all day, which, compared with the five hundred or so we must have seen the day before, made the world feel a strange, lonely, desolate place. What's more, the two or three we had seen had all been much earlier on. We'd seen none now for about three hours. And then, out of the rain, in the distance, we saw a cyclist coming the other way. He was low down, working against the weather, bending to it. He was fully loaded, four panniers, and he was travelling, working the big ring. As he neared, he looked up, saw us, two fellow travellers, two dripping, sodden Englishmen pushing through the rain. He smiled grimmly and raised a hand in salutation. It was a moment. We were brothers of the elements, brothers of the road. He nodded as he flashed past. No words. And then he was Gone.

Like I said, not a great moment in the history of cycling, but for me, a treasure of a moment.

What's yours?

When a cougar chased an elk through our camp in the Gila National Forest, New Mexico. GDMBR Summer 2010.

Pulled into a camp ground in Oregon. the camp host and I got into a conversation turned out we had the same birthday Dec 18 when I got into the biker site 2 others i had been camping with for the past few days also had the same birthday Dec 18 that was quite a coincidence
catfish

milking goats at a warmshower's host farm in Texas.

The rain stopped just as I got a flat tire, and held off until I was finished changing it.

I'm not really talking about the big ones like conquering the Alps or reaching the other end of the great wall of China, but rather just the little ones which make you smile when you're stuck in traffic taking the kids to school or doing the washing up.
Mine is halfway between Koblenz and Cochem on the Mosel, on a long, rainy curve in the road. My friend and I were soaked to the skin, and had been since breakfast. There was nothing on the road except the occasional truck washing us in spray as it passed. We'd seen two or three cyclists all day, which, compared with the five hundred or so we must have seen the day before, made the world feel a strange, lonely, desolate place. What's more, the two or three we had seen had all been much earlier on. We'd seen none now for about three hours. And then, out of the rain, in the distance, we saw a cyclist coming the other way. He was low down, working against the weather, bending to it. He was fully loaded, four panniers, and he was travelling, working the big ring. As he neared, he looked up, saw us, two fellow travellers, two dripping, sodden Englishmen pushing through the rain. He smiled grimmly and raised a hand in salutation. It was a moment. We were brothers of the elements, brothers of the road. He nodded as he flashed past. No words. And then he was Gone.

Like I said, not a great moment in the history of cycling, but for me, a treasure of a moment.

What's yours?

good story pacing.

Here's a true story I posted a few years ago:

On a bicycle tour through rural Ohio Amish country I was confronted by a rapidly approaching thunderstorm. Looking around for some kind of temporary shelter, I came upon an old country church with a large overhanging porch. Pushing my heavily loaded bike through the loose gravel, I reached the overhang just as the storm cut loose. From the looks of things there seemed to be nobody around for miles. And although the church was most likely locked, I was quite content to wait out the storm under the overhang.

After about half an hour, I hear the "clippity clop", "clippity clop" of horses hooves approaching on the wet, narrow, one lane road. An Amishman in a buggy came into view, tearing through the gravel almost flipping the buggy as he went flying to the rear of the church.

Uh oh, I thought, he's probably the caretaker going in the back door, grabbing the shotgun only to appear through the front door and either shoot me or at the very least, threaten to shoot me for trespassing.

At that point, I was not sure what to do. I could get the hell out of there fast before he had a chance to unlock the front door or I could stand my ground hoping I could convince him that I was a harmless cyclist simply trying to keep dry. I chose the latter.

Fifteen minutes pass, then twenty. Finally I hear the "clippity clop", "clippity clop" sound again, this time from the other side of the church. Around the corner he comes, traveling much slower this time and keeping the buggy on four wheels. I prepare my story and rub my worn out rabbit's foot one last time. Spotting me, he flashes a big, silly, grin and waves like I was an old neighbor. I nervously return the wave as he "clippity clops" down the road and out of sight.

Another fifteen minutes go by and the rain begins to subside, my curiosity is so powerful by now I leave my bike leaning on the rail and tiptoe around the church to investigate. What could he have been doing back there that required a full speed, slide to a stop entry, and a normal walking speed exit? He obviously wasn't as concerned with me as I had feared. Something related to the Amish world perhaps? Something that I may never fully understand? I was aiming to solve the riddle.

Peeping carefully around the corner of the quirky little church, I had my answer.

Twenty yards behind the church was an outhouse!

For the rest of the tour my fermenting brain was filled with vivid images of an old Amishman hopping cross-legged from a steaming buggy to a tumbledown outhouse barely in the nick of time.

Montreal - NYC last year. Leaving Montreal.. Bridge over St Lawrence river.. Passing over this island.. There's a park that is used as a concert venue. It was Mayhem Fest 2010.. Brutal guitar riffing, very loud. Drums were also very nicely miked.. Super clear, loud, live heavy metal to send us off on our way.. We were within earshot of anything discernible for maybe five minutes, as we kept riding.. But, took me back to high school. Nice little memory.. Another funny one, but not sure it would be appropriate to bring it up on a public forum ;)

Breakfast at the Otis Cafe.

here's a true story i posted a few years ago...

He he he, funny. I kinda got a hint half way through though :) Sorry, nothing to share though, my touring career has barely started.

I was on a week-long tour last year, on my fifth day riding north through Vermont. I was riding with two friends of mine along a fairly sleepy state route, north towards Lake St. Catherine State park. It was overcast and drizzly all day, hell of a headwind, and getting a little chilly. Finally the sun broke through on the east side of the valley, and it illuminated one side of the mountain range. It lit up like gold, in stark contrast to the dark green hills on the other side of the valley. Sheep dotted the foothills just below the mountains, and we rode in silence for a good twenty minutes or so, just taking it all in; the smells, the warmth, the serene picture of Vermont dairyland, laid out in front of us. No cars, no wind, just the slight buzzing of our chains.

That was my "zen" moment of bike touring, the moment I keep trying to get back.

On a day tour we stopped at a little train station restaurant for a lunch... My buddy ordered a chicken sandwich and I ordered a chicken salad. After placing our order we both took turns washing up ... then waited what seemed like 20 minutes. We were just starting to wonder where our food was in this empty restaurant, when a young man quickly entered a side door with a Wal-mart bag with what was obviously our chicken

Mike

Lounging in my little tent, just after dark at Bruce Crossing, MI, watching late-night RVers pull in for the night. Little nothing town with some donation-based campsites and a hot shower. That I would pick this as 'a moment' may seem odd, but it's a very vivid and pleasant memory, because I felt at the moment I was where I should be. The tiny patch of ground my tent took up felt like home to me, and despite the different modes of transportation, I was still among fellow travelers. Later that night the wind picked up and brought in an impressive thunderstorm, and finally convinced that my tent would hold back the rain, I wholeheartedly enjoyed the show of lightening.

In Belgium, as a Veteran, myself, I was the guest of an employee
of the British Commission on War Graves , when in Ypres.

So I spent a few days in the miles of graveyards of the soldiers of that war..
where in Ypres they have a ceremony for the soldiers lost there , every evening .

http://www.lastpost.be/


My host was also a big cycling fan , so we took a side trip to the Kimmelburg ,
a steep shortish cobbled hill so devilish, that the course of Ghent to Wevelgem, race
via the coast and back, typically loop around to send the racers over it twice.

Lying in my tent in a state park, listening to a raccoon just outside my tent. Everything was tied up out of reach but he sure was making a racket with something. Two times I tried to poke my head out to see what he was up to, but both times he heard me and was out of sight. The third time I went into uber stealth mode. I moved super slowly, unzipped the tent bit by bit, eased my head out, slowly raised my new LED headlamp and pointed it at the noise, then flicked it on. Unfortunately I was unfamiliar with the new light and it was pointed at my face. I laughed myself to sleep.

One was almost 30 years ago when my girlfriend and I were biking across WA state over the 5 mountains passes on Route 20. I bought a watermelon to eat when we had gone 'a bit'. Forgot it was there until we got to the top. It was tasty though.
Another was when I was touring from Seattle to Duluth, MN. I was in North Dakota in August with the sun setting and start talking to a women walking on the road. She had me come in for the night, got her husband off the couch and made me a nice dinner and breakfast the next morning. Those farmers can be a real nice bunch (course, I grew up on a small farm so that helped).

While solo riding down the Alaskan Hwy at days end, east of Laird Hotsprings at the top of British Columbia, I came upon an Outfitter-Packers stopping place with cabins. As I had been warned about black bear attacks in this area, and it was also grizzly country, I really hoped this stopping place was open. I introduced myself, and asked if I might rent a cabin. The gentleman advised me that they weren't open yet this year, but he would see what he could do. To my tremendous surprise, not only did he open up a cabin, he and his wife hooked up a warm shower for me, and invited me to their home for supper. What a supper! Huge moose steaks, large variety of vegetables, hot buns, pie, and peaches. We enjoyed a very pleasant evening chatting and swapping stories until 10 pm. The next morning, they cooked me a large breakfast, packed me a fine lunch with cinnamon buns and fruit, and only charged me 25 dollars for the whole affair. We had quite a argument until they finally allowed me to pay another 20 dollars. There are some real nice people on this earth....I'll never forget that couple as long as I live.

Been fun reading these post. Great thread idea.

I've got so many, but here's one:

A partner and I were touring in rural Mississippi couple of years ago in January. It was noon, we were tired, and I was about out of water. Miles from any services. Heard an engine and looked back to find a 4 wheeler chasing after us. A man on the front, woman on the back, rifle in a rack. Jack and Rita were curious to know about a couple of fellows riding on 'their' road on loaded bicycles. One thing led to another and soon we were at their nice home, visiting and being fed and watered. Made our day.

In Belgium, as a Veteran, myself, I was the guest of an employee
of the British Commission on War Graves
nice fiets...my grandfather lost a leg at Paschendale, Belgium in 1917, but his baby brother was killed not far from there in sept 44 I think, he was in his mid to late 20s by then and was a medic. Ive used the Commonwealth War Graves Commission to find out where he is buried (dont have name in my head right now though)

One of my interesting memories was in France, a day of diff events leading to others. I was leaving Bordeaux, but left late as when leaving the city, i stumbled across a "wine harvest" street festival (this was late aug or early sept) with cool wine barrel races and fun stuff, friendly people etc. Took photos for a few hours and yakked with people.

Finally left late, so I arrived late in the day in some village outskirts at what I thought was a campground in an old abandoned football field (soccer for you Yanks) but realized right away I had ridden into a gypsy camp. Was surrounded by kids and people, old ladies right out of a hollywood casting call for "gypsy old lady", kids starting to go through my stuff, all talking in Romany. I didnt want to be taken for a Frenchman (local relations not being great I did know between gypsies and townspeople) so I spoke in a mix of French and Spanish to the "head guy" who came up and got the kids to stop going through my stuff.

Spoke for a while, mixing languages, as they spoke Spanish too, all the while the old gypsy ladies talking about me to each other and laughing....odd experience. They invited me to stay the night and to eat with them, but it was just one of those weird situations where I did not feel comfortable so later I continued on in search of the next village with a municipal camping. They did seem intrigued that I was on my own on my bike and had been going for 4 weeks, and some asked if I had ridden my bike "from Canada"--I will never know how it would have been spending the night there--right from the beginning I spoke very matter-of-a-factly with them and the head guys offer seemed geniuine, but at teh same time, we were way out of sight from the road, and I did think that if my passport got stolen or my bike, it would have been pretty darn tricky for me to get home. So in the end, I said I needed to get food in the village, and ended up listening to the one side of my little voice that said, naw...find somewhere else to sleep.

Ended up biking in the dark, got a car lift by a family who I asked directions, to a deserted campground with only the "caretaker" guys there in a small camp trailer, had supper with them and drank wine until 1am or something and crawled into my tent quite soused.

I do still wonder sometimes how it would have gone with les gitanes or gypsies.... Oh well, cant go back in time but it was an interesting day and one that could only come from being on a bike.

Decending down a steep hill after a very long tiring climb in Tasmania, I was fully loaded and clocked a speed of 76.4 klm an hour in which I thought I heard a noise from the back of my bike so I took a quick glimpse in the handlebar mirrow and I saw my girlfriend in a full "tour de france" downhill position, she then dissappeared from my mirror and over took me and clocked the big 80.0 klm an hour number. I have to this day never hit that speed and always tell this story to anyone when they ask what its like touring with your partner.
Her Surly was fully loaded front and back and she was on her 4th week of her first bicycle tourer.................................I married that woman...........and she still continues to beat on those insane down hills ;-)

good story pacing.

Thanks for that, much appreciated.

Here's a true story I posted a few years ago:

On a bicycle tour through rural Ohio Amish country I was confronted by a rapidly approaching thunderstorm. Looking around for some kind of temporary shelter, I came upon an old country church with a large overhanging porch. Pushing my heavily loaded bike through the loose gravel, I reached the overhang just as the storm cut loose. From the looks of things there seemed to be nobody around for miles. And although the church was most likely locked, I was quite content to wait out the storm under the overhang.

After about half an hour, I hear the "clippity clop", "clippity clop" of horses hooves approaching on the wet, narrow, one lane road. An Amishman in a buggy came into view, tearing through the gravel almost flipping the buggy as he went flying to the rear of the church.

Uh oh, I thought, he's probably the caretaker going in the back door, grabbing the shotgun only to appear through the front door and either shoot me or at the very least, threaten to shoot me for trespassing.

At that point, I was not sure what to do. I could get the hell out of there fast before he had a chance to unlock the front door or I could stand my ground hoping I could convince him that I was a harmless cyclist simply trying to keep dry. I chose the latter.

Fifteen minutes pass, then twenty. Finally I hear the "clippity clop", "clippity clop" sound again, this time from the other side of the church. Around the corner he comes, traveling much slower this time and keeping the buggy on four wheels. I prepare my story and rub my worn out rabbit's foot one last time. Spotting me, he flashes a big, silly, grin and waves like I was an old neighbor. I nervously return the wave as he "clippity clops" down the road and out of sight.

Another fifteen minutes go by and the rain begins to subside, my curiosity is so powerful by now I leave my bike leaning on the rail and tiptoe around the church to investigate. What could he have been doing back there that required a full speed, slide to a stop entry, and a normal walking speed exit? He obviously wasn't as concerned with me as I had feared. Something related to the Amish world perhaps? Something that I may never fully understand? I was aiming to solve the riddle.

Peeping carefully around the corner of the quirky little church, I had my answer.

Twenty yards behind the church was an outhouse!

For the rest of the tour my fermenting brain was filled with vivid images of an old Amishman hopping cross-legged from a steaming buggy to a tumbledown outhouse barely in the nick of time.

That's a great story. Had me chuckling to myself.

There are so may to pick from even though I only have done a few tours. I thought about this a while and finally picked one.

Initially I figured it had to be one of the many times when a stranger offered some hospitality or kindness unsolicited. The thing is that while wonderful there were so many that individual ones don't stand out too much.

Next I thought maybe some grand vista, like looking down on Grand Prismatic in Yellowstone, riding out of the tunnel in Yosemite to see the valley, or coming around a bend and seeing the first "giant" on the trail of 100 giants to name a few. The thing is that there were so many of them that again one particular one does not stand out enough to pick it.

Sitting in a wild hot spring with my daughter in the middle of a tour on my birthday had to be a candidate as well.

That said, I will go with the moment on the last day of our Trans America when a van full of family and friends passed us I and I saw it was painted up with congratulatory messages. Seeing the messages at a time when my emotions were already at a peak, brought tears to my eyes and I still choke up when I think about it several years later.

http://i95.photobucket.com/albums/l137/elduderino12/Bilde_048.jpg

I got given these by a local in Norway and then I later found the perfect spot to pitch my tent and drink them:)

1. Eating breakfast with a buddy in Poe, IN and talkng to a local farmer who used to be the mayor of the town. The farmer eventually left to go work his fields. When we asked for our check a few minutes later, the waitress told us the farmer had paid for our meals.

2. A few miles into Yellowstone N.P. a car pulled along side of me. I heard someone say "Hey, Dave." Startled, I turned my head and saw in the front passenger seat a woman who had been on our group cross country tour the year before. She and her boyfriend pulled over and we chatted. I asked her how she had recognized me. "Look at you. You are wearing the same clothes I saw you in all last summer." I was.

3. Sitting in the screened shelter at the American Legion Park in Wisdom, MT at 9 p.m. reading "Jude the Obscure" by natural light while a large moon was setting behind the snow-capped Bitteroot Mountains and thinking about what the three people I had met on the ride into town were missing in their motel rooms.

4. Getting flashed by a local, drunk woman in Staggers bar in Monroeville, IN one late morning. She was nice enough to repeat the gesture for my camera. I would post the photo but I am sure doing so would violate the rules of this forum.

5. The few hours spent in the company of a local townswoman in Isle, MN. To quote Forest Gump: "That's all I've got to say about that."

I was on a week-long tour last year, on my fifth day riding north through Vermont. I was riding with two friends of mine along a fairly sleepy state route, north towards Lake St. Catherine State park. It was overcast and drizzly all day, hell of a headwind, and getting a little chilly. Finally the sun broke through on the east side of the valley, and it illuminated one side of the mountain range. It lit up like gold, in stark contrast to the dark green hills on the other side of the valley. Sheep dotted the foothills just below the mountains, and we rode in silence for a good twenty minutes or so, just taking it all in; the smells, the warmth, the serene picture of Vermont dairyland, laid out in front of us. No cars, no wind, just the slight buzzing of our chains.

That was my "zen" moment of bike touring, the moment I keep trying to get back.

Beautiful description. I can picture the moment.

In Belgium, as a Veteran, myself, I was the guest of an employee
of the British Commission on War Graves , when in Ypres.

So I spent a few days in the miles of graveyards of the soldiers of that war..
where in Ypres they have a ceremony for the soldiers lost there , every evening .

http://www.lastpost.be/


My host was also a big cycling fan , so we took a side trip to the Kimmelburg ,
a steep shortish cobbled hill so devilish, that the course of Ghent to Wevelgem, race
via the coast and back, typically loop around to send the racers over it twice.

Been to Ypres a few times My grandfather fought at Passendale in WW1. Tyne Cott is a beautiful yet solemn place, and such cold wonder at all those names on the Gate into Ypres (for some reason the board won't accept it's correct name - keeps asterisking it out).

But the Kimmelburg as well. Now that is a memory.

Just like to say, I've enjoyed all the comments so far. Every one. It's really nice travelling over the world with you, being let in on those wonderful moments. It's a great way to end a long day.

In the early 90's I was touring down the coast of California with my brother and stopped in at the Pismo Beach hiker biker camp ground to find something really amazing... It was a Wedding Party. The couple just got married on the beach that morning and all their frinends were there with bikes. They were starting their honeymoon tour on a tandam. A cannondale tandam if I can remember correctly. Anyway, my brother and I partied with our the new found friends late into the night. It was really nice since they had a couple of beer kegs which we gladly donated some cash to help with the cause. On a bike tour you never know what to expect and its always the unexpected that you remember to most!
Liam

Just like to say, I've enjoyed all the comments so far. Every one. It's really nice travelling over the world with you, being let in on those wonderful moments. It's a great way to end a long day.

well put, I agree.

cheers

I'm always amazed by what animals go through to do their thing.

Woodpeckers spending hours to drill a hole with their head,then fly around and find an accorn,then custom fit the hole to fit and drive it home.Day after day.Then having to defend them against the squirrels.

How do they remember where they all are? Do woodpeckers get headaches? or do they feel strange when their head doesn't hurt?

Squirrels can do an obstacle course for a peanut that looks like it defies gravity.

I believe there is no obstacle too tough for a racoon,it's just more practice.Their little hands work just like ours!

Cows will win any stare-down contest entered.I like cows but,I'm sorry,their STUPID! Any animal that will run up to you and let you club it....there lucky they taste good!

Bluebully lizards that come out in the morning sun to get warmed up,doing push-ups on the rocks.

Watching seagulls fly around in circles and get so high in the air,they disappear.What do they do up there?

Why is it that it's almost always the male birds that have to look nice,decorate the place and act crazy to attract attention? Male humans have only mastered one of these feats.....

Crazy animals.....

One one local tour we camped in the city park in Delta, CO (with permission). The grass was soft and thick where we set up our tent. We soon found out why. The sprinklers came on a 11pm, 2 am and 5 am. All we could do was laugh. We found out the tent was quite waterproof.

I was on my second tour down the Oregon Coast. I had met some people and we were riding together, as happens on that route. We had met some others and were becoming friends with them as well. One of these "casual acquaintances" (I'll call him Bob because I can't remember his name) mentioned to Charles that it was his birthday. On the day's ride into Nehalem Bay Charles picked up a pie and others bought a couple bottles of wine. We were going to have a surprise birthday party for Bob in the Hiker/Biker site where we were all heading.

We got to the campground, set up camp, and awaited the arrival of Bob. He didn't show. We waited until after dinner. No Bob. It was decided that the party must go on; all we needed was a Bob. Someone went to one of the other sites and found a guy from New Zealand. They asked him if he would like to be Bob so we could give him a birthday party. He said sure. He thought we were a little crazy, but so was he and he liked it! We ended up having a great birthday party for our fill-in Bob (we didn't call him anything else.)

Later we found out that the real Bob had decided to treat himself to a night in a motel with a pool and hot tub for his birthday.

stand in Bob, thats cute.

Some memories come to mind.

We cycled into a town on Xmas Day and found the campsite. The owner insisted we join their extended family and friends for Xmas lunch out in the sun. We were told not to supply anything, just ourselves. Very pleasant day.

We were trying to find the camp in a small town on the outskirts of Grenoble. After a few attempts to understand the local's instructions (not understanding French), I spotted a police car and waved to them. The woman officer understood me and told us to follow her. We sped after her on our bikes for around 2km to the camp gates. Excellent service!

Pulling in to a campground in St Marie Englise and having a guy rush up to us and call us by name, saying he hadn't seen us for ages. Just before I was going to admit not knowing who he was, he admitted he was drinking with a couple we had met a couple of days earlier, and when they saw us pull in, decided to play a prank on us. We were sure fooled. It led to a pleasant afternoon of drinks with them in their mobile home.

Cycling in Belgium on a warm summers day, cresting a broad rise and travelling among fields of wild flowers in the warm breeze, and thinking 'this is what cycle touring is all about'.

My heritage is Welsh. A few years ago I did a self-guided tour of Ireland and Wales lasting 7 weeks. Did the 'Grand Tour' of Irleand before embarking to Wales on the Stennaline ferry out of Dublin. Landing in Holyhead, Wales the dis-embarking was like a jailbreak w/t cars, trucks, passengers, etc. all trying to get through customs at once. The customs official just waived me through and I was on my way across Angelsey Island. After a few miles on the main A5 road I made a left and accessed a less traveled parallel 'B' road. Went on for about 5 miles and finally stopped for some water and a snack. As I gazed across the island to the Snowden mountains off in the distance I was suddenly impacted by the sacrifices my forefathers made in the 1600s to give themselves and ultimately me a chance at a better life.

It was the first time I'd had a chance to reflect. The emotion broke and I was reduced to tears out in the middle of rural Wales w/nothing around except rolling grass-covered hills and some cattle. It was a life changing moment and I did nothing to stop it simply closing my eyes and weeping until the feelings had run out. Unbeknownst to me as I was standing there straddling my bike w/my eyes closed the cattle had gathered just over the fence...must've been 50 head just looking at me w/what seemed like genuine concern. None of them were chewing or bending down to take a bite of grass. They were just all looking at me...finally, I just laughed and told them I was ok it was just my 1st time in Wales and I was Welsh. That seemed to satisfy them and they went back to eating and chewing.

A very strange experience. And while on the same part of the ride I passed a butcher shop w/a sign that read 'Owen J. Jones, Proprietor'. I took a picture of it and went inside to tell the owner he and my son shared a name. We talked for a while and in sharing re my tour I'd told him I was staying at the Youth Hostel in Bangor. He said he knew the caretakers and gave me a fully sectioned/dressed chicken to cook that night! When I tried to pay him he insisted I just remember him to my son when I got back to the States and that would be payment enough.

There were many more memories that tour, my first, but those 2 stand out for some reason.

Riding down the gravel path beside the Caen Hill Locks was pretty good. Crossing the Severn Bridge by bike was also a buzz.

On my first long tour (1400 mi), on the third evening, I stopped at a private campground with laundry and showers. Had no soap, so the elderly lady owner (her house was about 250 yds away) went and got some of her's for me. I asked if there were any eateries still open, so she walked back to her house again, phoned around, and then came back to tell me which one was still open if I hurry. Came back to finish my laundry at 10:30 pm and she shows up again, asking me to join her and her husband for tea and crumpets. All I wanted was a good rest, but she was such a nice lady, I consented, finally leaving for my tent an hour later. Her husband warned me about a very steep, long hill just north of the campsite, and offered to take me, my bike, and gear, to the top early the next morning. I politely declined his generous offer, explaining it would be cheating. All this kindness from those 2 old folks for a 15 dollar shower, laundry, and camping fee....there's some real nice people in this world.

One of the things I like most about bike touring is meeting people. As such, I try to get hosted as much as possible.

A few years ago, I was riding from Portland, OR to Jackson, WY on the ACA TransAmerica Trail for the first bit. I managed to find a couchsurfing host in John Day and as I pulled into town, called to talk with Rose, my host. She had a whispery voice that I could barely hear and I was concerned about who I might find on the other end.

When I arrived, I was surprised to find an attractive woman, about my age, living in a beautiful house with her friend Martha visiting. Both were unattached, attentive, and interesting to spend time with. It seemed I'd stumbled onto the old man bike tourist's dream. I was invited to spend a second day with Rose and Martha, which I did, and even longer, if I wanted. It was an appealing offer but if I'd spent any more time there, things might have gotten out of hand for a married man.

When ever I think of them, I can't help but smile.

http://www.biketouringtips.com/Graphics/Oregon-Wyoming.2009/7.16.09/IMG_0365.JPG

Ray

We were cycling through Lucia on our way to Big Sur. An expensive sports car "scorched" through while we
were enjoying a cold drink from the store. A CHP man was in the store and ran out. We talked for a few minutes and then he got in his car to pursue, lights blazing.
A couple of days later on our way back we see a CHP car on the side of the road.
As soon as he saw us he waved, poked his head out the window, and said, "got 'em".

raybo, what a babe she is!

Eating some amazing triple creme cheese from Cowgirl Creamery, fruit preserve, baguette, landjaeger, and a bottle of Cab while relaxing under redwoods in Samuel P Taylor State Park on a tour from CA/OR border to SF in August 2010. Amazing food, amazing scenery, amazing tour!

http://i52.tinypic.com/2it4o07.jpg

I have posted this story before but it is just one of those moments that bears repeating.

I was in Cremona, Italy which is a fantastic friendly little town. My touring buddy and I woke up in the morning and made our way to the piazza. We were looking for directions to a bike path north.

We quickly learned one thing. Never ask more than one Italian directions. :) We asked and soon an argument ensued, which seemed to be a trend in asking a group directions. :)

Finally a young police officer came over and told us he knew where it was and that he could show us. I fully expected for him to jump in the nearby van. Instead he jump on his motorcycle! We stuck ride on this tail, twisting and turning through the streets of Creamona. A police escort out of town! :)

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We quickly learned one thing. Never ask more than one Italian directions. :) We asked and soon an argument ensued, which seemed to be a trend in asking a group directions. :)

LOL! My farther's side of the family is Italian and I spent some time there riding and bumming around by train. So true.

LOL! My farther's side of the family is Italian and I spent some time there riding and bumming around by train. So true.

What amazed me is how angry they got with one another. They were actually screaming at one another! :) Later we lost the trail and stopped to ask an old couple working in the garden, the location of the trail. Same thing, big argument. Poor guy probably went to bed with no la cena. :)

I love these stories (Italian ones) they certainly fuel the stereotypes of Italian hyperbole and general theatrics that certainly is evident in the politics and what we see in F1 with Ferrari sometimes. Makes me chuckle hearing how simple directions can turn into La Traviata....Santa Maria!

I've posted this story before:

Several years back I was biking in SW Utah with a friend, near Bryce Canyon National Park. A van with California tags passed us and pulled over to the shoulder. A couple got out and flagged us down. They told us that their son had biked across the USA the previous year, and that he had told them how hospitable people had been to him on his trip. When they saw us, they immediately decided that they wanted to do something nice for us because strangers had treated their son so well. The man took out his wallet and took two $10 bills out and tried to hand them to us, saying that the money was for our dinner that night (in small towns in SW Utah at that time, you could eat dinner for $10). We both protested and told him we weren't as down and out as we may have outwardly appeared. When we wouldn't take his money, the man folded the bills over and shoved them in a pocket in my friend's jacket (my windbreaker had no pockets). They then jumped into their van and drove off.

Hehe...
My daughter, at the time a Jr. at University and I took a little 225 mile tour last summer.

My best memory from a tour? Last Friday she said to me, "Dad, I have July 2-6 available, wanna take a tour?"

A year ago our tour from my perspective was to offer her something I enjoy in hopes she would as well. Go tour.

I love these stories (Italian ones) they certainly fuel the stereotypes of Italian hyperbole and general theatrics that certainly is evident in the politics and what we see in F1 with Ferrari sometimes. Makes me chuckle hearing how simple directions can turn into La Traviata....Santa Maria!

I was riding into Somma Lombardo, heading to our hotel to fly out the next day. I kept hearing this man's voice, it seemed to keep getting louder but as I looked around no one was there. Soon a car with a man on a cell phone passed. It was his voice I heard for the past few minutes. I could still hear him nearly a block away! He was mad at someone.

But nothing is more beautiful than an angry Italian woman. They turn anger into an art form. It truly is a sight to behold.