Pennsylvania Bike Tour: One week, 600 miles

I’m taking vacation next week and doing a week-long bike tour through Pennsylvania.  600 miles in 7 days.  We’re starting from Philly, riding out to the Appalachian mountains, and then looping back to end in New York City.  We’ll be following the BicyclePA Routes (S, G, and V) most of the time, camping along the way, and staying a night in State College, PA, the home of Penn State University — the 2009 #1 party school.  Lemme see ya handz pahty peepl!

Biking Home: Haines City, FL to Largo, FL

Stats: 95.33 miles, 15.7 avg, 6 hours

This was the home stretch.  I had ~100 miles to get home and surprise my mom.

My South African friends, Scott and Ross, wanted to meet me in Plant City to bike with me the rest of the way home.  I started from Haines City where my CouchSurfing host, Bekah, dropped me off.  I hauled ass ~30 miles -  I remember I was really killing it that morning!

It was awesome meeting up with Ross and Scott.  And their dad took my gear in his van so my bike would be a little lighter on the ride.  The pedestrian bridge across the Tampa Bay was closed so we had to take the Gandy.  The speed limit is pretty high, but the shoulder was wide, so it wasn’t a problem.

We made it to Scott’s house without many problems.  I picked up my gear and then the three of us rode down the Pinellas Trail towards my mom’s house.

It was strange biking on those really familiar roads, returning home.  It felt only half-real.  I pulled up into my mom’s driveway, a few minutes before she would probably be home.  I got a key from the neighbor — he was shocked to see me — and opened up the garage.  Just after I took this photo (using a ladder as a tripod), I saw my mom’s car coming around the corner.  I ran inside and tried to hide to surprise her, but she was too quick.  I saw her face as the car pulled in.  She was amazed.  She couldn’t believe I was home.  It was a great moment for both of us.

My mom and I celebrated by going out for a humble pizza party.  It was great to be back, and not have to think about biking any more.

My sister, Eleanor, knew when I was coming home, and she kept the secret from my mom.  But Eleanor wanted to surprise her too.  Eleanor arrived the next day.  I picked her up from the airport and then we drove over to pick up mom from work.  Eleanor hid in the trunk …

SURPRISE!!

Cycling through a Storm: Orlando Airport to Poinciana

It was about 140 miles from Orlando to Tampa.  I was lucky to find a CouchSurfing host that wasn’t too far off my route, about 40 miles from the airport.  I was arriving into Orlando at 2pm, and it took me a couple hours to get all situated and get my bike re-assembled.  I left at 4pm, and I had to bike 40 miles to my host, Bekah.  There was a really dark cloud looming.

Biking on the ramps to exit the airport was bizarre.

My cell phone had been robbed months before in Guatemala, and I never got it replaced because it wasn’t necessary.  But now that I was back in the US, I stopped at the AT&T store to get a new phone, as I was probably eligible for a free one.  But the AT&T rep told me I wasn’t.  She gave me a SIM card though!

There was a Subway in the same plaza.  Mmmm meatball marinara.  It had been a while.  I took it to eat it at the tables outside.  There were some homeless people hanging out there.  The lady was friendly, and worked up to asking me for a sandwich.  I was feeling great, really pumped by this returning-home adventure, so I handed her my credit card and told her she could get whatever she wanted.  She came out with a sandwich and an extra large drink.  Dumbass buying a huge drink when you can just get refills.  It’s not like she was rushing off anywhere.  I figured that’s why she’s homeless.  Bad decisions like these.

The rain started pouring when I was at Subway.  I figured it would just be about an hour, as Florida storms usually quick. But the rain kept coming.  It was getting close to 7pm, and the light was fading.  I asked the guy at Subway if I could use the phone, and I called Bekah.  I told her that I was waiting for the storm to cool off and she said that she could just come and get me.  I would have felt bad for her to have to drive ~25 miles each way to pick me up, so I refused politely.  Plus it’s an ego thing.

Since it was getting late and the rain wasn’t dying down, I figured I had to just do it, and get out there.  I took off my shirt, said goodbye to my homeless friends, and plunged into the abyss.  Do or Die Baby!!

Right away it was bad.  So much water on the road.  Passing cars were chucking it up at me.  And I was wearing my glasses!  I could barely see through all the water beads on the lenses and in the fading light.  I was a little jittery too, especially when semi-trucks passed spraying mist at me.  I imagined myself slipping on my bike, getting crushed and killed under a truck, and my mom finding out that I was only a couple hour’s drive away.  “Just don’t fall.  Don’t fall.”

It got worse as I turned off from a lighted strip of road with plazas onto a country road in pitch black.  The only light was from the headlights of passing cars.

I was looking for my turnoff.  There weren’t many cross-streets, but when I checked my cyclo-computer again, I figured that I had gone ~3 miles past the turn, but maybe not.  I wasn’t sure.  I wanted to ask someone.  But there was nothing on that road.  I stopped at a gated community that was under development.  There was no one around; no one was living in the houses yet.  I think I yelled at that point.  Then I stood by the road and tried to wave down a car to ask directions.  No one stopped.  Remember though, I was a shirtless cyclist out in the middle of nowhere in the dark.

So I decided to backtrack.  A couple of miles back, I saw a residential area, so I turned in there.  I pulled up to a house that had a light on, put on my shirt, and knocked on the door.  I tried to come across as harmless as possible because I knew this was weird.  A middle-aged guy answered the door, and I told him the situation and asked directions.  He invited me inside to use his phone so I could call my host.  This guy was really trusting.  Once I got the directions down, I headed out.

I think I arrived at my host’s house at around 10pm.  Bekah was outside waiting for me and said she was worried I wouldn’t show up — that I got killed on the way.  Bekah and I had a pasta dinner, talked for a while, and then went to bed.  Pretty standard, but really perfect; I was exhausted.

Return to the USA: Bogota to Orlando

As my time with Jessica was finishing up, I started thinking of what I’d do next.  The plan was to continue South to Ecuador, maybe even Peru.  But that was a lot of mountain, and I wasn’t really pumped about it.  After 6 months of cycling, it was all becoming the same.  A new place wasn’t all that exciting anymore.

I looked at return flights to the US from Bogota and compared it against leaving from other major cities that I might be passing through, like Quito and Lima.  One-way flights from other South American cities were ~$500.  But I found flights from Bogota to Orlando on Jetblue for $80!!  And this was a flight that was only a week away.  That’s the bargain basement price of Destiny.

It was a relief to know my trip was over.  I’d had enough.

Getting a cardboard bike box in Bogota was harder than I thought.  I went to the Bicycle Shop part of town (that’s how Bogota was set up — all the shops of a certain type were in one part of town), and asked for a box at every store, but nobody had one, or they were too stingy with their boxes.  In the US, bike shops want to give them away.  One store had a box that was fit for a smaller bike and they wanted to charge me for it.  An option of one choice.  Then I had to walk it back a couple miles to the hostel.

Jetblue charged me for bringing the boxed bike.  I think it was $50.

On September 1, 2009, I flew into Orlando, back to  the US.  My mom lives in Tampa and my plan was to surprise her, so I didn’t tell her I was coming back.  So, my ride out of the airport was my bike.  I had to put it back together.

I got a pretty good amount of attention for re-assembling my bike by baggage claim, but not many people asked what I was doing; mostly just stares.  One couple, who were in town to visit Disney World, asked where I had biked to.  I told them Colombia.  “Columbia, South Carolina!”

6-Month Bike Tour Expense Report

Here are my monthly expenses during my 6-month bike tour.  February includes the cost of my new Surly Long Haul Trucker touring bike along with panniers, racks, etc; July includes a $130 flight from Panama City to Cartagena; and August includes my $150 return flight from Bogota to Orlando (with a $60 charge for my bike).  Oh, and I had my camera stolen twice in June (the first time on a bus in Guatemala, and the second time in the mail), which cost about $250.

Month	Expenses
Feb (Bike)	$1,573
Mar	$685
Apr	$797
May	$428
Jun	$954
Jul	$819
Aug	$769
Total	$6,026

As you can see, bike touring is cheap!

I was in the US in March and April, and in May I entered Mexico and continued South.  In June and July, I was passing through Central America, and in August, I was in Colombia.

In the US, I didn’t pay for any accommodation.  We either stealth camped, camped at church grounds, or found a host through CouchSurfing.org or WarmShowers.org.  In Mexico, I was hosted by a lot of CouchSurfers, but those opportunities dwindled in Central America.  However, motel-like accommodation in Central America (residencias) were super cheap — mostly about $5 per night for a private room with a fan. And I stealth camped when I was in a pinch.

Food is expensive in the US, so we ate camp food (mac & cheese, instant mashed potatoes, baked beans) a lot, but many times we benefited from the kindness of our hosts.  But we would sometimes get a gift from a stranger.  I remember one time in Louisiana, I was hanging out outside a post office waiting for Ryan and an older Cajun Indian man asked me about what we were doing.  After I told him our plans to cycle to Panama, he handed me a $20.  I tried to refuse, but he wanted me to take it, “Lunch is on me.  I like supporting with these kinds of things.”

In Mexico, Central America, and Colombia, prepared food was very inexpensive.  Actually, I found that the cost of buying food at the grocery store was about the same as buying a prepared meal at a family-run restaurant.  So it was an easy choice for me — I ate at small restaurants the entire time.  This was great for two reasons: (1) I got rid of my camping cookware to cut down on bulk, and (2) eating local food is an important cultural experience.

So in summary, food was definitely the largest expense.  It’s interesting to see in the monthly cost breakdown that my expenses in the US were similar to when I was in Latin America.  It speaks to the high food prices in the US as we never paid for accommodation and many times we were fed by our hosts.  In Latin America, I paid for most of my food and accommodation, yet my expenses weren’t significantly higher.  I loved being hosted as my favorite memories are from meeting people along the way, but the flexibility of being able roll into a town at the end of the day and finding a cheap place to stay was great.

Bogota: Jessica’s Visit

I think it was when I was in Costa Rica that Jessica started talking to me about visiting me in Bogota. It was hard to estimate how much time I would need to get there, so that she could buy a flight with enough time in advance. And Jessica struggled with the safety issue. Her parents freaked out — since Colombia’s had a bad history, they assumed it was still a war zone. After lots of consideration, Jessica decided to just do it. We set the date, and she bought the ticket. I was pumped.

I had busted my ass riding through Colombia to get to Bogota in time to meet her when she arrived. I did lots of over-80-mile days, and a few 100-mile ones. I didn’t want the possibility of not being there when she arrived.

Before I took the bus out to meet her at the airport, I bought a mango as a welcoming gift. Mangoes were kind of a symbol for me — an exotic, sweet treat that was a rarity in my old life, but I’d been able to find on the side of the road on this trip.

I waited at arrivals with a lot of anticipation. When I saw Jessica, it was unreal! An old friend in a foreign country — now an International friend. It was a great moment for both of us.

We took a taxi back to the hostel, and Jessica wanted to take a quick look around before going to bed. We stepped into a small convenience store that had tables and chairs set up, and ordered a couple of beers. An old man came up and greeted us. He laid out an essay he’d written, and then returned to his table. He was a professor, and his paper was written in Spanish. I took a quick look and couldn’t read it but when he returned, I congratulated him on it. The professor’s mind was weird — he was all over the place. The store keeper yelled at him to not bother us anymore — the professor took his essay and recoiled into his lonely corner.

It was great to have Jessica around so that I could take some time off my bike tour. It was like a vacation from this year-long journey of not working. We toured the city seeing lots of sites and having treats along the way.

We did have some conflict though. When we were looking for a place to eat for dinner, we were in a ritzy part of town. The prices were around $10 per meal — cheap by American standards, but I’d gotten used to Colombian prices. I resisted those places and assured her we could find somewhere better. But we didn’t, and she got frustrated. Jessica said she wanted to enjoy herself and just spend some money on a nice place — “It’s my vacation!” I felt bad, and cheap, but I realized later … “Hey, it’s my bike tour!” I was on a budget and got used to a certain style of living. I probably shouldn’t have been difficult, and the prices weren’t really that bad, but it had been a while since I’d had to compromise.

We reconnected over jugoes naturales, “spreadables” (wafer sandwich of arequipe (caramel), blackberry, and more!), and native hot chocolate. And Jessica and I got out of the city one day. We took a day trip to a village outside of Bogota where there were hot springs. On the bus, a Colombian took an interest in us, and spoke really good English — he turned out to be an English teacher. We hung out with him, and when we arrived in his village, he treated us to a classically Colombian lunch; I just remember a lot of meat — I usually finish meals but it was too much, and kind of gross. Our Colombian friend brought us to his house, which was right across from the hot springs. We had a tour of his house, and he told us that if we wanted, we could stay the night. Readers may think it sounds creepy, but he was genuine and kind. There is nothing sweeter than a stranger’s kindness.

Jessica and I left our friend to go to the hot springs, but it turned out to be disappointing — a developed facility that catered mostly to old people. And it was expensive. We opted out. We had gotten an authentic experience instead.

Being together for over a week took it’s toll though. Our relationship definitely had highs and lows. I want to remember a few of the lows.

As we were walking through an underground bus transfer station, Jessica was taking some photos. A security guard gave her a stern look and a wag of the finger. I thought it was stupid and I wanted to support Jessica’s side on it, so I scoffed at it as we walked on. Jessica cut me off immediately — “Don’t make that face! You’re so skeptical of everything, Eoin!”

Jessica did a great job of documenting the trip. She had her camera out a lot of the time. On the few occasions I was in a shot of a street scene, I gave a corny peace sign. Just having fun. Being lame. Kind of a call-back to times with Ryan. This will come up later.

One night when we were looking for a place to eat, Jessica spotted a place that served soup. I don’t really like soup because it doesn’t offer a lot of food bulk — I like low price, high volume. I didn’t really want to eat there, but I was indecisive. Jessica called me out and said “Lighten up! Let’s just eat here.” I was offended because it seemed like a rude comment, so I told her, and that led to a heated session of letting out our frustrations. One complaint she had was that I was being disrespectful of her photos by always doing that stupid peace sign. I hadn’t realized it, but it was definitely annoying. Jessica and I let it all out and then we made up. Reaffirmation. Although it was a negative time, I felt a lot closer to her afterward than I had before. Bonding through conflict.

Although Jessica didn’t want to CouchSurf, we met up with Julian and his friends a few times. We also attended a couple of CouchSurfing meet-ups. One was for practicing English speaking. We could do that! By the end of it, Jessica had a crowd of Colombian guys gathered around her, enthralled. It was bizarre, and there were a couple of creeps in the mix. The other CouchSurfing meet-up was to attend this seemingly traditional Bull Fighting event. It was strange though. The shape of a bull was traced with gasoline and set on fire. Then after it had burned out, a guy came out with a broom and swept the sand along that tracing. All he did was sweep in that same loop. Countless times and there was no sign of him stopping after about 30 minutes. People started leaving, so we did the same. Performance art gone wrong — does it ever go right?

3 Months at Urban: The Stock Soars!

I’ve been working at the Urban Outfitters head office three months now.  I just checked Yahoo Finance to see the effect I’ve had on the stock price.

I think the company is gonna be hoisting me up on its shoulders later.

My co-worker found an excellent article on the subject:

Trade Alert – Urban Outfitters at New Highs

TradersHuddle.com - Christoper Lynn – ‎Apr 27, 2010‎

New York, April 27th (TradersHuddle.com) – Shares of Urban Outfitters, Inc. (NASDAQ:URBN) booked a new 52 week high today by trading above $40.77, … Urban Outfitters CEO Glen Senk comments on Eoin Grosch being the reason behind the brand’s stellar performance.

J. Crew, Urban Outfitters Say Yes to the Dress BNET

Needham & Company Raises Price Target on Urban Outfitters (URBN) After … StreetInsider.com (subscription)

Uptrend Spotted in Shares of Urban Outfitters (URBN) Comtex Smartrend

Temple News

all 6 news articles »

URBN – JCG – EPA:MLACO

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blue jeans for a cause

I am not sure if this is a recent phenomenon that has taken over offices across the country – or if it’s limited to my depressing workplace.  Corporations execute many of their charitable efforts thanks to the shallow pockets of their employees, but there’s a problem with this:  not everyone participates.  And if you don’t participate it, the only one who knows is you.  And your disgusting, selfish conscience.

But I do recall a few tactics where managers tried to remove the anonymity from charitable giving.  While working at Best Buy as a technology consultant during college, my manager would hound us about our store hitting 100% charity participation.  Demanding charity.  It seems to be a bit of a paradox.  And there wasn’t a dollar goal in mind.  If every employee gave $.01, the store would have scored a %100.  The manager would walk around and ask if we had participated in the survey.  She wasn’t interested in the dollar amount but rather the %100 participation score.  I am guessing she had to report this to her regional manager.  United Way even sent in one of their reps to sell us on donating.  My shitty $8/hr part-time paycheck was being pressured left and right.  I caved.  I donated a few dollars every paycheck.

Still, the above tactic didn’t necessarily reveal the uncharitable employees.  But as of last month, I have discovered a clever strategy being deployed.  Blue jeans.

“Hey guys, let’s come together real quick.  As you know, we’re supporting <insert cause> this year.  In the past, many of you have asked, ‘Hey, what do I get out of donating?’  Well, if you donate this year, management has decided to do something very special.  That’s right….BLUE JEANS ON THURSDAYS!”  A huge booming applause is then heard around the office.  Lots of smiles, laughs, and high-fives.

The following Thursday, I arrived at work with my boring slacks and polo shirt.  Immediately, someone asked why I was not wearing blue jeans.  In fact, I was asked several times.  I felt immediately demoralized by my lack of charitable giving.  Imagine a pair of boring brown slacks amongst a sea of blue jeans.  That was me, the selfish guy.

I had a few options: a) cave and donate so that others will know my conscience (or rather my lack of self-esteem) got the best of me OR b) stand my ground.  So I stood my ground like a true fighter.

I got asked again the following week why I wasn’t wearing blue jeans.  “I don”t think I got the email,” I said and quickly walked away, well aware that this was communicated verbally to employees.  A short-term victory in what would be many battles during the coming Thursdays.

Philly Spring Clean Up

It happened by accident.  As I was eating cereal on Saturday morning, I looked out the window and saw a rush of neighbors at the basketball court.  There was a Blue Recycle Big Giveaway for Philly Spring Clean Up.  I got my bin and then hung around because the people doing the giveaway were cool.

We cleaned up the neighborhood.  I got a broom and gloves and I swept up the trash on the streets.  It felt really good — sounds odd.  Pete saw me being good and he came out to help too.

There I am sweeping in front of my car.  Although the trash is back out on the street, I hope I set a good example for my neighbors.  I’ll probably sweep up again another day when it’s nice out and I feel like doing something active and helpful.

Bogota: Julian and Falkon

My CouchSurfing host in Bogota, Julian, preferred to go by Falkon. He told me that he used to be a professional gamer and Falkon was his gaming name.

Falkon’s apartment was great. It definitely looked like a bachelor pad — guitars, video games, big tv, sound system.  I feel like there should have been a glass-top table somewhere. Falkon also had a spare bedroom; he said his roommate had just moved out and that I could sleep in there.

I enjoyed hanging out with Falkon and doing regular things for a few days — including playing Rock Band! ;P Whenever we got food, a drink, or a taxi, he insisted on paying. When I tried to chip in, he’d say, “But you’re my guest.” As a fellow guy, it feels weird saying it, but Falkon is a Sweet Guy. He even treated me to a Strawberry Shish Kabob dipped in White Chocolate! I got him back though; I treated him to McDonald’s. Apparently in Colombia, McDonald’s is a nice restaurant — kind of fancy and different. McDonald’s would even be considered a pretty good place for a date.

Falkon told me about how his last CS guest, Hali, and his old roommate, Carlos, fell in love. Hali, who’s from New Zealand, arrived with her big personality. Colorful clothes and bright pink hair — a modern day Punky Bruster. Carlos was charmed by her, and soon CouchSurfing became a serious, romantic affair.

Hali came by to hang out when Falkon’s other CS guest, Meredith, arrived. Meredith was a Plain Jane from the Boston area. She had spent some time “living” in Buenos Aires (people love saying that they “lived abroad”) and she’s a vegetarian. Buenos Aires is the Beef Capital of the World. If you’re vegetarian in Buenos Aires, you’re missing out on Culture — you need to relax your rules if you go there.

Meredith told us about how she lost her ATM card and that she was running out of money. This sounded like bad news to me. She also seemed pretty sloppy — not a good mix with super-neat Falkon. Lazy Meredith slopping around on the couch all day moping about being broke. I heard later from Falkon that he had treated her to lots of meals and she didn’t show too much gratitude. Falkon got tired of her sloppiness and he finally had to ask her to leave. Loser CouchSurfer.

Two Notable Moments with Hali:

• She felt the urge to let me know that she has no interest in visiting the United States.
• Although my Spanish is pretty pathetic, she was helpless. When Hali and I were in a shop, she wanted to buy some jewelry, so I helped her bargain for a better price. I got the storekeeper to drop the price a bit, and Hali bought it. As we left the store, Hali said, “If I had a real local helping me buy it, I would have gotten a much better price.”

Masculinity:

I noticed that masculinity is a little different in Colombia. Guys are more loving and caring with their guy friends. In the US, guys show affection to other guys by making fun of each other — bonding through bashing. Hali told me that when Carlos was living with Falkon, he would make Falkon breakfast each morning and bring it up to him in bed, and many times Carlos wouldn’t even eat. Guys in Colombia aren’t afraid to be sweet.

My Pathetic Clothes:

It was cold in Bogota since it’s up in the mountains. Being on a bike tour, my wardrobe was very limited, especially for cold weather. I wore the same damn maroon plaid shirt and black jeans every day. Falkon felt bad for me in my wrinkled shirt, and kept suggesting that I borrow some of his clothes. He was probably embarrassed of me — same-clothes American with patchy facial hair.

One night when we were going out, I was wearing the same tired maroon plaid shirt. Falkon told me I should take one of his sweaters since it would be cold. I put on a striped one that I thought would look cool, but when he saw me, he didn’t look pleased. Falkon suggested I get a different one. I complied, but I didn’t know why, so I asked. In private, Falkon looked at me with concern and said, “The colors clash.”

Life Purpose: Excitement

I read The 4-Hour Workweek a while ago, and what I really liked was how the general life purpose of Happiness was clarified.  What we should ask ourselves is “What excites me?” Activities causing excitement will align with purpose.

Here’s an excerpt from The Project Mojave blog on the same subject of Excitement vs. Happiness:

Many societally conditionally goals — such as “get out of debt,” “buy a new car,” and “create a college fund,” — can be fine and noble, but they often do not make us come alive.  What would really make your day, I mean, if you could do anything? Think about that for a second.

If you dig deep within to answer this question, I bet your answer might be something a little different than the average idea of a “great day.” If you really answer this question from your soul, you’ll discover aspirations that really move you. Here are a few of mine:

• Ski down a killer slope in Park City, Utah
• Take a Tantra class
• Read a great novel for the first time
• Go on a group meditation or retreat
• Play music with others, lose track of time, and get lost in sound

You see, when all our goals revolve around efficiency, money, looks, networking, etc., we lose track of why we wanted these things in the first place. Indeed, we often envision such goals because we want more time and energy to do things that truly excite us and bring deep fulfilling happiness. I challenge you to incorporate goals and aspirations that really excite and move you. Don’t get caught up in mundane, socially acceptable goals. Find out what really inspires you and make a commitment to live your life with a deeper level of satisfaction starting today.

Bogota: Search for Accommodation

When I made it into Bogota, I went to find my CouchSurfing host’s place. I was attracted to FALKON’s profile since he seemed high-energy. I contacted him about a three-night stay, and he replied, “We’re gonna have a blast, mark my words!” Falkon instructed me that when I get to his place, I’ll need to tell the doorman that I’m there to see “Julian (you-lee-an… I know, sounds gay in English, just call me Falkon).” I got to his place way too early, at around 1pm. I had 8 hours to kill.

Jessica was arriving in a few days. She was freaking out about accommodation. She didn’t want to CouchSurf, and she wanted to reserve a private room in a hostel — no bunking in dorms. Jessica had been searching for rooms online and found that some of these places had no more availability. I told her it was fine; Bogota’s a huge city with lots of options. I’d be arriving in the city a few days before she was arriving so there’d be lots of time for me to find us a humble place without a web presence — which would be cheaper. That didn’t ease her mind. We agreed that she can make a reservation for a private room for the first night, and then we would go somewhere else, based on my findings.

So I decided to use this time before I met up with Falkon to look for accommodation. Getting around on my loaded bike attracted a lot of attention. A businessman stopped me on the street and asked me in English if I needed help. I asked about accommodation, and he had specific ideas on where I shouldn’t go. He seemed genuinely concerned for my safety — white freak with little Spanish-speaking ability — and got all hung up on finding me a map. He seemed deeply sorry that he didn’t have a map to give me; he spent a lot of time thinking of where we could walk together to get one, and spent more time drawing a crappy one out for me, as I kept trying to reassure him that I’d be fine. It’s a good example of how sweet Colombians are to tourists.

I found a couple of low-cost accommodation options. $10 per night for two lumpy beds in a private room and a shared bathroom without hot water; a TV with very limited channel selection would be a little extra. I liked it, but I had a disappointing feeling that the presentation wasn’t right for Jessica.

Knee pads and Roller blades

Killing time in a square, I asked some people where the nearest panaderia was. They corrected me on my pronunciation, followed up with some questions about my bike and where I was from, and after a while of talking, I was invited to hang out later, and to come to a party at the weekend. The loaded bike is a great conversation piece, and I feel like I’m a sociable, friendly guy. Later, I learned that I was in the gay section of town.

$100 Red Light Camera Ticket: Caught Turning on Red

I got a $100 traffic ticket in the mail.  Photo evidence of me breaking the law.  There’s a lot of “No Turn On Red” signs in Philadelphia, and I usually see them and follow the rule, but I must have felt in a rush, or I didn’t see the sign.

I was considering requesting a hearing to fight this, but I don’t know what I would say to contest it.  The photo’s pretty clear.

And what sucks is that I pretty much never drive the car, but I had gotten a flat tire.  I had put on the spare tire and was driving to get the flat one repaired.  Pretty shitty — only using the car to try to keep it maintained and then getting a $100 ticket.  I should have just left it flat.

There’s an online payment system, but I’m mailing in my $100 check because I don’t want to pay the convenience fee.

One Year Ago: A Rite of Passage for Two Ugly Boys

I sit here at lunch in my newly furnished cubicle thinking back one year ago.  One year ago, two ugly boys took off on their bikes and became men.  I’ve gone full circle, and the harsh reality is that I’m sitting in another uncomfortable computer chair staring at an overly positive, cheesy mission statement.  It’s a depressing thought.

Eoin called me yesterday, and we made a pact.  The same kind of pact little girls make to always be best friends.  Eoin and I said we’d call one another this time every year and talk about the first day we left on our bike tour.

Looking back, it’s easy to romanticize the bike tour.  Not a day goes by that I don’t think about it.  But then I go back and read the posts.  A year ago I was sucking wind trying to keep up with Eoin on an incredibly boring-ass bike trail.  Older cyclists were giving us an assortment of greetings:  peace signs, cocky nods, and blank stares.  Many didn’t even respond to our annoying and constant ‘hello’s’.  That night, we did some primitive camping just off the Silver Comet.  Being only 55 miles from home on a bicycle and camping primitively was shitty.  My big journey.  Ashley could drive up to see me in an hour.  “Hey, what are you guys doing?”

That night, I had some of the shittiest food I had on my entire trip.  I tried cooking rice, onions, and potatoes.  Stupid.  Retarded.  And doing so over a fire I charred my pots.  I crawled in my tent with a bloated stomach full of undercooked rice and tried to fall asleep.  It was in the low 30s, and you could hear the traffic of suburbia in the distance.  I was questioning this trip already.  I couldn’t stop thinking about comforts:  my bed, sweet tea, and a toilet.

Five months later, I was in Canada solo camping on the side of a remote highway near an Indian reservation.  The closest running water was 60 miles.  I wasn’t worried about not having sweet tea.  I was worried about bears feasting on me in the night.  A huge moose had walked down the highway not far from my camp spot.  I had become a hardened touring cyclist.  Reading Eoin’s ’24 Hours of Hell’ post, it’s easy to say he had too.

Eoin and I persisted after that first night.  Eoin told me before we set up camp, “After traveling in Eastern Europe  for a few months, I was ready to come home.  But then I got in the groove…When I got home, I was home.”  It’s almost embarrassing looking at pictures of myself.  Clean gear.  Not knowing what the hell to expect.  Over packed by at least 30 pounds.

And now, here I am watching the minutes pass by on my Windows task bar sorrowfully anticipating the end of my lunch break.  Did I hate that first night?  Yes.  Would I do it again?  Yes.

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Boots

I need boots since it’s been snowy for my first Winter in Philadelphia, so I ordered these Timberland Earthkeepers from UrbanOutfitters.com.

I got them today, and they make me look strange.  Large, odd feet.  I think they’re a half-size too big, but I’ve also never worn boots, so my mind probably needs time to adjust.  Whatever though, I’m gonna return them because of weird foot.

These Palladium Baggy Brown Leather boots look pretty cool.

Can I pull it off?\

Loser Wannabe Riding Boots

“These are my riding boots.”

Urban Commute

I just started my new job at the Urban Outfitters head office on Monday.  One of the best things about it is that it’s only 3 miles away from my place, so I’m biking.  During orientation, I found out that Urban supports commuting by bike by giving $20 credit back on your paycheck each month (reducing taxable income), providing a rear bike light, and reimbursing up to $50 for a helmet.  They’re small perks, but it’s something, and the real benefit is just being able to get here without driving.  It’s a significant change from the 90-minute commute by train I did twice a day at my old job at Dorman.  Instead of getting up at 6am and returning home at 6pm, I’m getting up at 8am, and getting back home around 5:45pm.

Note: The $20 reduction in taxable income is actually a tax provision that was part of the Renewable Energy Tax Credit legislation in 2008.  More information.

Weird Print Ad: The Lil Brothers Want to Know

Shea, my sister, was flipping through a pamphlet in the mail.  She stared for a few minutes at a print ad.  Laughing to herself and staring.

She started reading out loud the caption on the ad trying to figure out what it meant.  “The lil brothers want to know…the lil brothers want to know…the lil brothers want to know,” she kept repeating.  Laughing and staring.

I grabbed it out of her hands and looked at it.  “The lil brothers want to know…the lil brothers want to know,” I repeated.

Weird ad.  Weird family portrait.  Eerie smiles and odd green vests.  One of the ‘lil brothers’ has a different vest on.  I bet he spilled the family’s secret recipe egg nog on it!  Oh boy.  Daddy is going to give it to him.  The youngest has some bizarre 18th century shirt on.  “Mom, I want to be the one to sit on Santa’s lap this year.  No fair!”

And it’s late January.  Why is Santa Claus in the picture?  Creepy.

I guess my problem is calling the kids Lil Brothers.  Which one is not the ‘lil brother’?  The oldest?  And if the oldest brother isn’t considered a ‘lil brother’, what does he want to know?  What does he want to know?

EDIT:  I just realized I’m an idiot.  Lill is their last name.  I don’t know why I read it as ‘lil’.  And I’ve come to the conclusion that the big boy in the bottom-right looks forward to this family portrait every year.  “Mom, can we stop by the ice cream shop on the way?  Maybe we can get Santa a brownie-chocolate-fudge shake Mom!  Mmmm!  I bet he will slurp it all up!!!!”  That’s my fantasy anyways.

Cycling in Bogota

I found out that biking in Bogota is really dangerous. It’s mostly because of the buses. These bus collectivos seem to be privately owned — like some guy can buy an old bus, stick a sign on the front window with the destination, and start driving it. They don’t have official bus stops. Instead, if someone on the side of the road puts up his hand, the bus will swing over and stop to let him on — like how you’d hail a taxi. So, these buses were swinging all over the place as I was trying to bike. I had to heighten my awareness to stay operational. The roads were full of taxis too, and they’d be weaving to get around the buses that’d be swinging across the lanes to get to the sidewalk to pick up passengers.

Early on, I made some bold moves squeezing through narrow gaps between temporarily-stopped buses on my wide, fully-loaded bike. I would be holding my breath, a sign of me knowing I was being a dumbass. Then, at one point, I was out in one of the middle lanes making a move past a bus that was on my right, when the bus started pulling out to shift into my lane. I was pinned between a taxi that was tight on my left and the bus that was moving forward into the taxi’s lane. I made an emergency stop as the shock ran through my body. And the bus saw me and stopped moving. I waddled through the gap the bus left me, embarrassed about causing this scene in a place where I don’t understand the traffic culture. “Stupid … Not worth it, not worth it,” I kept repeating in my head. From then on, I dropped my bravado and got patient, staying all the way to the right, and waiting behind the buses that cut me off.

There are a lot of bike lanes on the sidewalks in Bogota, but pedestrians were always drifting in there making it a really slow, annoying stop-and-start for me, so I used the streets for cycling. Also, on Sundays, the city would close off a lot of the main roads for the Cyclovia, a weekly event where people would come out to cycle, rollerblade, run, or walk. It’s a great idea, but that’s only on Sunday — the rest of the week, you have to deal with the horrible traffic.