Chapter 7: Northern Patagonia

Us (United States) and our new friends Rachel (Malaysia), Antonio (Mexico) and Marcus (Switzerland). How very multicultural. Península Valdéz, AR

After 4 days in El Chalten we headed back toward El Calafate for a 2 am bus to Rio Gallegos where we met Matis who took us all the way to Comodoro Rivadavia. Some gap in communication lead him to leave without us in the morning but we got a ride with Hector an YPF - Yacimientos Petroleros Fiscales, once a state-owned petroleum company, now privatized due to the structural adjustments the country went through during Carlos Menem's presidency in the '90s - employee hauling a tanker of gasoline to Trelew. He was amazingly friendly and taught us all about SOLIDARIDAD. Trelew is just south of our destination of Puerto Madryn and Puerto Piramides where we were to sit on the beach with some new friends, Antonio and Rachel, and warm up after 3 weeks of cold cold southern Argentina and then go whale watching. The whales swam right under our tiny boat.

Courtney with the whale, Puerto Pirámides AR

We also met a Marcus there who had already rented a car so he took us around the peninsula. The peninsula is an animal reserve so there's plenty to see. Guanacos, Ostriches, Foxes, Sea Lions, Elephant Seals, and especially Penguins!!! Otherwise in order to tour the island we would have been set back about $360 AR pesos or $100 US so it was nice to meet a friend.

Penguin parent and chick, Península Valdéz, AR

Actually we've had a lot of luck with that sort of thing. Any time we decide that spending money is stupid - which is often - someone comes along to say, oh, well I'm already going there/doing that/spending that money, so come with me! Or they say, oh well, you can do this other thing that tourists don't really know about and is free, so try that... Great news! we say.

Another important part about the area around Trelew is that it is the rare Welsh district of Argentina. At certain points in Argentinian History, the Colonialists were regularly harassed by the Indigenous populations. Having taken away their livelihood, the Colonialists had left the Indigenous to round up the wild cattle (introduced to the area by Mendoza, the first leader to attempt to create a European settlement where Buenos Aires now sits. The cattle and horses were left behind when the settlement was declared a failure and the inhabitants fled to Paraguay. Over the next several decades, with no natural predators, the cattle and horses multiplied and spread across the Pampa.) and sell it to the settlements on the other side of the Andes Mountains, European and Indigenous. These men were known as Gauchos. The Argentinean version of a cowboy. Today there is still a strong Gaucho presence in the plains of Argentina, although the outlaw aspect of it has dissipated. Gauchos are an important part of the mystique and identity of the country.

Unfortunately, the Cattle began to dissipate as well and the many a Gaucho was left to raid villages for his livelihood. At this point, General Julio Roca lead an army into the South to annihilate over 1300 Indigenous leaving Patagonia open to settlement. Roca was made a hero and the next president of the country. During his presidency Roca used the newly opened land as a system of patronage in order to consolidate his power. He later used this power to defeat indigenous groups in the Northern parts of the country. Roca also highly encouraged European immigration in order to fill the open space. Between 1880, the beginning of Roca's presidency, and WWI, 6 million Europeans immigrated to Argentina from Italy, France, Spain, Portugal, Russia, Ireland, and Wales.

The Welsh mark can be found in Trelew and the surrounding towns. We found ourselves in Gaiman, after Marcus dropped us off on the way to the airport where he would fly to Ushuaia and his grand adventure to Antarctica. Gaiman is proud of their Welsh roots and is speckled with Casas de Té where you can fill up on 15 different types of traditional Welsh cakes and as much tea as you can drink. It was quite the experience. It was also raining outside. Pouring. And as we left the tea house (after 2 hours of attempting to finish all the different cakes) we managed to find a nice tree to sit under while we contemplated our next move. We were attempting to make our way clear across to the east side of the country to El Bolsón. Finally deciding that the rain was not going to let up we began to walk to the edge of town and were flagged down by a nice man named Domingo with a wood factory who offered us a place to pitch our tent in the one miraculously dry spot in all of Gaiman. Domingo is named such because his feet are too big and don't fit into any work shoes. He wears relaxed Sunday shoes all year round. In the morning he told us all about how Gaiman is full of Welsh and how important that is (he being Welsh descended himself). We thanked him greatly for his hospitality and headed toward the road.

Chris, sipping properly in front of our elaborate Welsh Tea Service, Gaiman, AR

In Trelew we might have been able to find a ride in a Semi-Truck but in Gaiman there was no truck-stop so we waited with our thumbs out, got a ride to the next town and were told we probably wouldn't make it more than half way that day. He was right, in that every car we saw driving in our direction turned off into town. But miraculously two adorable Chilean tourists stopped for us and took us all 700 km to Esquel, only 100 Km south of where we wanted to be. We had lunch in the Plaza and walked to the edge of town where we camped and got up early to get another ride the rest of the way.

Our Chilean tourist heroes posing for a picture, Ruta Nacional 25, AR

El Bolsón is something like an Argentinian Bellingham or Santa Cruz. They are famous for their artisan beer and their hippies. At our campsite we met some friendly people and learned some good Argentinian Slang. We also got on a bus to Lago Puelo where the campsite had become a river and walked around for a day. It's especially gorgeous there. In the town they have a artisan craft fair 3 times a week where one can buy jams, chocolate, cheese, jewelery, cutting boards and furniture.

The artisan craft fair, El Bolsón, AR

The lake at dusk, Lago Puelo, AR

On our way out of town we visited the brewery and were able to taste a few. Unlike microbreweries in the US, the El Bolsón Cervecería is famous for their fruity beers - such as raspberry, cherry, even honey flavored beer. We camped outside of the YPF and got up at 6 am to talk to the truck drivers on their way out of town. Jorge, the first person we asked, gave us a ride all the way to Neuquin, not without delays but we had fun all the same, where we spent another night. In the morning we had some trouble figuring out where the best place to be to head toward Mendoza was but eventually landed ourselves on the right highway and got a ride from Juan who took us all the way to San Martín. Juan was another gem of the highway. He was so friendly and we even shared dinner together - cooking on his fancy propane stove he keeps under the truck (there's a pull down cabinet door that works as great counter space). He wanted to learn some English words and he taught us plenty of Spanish. It started pouring rain so we finished our dinner in the empty refrigerator cargo hold where he let us sleep for the night. His truck was having technical problems but he told us that once it was fixed he would take us back with him to Buenos Aires.

Occupying ourselves while we wait for a job to be done on way to Neuquén, Ruta Nacional 237, AR

Chapter 6: Ushuaia y Parque National de Los Glaciares

We quickly traveled from the northernmost city, Iguazú, to the southernmost, Ushuaia - the city at the end of the world, as they love to exploit. As it turns out, Ushuaia actually IS amazing and gorgeous. Mountains surround the city on all sides. They're white with snow so the vista from any given point is perfect. We spent a few days in the Tierra del Fuego National Park. At this point, we got our first taste of "everything costs more than you think it will," a symptom of Argentina's particularly fast and repetitive inflation. The bus driver says that the campsite costs $12 AR but when you get there it costs $18 AR. The Book says $5 AR. We didn't even account for the bus ticket or Park Fee which turned out to be a total of $110 AR each. But none-the-less, the park was amazing.

The omnipresent, and quite friendly Chimango in Parque Nacional Tierra del Fuego.

We camped close to Cerro Guanaco and hiked to the top the next day. It was steep and quite a climb but not unattainable. And, if you do reach the top, you're rewarded with beautiful views. We took 6 hours and were well worn out by the time we got back. We decided to take the next day a little easy and just do a 6km coastal hike. Seemed nice, and was, but it was our first time hiking with backpacks on in quite a while. So once again, we were all tuckered out by the time we reached the edge of the park and rather than walk the next 12 km into town we met a nice couple who drove us the rest of the way. Ushuaia as a city is beautiful and so the next day we really DID take it easy and just walked into town from our campsite and toured the prison. The prison was not technically a penal colony but often was treated and viewed by outsiders as such. It was something of a South American Siberia. We also walked downtown to eat some chocolate - something that Patagonia is evidently famous for.

A hardened criminal, right where he belongs.

There's plenty of evidence all over Ushuaia and Tierra del Fuego of the indiginous population: the Yámana. History is widely available in the prison and town. In the National Park you can view the archeological sites of their Middens (trash piles outside the front door of their dwellings - the Yámana consistently shifted the opening of their homes away from the wind so the pile becomes more of a moat over the years.). They were canoe going people who were all but whiped out by the colonial populations. They were viewed as a particularly savage race. Their language was their culture and the only thing they really built were canoes. They were likely not very cooperative in helping the colonists. Some Yamaná were taken, to be "civilized," back to Europe but the venture was a failure and they were dropped back off on the shores of Tierra del Fuego. Jimmy Button, one of the Indigenous that traveled to Europe is known to be responsible for killing several missionaries himself. The last living Yámana, and only speaker of its language, is said to be over 80 years old.

The next day we headed for a 2 day hike over a mountain pass, el Paso de la Oveja. The first day we spent walking through a beautiful valley. We began to ascend the mountain only during the last few hours of the day. Our guidebook described a serene mountain lake whose shores would make an ideal campsite. It also said we could follow the guanaco tracks over the pass. It turns out there's still a lot of snow in November. We camped in the snow with no lake in sight, and did a fire dance to get warm, which actually made the stove work. Before reaching the top of the pass on the second day we spent 4 hours in snow at times up to our waist. For a while it seemed that we would not make it. We certainly couldn't see the guanaco tracks. The snow was pristine and beautiful. When we finally did reach the pass we were rewarded with a small yellow stake - the first trail marker since the afternoon before. As we traversed beyond the pass, we walked high above the canyon and had some fun sliding down the steep sides of the mountain on our butts with our rain pants on.

Stepping outside of our comfort zone. Paso de la Oveja, Ushuaia, AR.

We got back to Ushuaia after 10 hours of hiking and somehow still managed to walk into town to buy dinner supplies and make a delicious seafood soup. Courtney fell asleep with her head on the table and we weren't able to make part two of dinner so we ate the ravioli for breakfast and realized it was Thanksgiving. We Cheers'd and then set out to leave Tierra Del Fuego and head for El Calafate.

The journey was long and cold. Ushuaia is quite balmy compared to the rest of the Island of Tierra del Fuego and at one point we were riding in the back of a pickup for 90 km with several large logs of wood and a couple of bags of raw fish as our company. Although they were going EXACTLY where we needed to go, we were MUCH too cold and got out at the Chilean boarder where we met two other truck drivers who took us a good distance - Rio Gallegos - where we caught the bus to El Calafate.

We've been hitchhiking around because buses are too expensive. Our Spanish is so much better now thanks to the days and days we've spent with truck drivers trying to communicate. This country is enormous and no matter where we went there was 1000 km to pass through first and it would take us at least 2 days of hitching to get there. But Argentinians, so far, are really nice and love to teach Spanish so that's lucky. Some are polite, while others are downright friendly, buying us sweets, sharing meals with us, helping us when we were down and out.

Everyone who comes to El Calafate is there to see an enormous glacier, Perito Moreno. So we went and watched it slowly advance upon us. It was beautiful. A must see. They know this and rob you blind - the bus there picks you up 1/2 hour late and leaves 1/2 hour early and costs $1 AR per Km - $80 AR in total. Then you pay the park entrance fee of $60 AR. The best is when you learn that residents pay $6 AR or less. Sigh. But then, it's only fair. The Argentinian National Parks are the only or one of the few National Park systems in the world that are self funded. So we're proud to participate in that.

Perito Moreno, calving. El Calafate, AR

Perito Moreno is inside of Los Glaciares National Park. Half of the park is made up of the largest continental ice extension after Antarctica. This ice field creates 47 big glaciers, 13 of which flow to the Atlantic. There are also more than 200 smaller glaciers in the park, unconnected to the Ice Caps. The glaciers are remarkably low down making it possible to approach them on foot. Perito Moreno is roughly the size of Buenos Aires. It is so popular because of it's easy visibility, provided there's not a blizzard going on, it's location on the lake which makes a quite stunning vista and the fact that it is one of the very few advancing and stable glaciers in the world. In the afternoon when it warmed up a bit we saw it calving - shedding 5 story towers of impacted snow into the lake below; it is advancing by 3 meters per day. We were able to ride in a boat right up to it (very dangerous supposedly, and now that we've seen the calving, we can see why) to fish out an enormous chunk of ice that rich people can put in their $30 ounce of bourbon. But it's the bourbon that cost money, not the ice so we got a few chunks for our water bottle. Mmmm Fresh!

Later that day we also went to a bird reserve on Laguna Nimez for free that no one knows about and that they have evidently neglected to put in the guide books for the past 6 years. Good thing our guide book is an antique. The reserve was home to many species. The prize birds were the pink Chilean flamingos, with wings the color of sunset. It was beautiful. Beautiful.


We got on a bus to El Chalten to do some more hiking. El Chalten is in the northern part of Los Glaciares National Park and the trekking capital of Argentina. The expected route was short - 3 days - and full of beautiful views of Fitz Roy and Cerro Torre Mountains; a few stunning lakes, glaciers and valleys as well. We passed the downtime chatting with friendly Germans Tourists who had followed us all the way from our campsite in El Calafate to each of our destinations in El Chalten. At one point we accidentally took a wrong turn and ended up 1 km south of where we wanted to be. Fortunately the trail we met up with took us to the right place so the worst that happened was an extra 45 min of walking through gorgeous valleys. Plus, the trail we turned on to took us away from all the other tourists - El Chalten is packed with everyone in the country who wants to take a walk - for several hours and was not without it's vistas.

The "wrong" trail. El Chaltén.

Chapter 5: BA y Iguazú

Chris's college buddy Mike picked us up at the airport. He and Eliza have been living in Buenos Aires for 3 years and have found a beautiful apartment and group of Argentine and ex-patriot friends. They showed us around their neighborhood, Palermo and took us to visit Tigre - like coney island or coney beach, with river boats, hundreds of parrilla restaurants, and a ferris wheel.

We went to the Iguazú waterfalls, known in Argentina as Las Cataratas, and actually stayed in a hostel. We thought we would call it our romantic getaway because we were spending a little more than we would usually. Turns out Iguazú is actually the most romantic place ever. The first day there we fell head over heals in love and the waterfalls were magical, beautiful and perfect. The next day we watched other couples falling under the same spell. We saw kisses aplenty. All around us boys and girls were running off to make out and again, everything was marvelous. It had just rained incredibly hard when we arrived. In fact, most of the tourists were on their way out of the park as we headed in, so as to avoid the torrential storm going on. But they missed out because the falls (250 in all) were even more powerful and amazing thanks to the added rain water.

We hitchhiked to San Ignacio to learn about the history of the area. Misiones, the province in which Iguazú is located, is a rare part of Argentina that juts into Brazil and Paraguay. Here the land is green, lush and tropical, much unlike the rest of the country, the majority of which is an enormous plain filled with Guanaco and shrubbery. Strangely, the tropics here make their mark on the rest of the country. For instance, tropical birds can be found all the way in Ushuaia.

In San Ignacio there are Jesuit ruins. The Jesuits colonized this area of South America, and did so rather successfully. There were obviously problems with the colonial rule, but the Guarani were possibly the best off. They were an effective, co-operative style, farming community and were taught Spanish, Latin and Guaraní in school and the Jesuits often intermarried with the Natives. Unlike much of indigenous groups the rest of the country the Guaraní were treated as more than slaves and survived as a group much longer. They also proved to be a highly successful army. But, alas, other colonizers became jealous of the easy workforce the Jesuits had under their thumb and the Jesuits were expelled from Argentina, by order of the Spanish Crown. The Guaraní were entrusted to the Franciscans and sold as slaves. A few Guaraní live today and the language is spoken by many intellectuals.

Chapter 4: New York, New England, Philadelphia

Sharron's kitchen aka Wedding Catering Central, Brooklyn, NY

Nif and Damian's wedding was promising to be tons of fun. Many people had made the trip from San Francisco to attend. We helped make food and zines for the celebration and visited with a few friends. Chris went off to the bachelor's party and Courtney to the bachelorette's. As it would happen, instead of attending the wedding, Courtney would flip over her bicycle that very afternoon and break her arm in three places. She laid on the side of the Manhattan Bridge waiting for Chris to come find her and for the ambulance to arrive. Bicyclists gave her the thumbs up and David Byrne stopped to ask if she was OK. Instead of the wedding, Courtney got surgery and spent 3 days in Bellevue Hospital. Each day Chris did physical therapy on his Achilles by walking 3 miles to and from the hospital to bring Courtney fresh juice. Along the way Chris visited old friends from school and camp, Alix and Maggie.

Courtney is thrilled. Bellevue Hospital, Manhattan, NY.

After the hospital, Caitlin and then Christi let us stay at their tiny Lower Eastside apartments despite the obvious lack of room. After a few days of recovery we hopped on a MegaBus for only $1 each to Boston where we stayed with Alex and Dace, and then Bonnie. Alex was an old friend of Courtney's from school who we hadn't seen in two years. Bonnie had just moved to Boston to start Grad School. We got to see Alex's settled in life and Bonnie's new Boston career all in one visit. We went to the Institute of Contemporary Art (www.icaboston.org/) and the Cambridge Brewing Company. Bonnie showed us her College grounds and Dace took us to his art studio Open House.

A view from the Williamsburg Bridge.

In between Boston and Philadelphia (where we would fly out of to get to Buenos Aires) we stayed in New York again, this time at Sharron's apartment in Brooklyn, and got to spend some time with the new Bride and Groom.

Courtney is still thrilled. Summerville, MA.

We arrived in Philadelphia as apple season hit the Mitten, our co-op house host - the neighborhood had overtaken their yard and fresh cider was in abundance. We attended the Peoplehood parade, took long walks through the "wasteland" and were present for the Mitten's dinner theater: Food themed after the musician of the evening - Patrick Elkins featuring Legs on Percussion (http://www.myspace.com/patrickelkins). Everyone we stayed with after the broken arm incident was overly helpful and kind. We were offered beds to sleep in and Courtney's lethargy was excused. Thanks.

Peoplehood Parade, West Philiadelphia, PA.

And so, off we flew to Argentina.

Chapter 3: Bike Tour, Take 2

Cluster of VW Bugs in the Appalachian Mountains

In Wooster, OH, at Aunt Jacqui and Uncle Rick's place, Rick suggested that Chris slide his cleats all the way back along his bike shoes to reduce the movement in his ankle. This was marvelous advice. We were able to ride all the way from Wooster to Harrisburg, PA with no further problems. Even after Courtney's Achilles began to go the same way, the cleat trick worked to avoid injury.

We passed the first day on the Sippo Valley Trail - A Rails-to-Trails path (http://www.railstotrails.org/). We camped on the side of the trail just outside of Canton. This time around we reduced our mileage to about 30 or 40 miles a day instead of shooting for 60 and 70. We saw more and spent more time at lunch and in towns or trails along the way. We were much more relaxed and injuries ceased.

Mornings are cold in Ohio and Pennsylvania in September. We stopped for a warm up coffee in Canton and then headed down the road toward Homeworth, OH. This was not intended as our destination but we stopped to ask for a refill of water and Steve, busy taking care of a hornet nest in his back yard, was happy to oblige. We were only a mile down the road when his friend caught up with us in a fancy red Ford Fiesta to tell us that Steve wanted to invite us to camp in his yard and feed us dinner "It's after 5 now, you won't be getting much farther tonight."

We ate salad and chatted with Steve. Sat on his deck and watched the sunset. In the morning we set off down Georgetown Rd - a quiet road with short steep bursts of hill, made a wrong turn and ended up on a numbered highway, which on Sunday, was quiet and calm with slow rolling hills. This road carried us straight into Lisbon, OH and the Johnny Appleseed Festival. Home made delicacies, free apples and live fiddle music, for Chris's extreme enjoyment.

We picnic'd amongst the festivities and chatted with some people to get new directions. They gave us all the wrong numbers but we got the basic idea and set off toward East Liverpool, OH. We ended up riding along HWY 30 which, at first is rather small but turns suddenly into a 4 lane divided highway. 30, otherwise known as Lincoln HWY, was once THE cross country road to New York. The history this road could share is unimaginable. This was not our first time encountering it but, these days, we had made a point to not stay on it too long. Many cars passing at fast speeds isn't good for bike riding. It was still Sunday, however, and most everyone was at home or elsewhere so we enjoyed a pleasant 15 miles of easy highway grades and wide shoulders before ending up in E Liverpool. This was to be our last night in Ohio, and it was quite a send off.

We parked ourselves along the waterfront where many people were enjoying the last sun rays of their Sunday evening. When we asked someone if they knew of a place to camp for free, the troops were rallied in. Everyone was asked and everyone had a suggestion. Advice wasn't the only thing they had to offer. We were told stories about the town and it's generosity (such as the story of the two elderly ladies who sold their houses and moved into a boat that they were sailing down the Ohio River toward Louisiana. They had some engine trouble and ran aground right in E Liverpool. They ended up having to stay there for several weeks. People made them food, helped with engine technicalities, and organized to get their retirement checks sent to the office in town. These adventurous ladies were on their way and in good spirits.). Eventually someone called the town guard over to ask if we could camp right there along the river. Sure, no problem, I'll get the security to check on you once an hour to make sure you're OK.

Our beautiful Campsite on the Ohio River in E Liverpool

We made it the next day to Pittsburgh where we stayed with Cara and Cleveland, friends from San Francisco. They showed us around. Two big things were happening in Pittsburgh when we arrived. 1. We had gotten there just before the G-20 conference so there was an air of political tension which would break down into chaos. The sidewalks were caged up, military police were everywhere and many streets were shut down. 2. The Steelers were playing against Chicago. And they lost. For 60 miles outside of Pittsburgh all anyone seemed to want to talk about was the Steelers. 'Where you going in Pittsburgh? The Stadium?' 'Oh, you're coming from Chicago? That's where the Steelers are.' 'Don't tell anyone you've ever even heard of Chicago...'

We left Pittsburgh after a few days. We biked out just as the official rallies were beginning and headed North East on quiet roads. On our way, we passed the Bell Township where we were transported to a perfect Pennsylvania fall day. Crossing a bridge over a picturesque lake and cruising into falling golden leaves. We reached Slickville, PA where we spent the night outside of a Fire station. We were woken twice in the middle of the night by a brutal end-of-the-world alarm, or what we imagine the atomic bomb drills must have sounded like.

But this time the world didn't end and in the morning we hopped on a Rails-to-Trails path to Ebensburg, a city at 2000 ft which you hardly notice with the easy rail grade that the path provides. We passed two days away from cars on a few forested trails. These were gorgeous. Pennsylvania is lucky to have them: The West-Penn Trail, The West Mooreland Trail and Finally the Ghost Town Trail - a path that took us through the, now non-existent, Ghost towns of the old coal mines in Pennsylvania. We got to see the ruins of a few Coal Ovens and learned a bit about the history of the area. The Hoodlebug trail, however, was not a trail at all, and if you ever find yourself looking for it, we advise you to find another route.

As we rode into Ebensburg it began to pour down rain. We have full rain gear so we were prepared but attempted to wait out the rain none-the-less. As we were riding through town we discovered that Ebensburg was having their annual Potato Festival. Potato everything was available to view and purchase. We were stopped by a local couple and asked what on earth we were doing with these bikes all loaded up. We chatted for a minute and the man got his friends who were working outside a diner to watch our bikes for us while we stepped inside for a cup of coffee. As we were saying goodbye, he gave us $5 for our first cup. Even the diner was celebrating and had a special potato menu so we enjoyed french fries and potato pierogis with our coffee.

Courtney taking a break from the rain outside of Roaring Springs, PA

As we left town the rain only got harder and we chose to wait under a few over passes for the storm to stop. Little did we know it would take days. But, while waiting, we hailed down Marty who took us 27 miles to Roaring Springs, PA. We talked about the new windmills and the loss of trees and hunting land due to them. We talked about work, lack of work and "green jobs." Marty had just lost his job as a truck driver and was out for a Sunday Drive to no where in particular. We made it to Roaring Springs long before we would usually stop for the day and had only biked 15 miles that morning and afternoon. So we braved the rain once more and headed up Henrietta Mountain Rd. A road that everyone seemed to enjoy telling us was a tough one.

We were just about to ascend the steepest part when the roads confused us and we stopped an adorable high school couple on their way to Home Coming - both looking dapper, the girl with perfect blond curls. Which way to HWY 26? About 3 miles, right? Great! Thanks!!

Two thirds of the way up Henrietta Mountain Rd we were stopped by an older relaxed looking man in blue jeans and a beard who insisted on offering us a place to stay for the night. As it turned out, the young boy in the car had called his dad and informed him that two Mennonites - this area of PA is highly populated with Mennonites - were biking up the hill (in this pouring rain) and could use a hand, if not a change of clothes. So he, Collin, had driven down his equally steep driveway and sat in his car waiting for us to reach him. Deborah and Collin let us wash our clothes, fed us soup, pizza, canned peaches and many other home made delicacies. They even opened a bottle of wine to share. We slept in a bed with a poster of Vashon Island, WA above our head. Andrew, the son, came home in the morning and we were able to thank him for the phone call.

Going up Henrietta Mountain Rd is hard. Going down, is scary. But we made it and thus began our travels through the mountains of Pennsylvania. Up and down. Through the trees and towns. Names like Burnt Cabins, Broad Top, Newville, Newburg; so many burgs. In Newville we camped outside of a church and in the morning one of the daycare counselors kindly asked if we had any interest in talking to the kids about the bike tour. We got to answer questions. Show them our bikes and rain gear. Listen to them tell us about how their dad does the same thing or how long their longest bike ride was. Little girls talked to Courtney about how they liked to bike too. Boys asked us what kind of bike computer we had. We showed off a little by stretching and they imitated us and then we rode away and everyone waved goodbye.

In the valley after a three mile descent from Broad Top, PA.

We arrived in Harrisburg a few days before we were supposed to be in New York for our friend's wedding. We had decided to take a bus from there so we could help out with wedding preparations. But after many days of riding through mountains, the valley just outside of Harrisburg was a breeze so we arrived in Harrisburg early and were able to explore the city a little before heading out again. Harrisburg is quite beautiful in an old broken down colonial sort of way. Even downtown is pretty - separated by a river and connected by a dozen unique bridges. They even have their own microbrewery. The Great Wall Chinatown bus took us all the way for only $25.

Quite evening waiting for the bus on the Harrisburg riverfront.

Chapter 2: Recovery

Chris was bed ridden for a week with a strained Achilles tendon and it was 2 more weeks before we could get back on our bikes. We visited Chris's family outside of Cleveland, OH, catching up with Grandpa Gene and Judy, who in relaxed fashion ("no parties this year") cooked food and tracked down Janik descendants from near and... about an hour away: Jill, Jacqui, Andy, Joe, Jesse, Lauren, Dominic, Aiden, and of course the dutiful spouses. And knowing that Chris would miss Mannie's wedding, we met up with him for dinner and excellent local beer at the Fat Head Brewing Company on our way back to Michigan.


The Wheatland traditional music festival represents Chris's annual homecoming.

Aside from attending the actual festival with Ben, Liz, Geno and Tish, we saw Erin (Chris's sister) and Brian, and made a couple trips to Bell's Brewery - where one drinks the finest microbrews and inevitably runs into old friends. Finally we were ready enough and house-crazy enough to get back on the road.

Chapter 1: Bike Tour, Take 1

We set out from San Francisco by train, leaving a mess behind us as we scrambled to pack everything up at the very last second. Our roommate, Hannah, woke up at dawn to drop us off at the train station. We said our goodbyes and chugged across 2/3rds of the country to Chicago.

When we got arrived, after 2 days of travel, Amtrak had lost our bikes and a box of luggage. We spent a day without a care in the world - except perhaps that we wouldn't see our bikes again and maybe the whole trip would be canceled. BUT! then the bikes and the luggage showed up only 25 hours later and we were back on track... well, a day late.

We spent the next few days putting our bikes back together, mounting our racks, (which, contrary to every other rack ever, are very complicated and call for tools such as a hack saw...) and finishing our panniers - we were attempting to sew them ourselves on home sewing machines. We were offered a few different sewing machines in Chicago, but after exhausting all our options and with our bags only 80% completed, we finally met a woman who helped us to finish the job. Exchanging money for services. Imagine. Ben (Chris's brother) and Liz and their housemates were kind enough let us take over their house for a few days, trying to get organized.

While we were in Chicago we saw our friends from our respective past lives, Muriel from high school in Seattle, Dana from college in New York, Christina from the bike world of San Francisco, Becky, Mike, Sarah, Vinh, Jeff and Ben from university in Michigan. A whole country of people packed into the city. We had a music jam in the practice space, attended an outdoor concert, enjoyed many meals with Ben and Liz, went out dancing, and overall had a great time.

Once we had achieved some kind of cohesion with our things we set off. We had only stopped working a week before leaving San Francisco and this experience taught us that more time is necessary to prepare for such a long trip. On our first day riding we made it 40 miles outside of Chicago, to a town called Lake Bluff. To get there we rode along the coast of Lake Michigan through the hours and hours of suburbs. It was actually quite beautiful, though slow with much competition of traffic. Next we biked straight west to Rock Cut State Park, just outside of Rockford, IL. We stayed in the park an extra day then headed north to Madison. Chris started noticing that his ankle hurt about 20 miles outside of town and by 10 miles out we had to stop and wrap it. But we reached the city and rushed to the Willy st co-op where Courtney had remembered she could get some Kombucha from the last time she was there. We bought some produce and asked if there was some place we could camp around town. A nice girl named Addie, said that we could sleep on her couch. She walked us to her place and set us up and then went back to work. We showered and went to bed (we get up at around 5:30 with the sun, so we're passed out by 9:30).

We planned to be back on the road and heading toward Minneapolis and the 2009 Bike!Bike! At the rate we were going, we would be 2.5 days late (for a 4 day conference) and Chris could barely walk the next day due to his ankle. So we ended up staying three nights in Madison instead of one. Realizing that we were rushed to make it to Minneapolis, we recalled one of the reasons we had chosen to travel by bike in the first place: It's important to take time and allow for serendipity. We changed directions and planned to ride up and over lake Michigan through northern WI and the Upper Peninsula.

Addie continued to be nice. She, Caleb and April, two of her housemates, had just gotten back from some long tours and were happy to help. So our 3 days there were lovely, hanging out with our magnificent new friends, getting to know the community there and seeing the city. We took bike rides, played bocce ball and made a taco bar. When we finally left, however, we were only 20 miles outside of town when Chris was pretty sure we wouldn't make it to our destination for the day: Beaver Damn; much less up and around Lake Michigan. We stayed in the yard of some nice Wisconsinites who we encountered sitting in their garage watching the storm come in. They chatted with us for a few hours and seemed to make a celebration of our presence. They showed us their can crusher wall attachment (insert can, pull lever, flattened can falls out bottom into properly placed waste bin. VOILA!). And fed us cheese and crackers like proper Midwestern hosts would.

In the morning we proceeded to bike - very very slowly - toward Milwaukee so we could take a ferry across to Muskegon, MI. Chris is a total trouper, although he probably should have said, "I'm not biking another stroke!" and we should have probably hitchhiked the rest of the way, but we made it to a bar in North Lake, WI, a super suburb of Milwaukee. Tim, a patron, let us camp in his back yard. Another man named Chris actually bought the whole bar a round - an act we've never actually encountered before - trying to impress the barista. "Do you want another beer or a shot!?!" the barista demanded, as she pulled out two shot-glasses. "we have a choice?" said Courtney. As it turns out, everyone got the shot. "A smoothie" otherwise known as Jack Daniels.

Tim woke up surprisingly early and convinced us to let him drive us into Sussex. In light of Chris's injury, we had decided to take a nice city bus with front racks for our bikes. The only morning bus left at 7 am and by 8 we were dropped in Milwaukee, a mile away from the ferry. At 12:30 we boarded and were warned of 5 to 7 foot waves and possible sea sickness. "eh, we'll be FINE" we thought. But no, not really. We both got sick and lost most of our breakfast. Tish, Chris's Dad's friend who lives in Grand Rapids, MI, was so nice and picked us up from the ferry with her sedan and her bike rack and drove us to her house. This is a 40 mile ride, so the advantage was wonderful. Geno (Chris's dad) had just left for California to hang out with Chris's sister and her lovely children, and had left his car with Tish. So we drove Geno's Car back to Kalamazoo, but not before making good conversation and being fed a wonderful vegetable bake and some fresh picked blueberries.