2,000 miles and counting as Gordon reaches Winsconsin

Gordon Taylor from Stone is cycling across the length of the United States this summer – 3,800 miles from Seattle on the Pacific coast to Boston on the Atlantic. Here’s the fourth of his regular reports of his adventure…

[dropcap]A[/dropcap]s I pull out of the town, the sky is clear and the sun is low on the horizon, touching the road ahead. There’s an electronic display outside the bank which reads 6:28 am and 55 F. Cooler than usual, my working day has begun.

This is day twenty-five. Me and my bicycle are 2200 miles across the USA. Each day now is pretty similar, and each day starts with a 5 am alarm beeping.

Today I’m in the tent. I struggle out and cross the campsite to the toilet block but am soon flapping and slapping all the biting insects who have been waiting patiently for their first breakfast. There’s some bug spray in my toilet bag so the walk back after a wash and shave isn’t so bad – but my usual coffee and porridge on the stove will be impossible.

Minong in Wisconsin is another little town. Originally built on the logging industry, it is now an “outdoor” holiday destination at the centre of a vast network of off-road trails for all terrain vehicles – four wheel ATVs in the summer and snowmobiles in the winter. The campsite is big and modern, with a covered dining area, plenty of electrical sockets, BBQ stands and decent WiFi. It’s free for tent campers too. I get all my gear packed up and wheel the bike out past the other tents and big recreational vehicles. Someone is snoring, fitfully. It’s still dark.

Although it isn’t yet six o’clock, there are three cafes open in town. I choose the one that has half a dozen pickup trucks parked outside and, sure enough, find the owners inside – working men having breakfast. I’m the obvious outsider, but they all say hi. The talk is about truck repairs and last week’s rain. A group of thee are casually playing a dice game. I’ve seen this game in many bars and cafes for several days now. I keep out if it, assuming that the newcomer, me, would automatically lose and end up paying for everyone’s breakfast.

My own food arrives. Eggs, bacon, pancakes, maple syrup and a whole pot of coffee. It’s eight dollars. One of the men, who turns out to be seventy, makes a remark about me “fuelling up” and I spend the next ten minutes explaining my journey, in between bites of pancake. We go our separate ways, wishing each other a good day and a safe journey.

My next stop is in Haywood, where there’s a bike shop. I pedal for two hours to get there and do a bit of food shopping – peanuts and chocolate- in a convenience store whilst I wait for the bike shop to open. I need to buy some tools.

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Whilst my journey is predominantly full of good cycling and pleasant conversations, there is a rougher side to the USA too. I had a bag of tools and spares stolen a week ago. Luckily the bike was locked to a tree but the straps on my little bag had been cut off and the bag was gone. I managed to get puncture bits and pieces from a Walmart supermarket, but I needed some specialised tools from a proper shop. I also need to change the worn out chain, which is routine.

Wisconsin and Minnesota, my two most recent States appear neat and prosperous, but I’d been shocked to see so much homelessness and rural poverty in some areas in the West. The Indian Reservations had been awful too – long stretches of rough roads and run down houses where I was chased by dogs and never took any photographs.

All my other memories of the week are good though. I stayed overnight in a bike hostel in the tiny town of Gackle, North Dakota. The hostel was really just a big spare room at the back of some kind family’s house. The room had a couple of mattresses only, but there was a shower and a washing machine… almost everything the weary cyclist needs.

I chatted long into the night with Gary, from Michigan. He’s riding a tandem across the country with an empty back seat. His wife died of pancreatic cancer a year ago and the bike ride is to commemorate her and raise money too. The poor man was feeling guilty because he was enjoying the ride so much.

North Dakota was striking for other reasons too. On the day I left the hostel, I rode in a straight line for 105 miles along highway 46 until I came to the first corner of the day! There were two tiny kinks at river crossings, but these straight roads across pan-flat landscapes are quite different to anything we have in Staffordshire.

I spent another couple of nights with families too – one in a brand new lakeside luxury house and the other with some real characters. Lyle was riding round the street on a unicycle when I arrived and we later shot across town to the pub with him zooming ahead on his tallbike.

Overall, my bike ride is going well – far better than I hoped. I pedal for eight or nine hours every day, and chat to people every time I stop for food or a rest. I crossed the Mississippi a couple of days ago, which makes it feel as though I must be on the homeward stretch now. Phew!