The Tour de Tahoe

Shortly after this picture was taken, "Fat-boy" had to get
ff of the tandem and catch his breath!  This was one of
the steepest climbs on the ride, complete with switchbacks.

There is an event that I feel compelled to share with anyone who enjoys the great outdoors while riding a bike.  Its name is The Tour de Tahoe, and as you might guess it’s a one-day ride that circumnavigates Lake Tahoe. 

Lake Tahoe has a reported surface elevation of 6224 feet… but it ain’t a level ride!  You will gain – and lose – 4371 feet as you pedal around the lake, and a couple of the climbs aren’t very kind!  There’s a nasty little grunter somewhere between the 10 and 15 mile mark that forced us off of the bike to walk a short distance, due a combination of altitude, early morning chill and the incline of the road.  We got to the point where we could barely breathe.  Fortunately, we weren’t the only ones whipped by this particular grade!

But the weather will improve as the morning wears on, and soon you’ll be peeling off the layers you started out with and will either find a way to carry your cold weather gear with you, or hand it off at the first rest/snack stop to have it trucked backed to the event’s start and finish line.  (We got rid of some of the gear, but kept a jacket “just in case”.)

I believe there were slightly more than 1700 riders in 2014 when we did the ride.  I am proud to say that we were not the only tandem out there, but it sure would have been nice to see a lot more tandem teams than we did.  There were all sorts of riders and styles of bicycle out there, from the elite carbon road frames to commuter bikes, “go fast” riders to the recreational cyclist who would take all day but make it to the finish line with a smile on their face.  We were probably somewhere right in the middle of the parade.

So why am I sharing this particular ride with you?  Because, if you ever have the opportunity to do The Tour de Tahoe, you really should.  At least once.  The ride is nothing short of being nature’s eye-candy.  It’s gorgeous, something that really should be seen and experienced from the saddle of a bike at least once in your life.  Plus if you had any doubts about your abilities and whether you could actually complete the ride, you’ll feel a LOT better about yourself at the end of the day!

 Bike the West is the organizer of this ride, and a couple others as well.  In addition to the 72 mile ride, there is a 35 mile version that entails a cruise aboard the Tahoe Queen to the north shore of Lake Tahoe where the rides then return to the start/finish line.  For the uber-cyclists, there is a century ride available as well.  And have I mentioned that the support stations are well stocked with goodies to eat and drink?

I could go on and ramble about this ride.  Suffice it to say that I bought an event t-shirt and jersey, and I love wearing either because completing this ride really meant something to me!  (I was skeptical about my ability to make it; my stoker had more faith in the two of us!)  But whenever I put on this jersey and go out for a ride, I feel like I’m entitled to wear it.  I’ve never put that much meaning into, or felt that much pride from an event jersey!

Think about doing this ride sometime.  Put it on your “biking bucket list”.  You may cuss me as you climb up some of those hills, but you’ll thank me for this recommendation at the end of the day!

Follow these links to investigate further!

Bike the West

https://www.bikethewest.com

Denbigh the Dog, Part Two

(Continued from "Denbigh the Dog, Part One")

My current mail route is an amazing amalgamation of different delivery styles.  The first half involves walking from door-to-door, and some parts where I drive from house-to-house, walking up to each doorstep individually.  This sounds a little counter intuitive, but actually is easier in one section that involves a steep hill and too many stops to actually try and walk the thing.  Plus there’s the parcels that need to be delivered; too many of those to get stuffed into a satchel as well!

The last half of the route is my “reward” for surviving the first half every day.  It’s also in a hilly section of Boise, but all the mailboxes are right on the curb so I get to drive from house-to-house, and only get out of the truck if I have a package that is larger than the mailbox.

One day when I had finished my “flatland” portion and had gone to my “reward” on the hill, I arrived in the first little cul-de-sac and noticed a dog running directly toward my truck.  This dog was coming at full speed, and… he had a stick in his mouth!  It was Denbigh – and he was a good distance from home.  I threw the stick for him a couple of times and then convinced him to get into the truck, which he reluctantly did when he figured out that I was done with the stick.

We then drove back down the hill and then the remaining ten blocks or so back to where he lived.  I stopped the truck and opened the door and we both got out and went to the front door.  Nobody was home.  Denbigh walked over to the side gate and waited for me to open it.  I did, and he calmly walked back into his yard and I closed the gate behind him.  Off I went to resume my deliveries.

The very next day, I received a notice that Denbigh’s family had put in a “vacation hold” order.  It was a day late in getting to me, and the hold should have started on the day Denbigh found me.  I panicked thinking that he’d been forgotten, or worse that he was now trapped in his yard with no one to feed him.  I’d make sure he was okay when I went by later that day.

When I stopped at Denbigh’s house, he was nowhere to be found.  “I suppose he’s escaped again,” I thought to myself.  “I hope he’s okay, wherever he is.”

Fortunately the family wasn’t gone for very long, and as soon as they were home Denbigh was as well.  I stopped and said hello, and we talked a little bit and then the woman shared a mystery with me.  “We went on vacation, so we left Denbigh with my sister.  He disappeared, and so she came down here hoping he had found his way home.”

I could feel my stomach churning a little.  She continued.  “My sister came here and found that he had managed to get back into the yard!  He always gets out… getting back is a new trick!”

I then confessed how I had found him (okay… he FOUND me) up on the hill, and had no idea that he was staying up there.  Apparently the sister had gone off to work, and Denbigh had immediately said goodbye to their dog and escaped to find more exciting things to do when I happened along.  Fortunately they laughed about it and were actually grateful that I tried to bring Denbigh back home – even though he was supposed to be staying up on the hill. 

I assured them that if I found him up there again, I’d check with the sister first before returning him home.  They in turn thought they’d rather have him returned home than to be wandering about in strange territory.  One way or another, we’d all make sure Denbigh was okay.

Then came the day when the lady met me at the house and asked if I had seen Denbigh.  He had gotten out, and wandered off and had not returned.  Both she and her husband were sick with worry and had no clue where he went.  I hadn’t seen him either, and things weren’t looking good for Denbigh at this point.  The weather wasn’t helping either; it had been raining most of the day.

The next day was dismal, and the rain hadn’t stopped.  I just arrive at the start of my route where O’Farrell Street turns into Horizon Drive (and that steep hill begins).  At the second house I noticed something move underneath a bush and then emerge; it was Denbigh.  Instead of coming to me, he frantically started looking for a stick.  The moment he found one, he ran over to me and dropped it at my feet.  “You idiot!” I said.  “You’re soaked!  I don’t want to throw the stick!  Let’s go home.”  And with that I opened up the door and beckoned for him to get in.

Nothing doing.  Denbigh would NOT get into the truck.  Again he dropped the stick at my feet and assumed his crouching position, waiting for the throw.  I finally had a little light bulb go off in my brain, and figured that if he wanted to play with the stick…

I drove the four blocks back to Denbigh’s house with my arm fully extended out the window, stick in hand, with Denbigh merrily running after it – but never quite catching it.  When we got to his house, there was a minor celebration in honor of his return.  They asked where I’d found him, and I told them where it was – although it was Denbigh that had found me.  “We searched all up and down that street, calling for him constantly,” they told me.  But their searching yielded no results. 

So back in the yard he went, and the fence line was patrolled and anchored down even more.  Three weeks went by and I didn’t see Denbigh.  Then one day they met me at the door once again.  “Denbigh’s gone again.  We searched all over including where you said he was the last time.  We can’t find him… will you keep an eye out for him?”

It was a day similar to the one when Denbigh found me a few weeks before.  The only difference was that I had gotten out for delivery earlier than usual that morning, as the mail volume was light.  (The more mail, the longer it takes us to get the route put together.  The less mail, the quicker we get out on the street.)  I had passed the point where Denbigh had met me almost two hours before the time we had found each other previously. 

I decided to take a chance and go back to that spot “just in case”.  When I think about it now, it seems pretty stupid – thinking that a dog would have an internal clock, and that he’d return (in the same weather conditions) to the same place where we had met a few weeks before.  As I rounded the corner and drove back to the house where he’d spotted me previously, my jaw dropped open as Denbigh emerged from under the bush with a stick in his mouth, ready to play.

Again I had to drive back to his house, holding the stick out of the window at arm’s length while he happily chased it.  I believe that it was after this latest adventure that the family invested in the chickens, and gave Denbigh a new chapter in his life.  Once “his chickens” had arrived you couldn’t get him to leave the yard for anything.  Well, unless the chickens were safely napping and he heard the mail truck coming down the street!

Unless You’re The Lead Dog…

I'd think that some people would
be grateful for a view like this!

“Unless you’re the lead-dog, the view never changes”.  You’ve probably heard that one somewhere in your travels, and have maybe seen a cute little picture of a few sled-dog butts with that slogan as a caption on Facebook or some other social media site. Judging by the picture that leads in this article, one would probably concede this quote is as true as the sky is blue.

Let’s throw out a couple of tandem-terms for those of you who are “tandem-curious” but not baptized in the lifestyle.  First off, there is the word “Captain”.  This refers to the one who is blessed in life to sit “up front”.  This person is in charge of steering, braking and making damned sure that he doesn’t do anything stupid to jeopardize the health and well being of the one sitting behind him, known as the “Stoker”.

The stoker probably gets her name from the old Dutch, which loosely means “push” or “poke”.  This was also the moniker assigned to one who attended the fire on the old steam locomotives.  Some folks refer to their stoker as the “Rear Admiral”, perhaps an admission as to who really wields the “power”.  Stokers do an incredible amount of inspiring work; mine inspires me when I’m in need of a little pick-me-up by bending low and biting me in the butt. 

A quick disclaimer:  I’ve assigned gender to the terms “Captain” and “Stoker”.  “He” is up front while “she” is in back.  This isn’t another form of male-dominance and subjugation.  It’s simply the “norm” in tandem cycling, an endeavor which usuallyinvolves a married couple.  Not always, but usually. 

We tried swapping seats once many years ago.  The ride lasted about two blocks when she said to he, “No %$#@*#% way!”  There was a weight difference of nearly 100 pounds between the two of us, and a height difference of a foot.  The back end of the bike was not stable, and shewasn’t comfortable up front.  This probably wouldn’t be an issue if she was riding with someone similar (or less) in weight and mass.

One of the big questions that many stokers hear is, “Don’t you get tired of staring at his butt all day?”  It does seem a bit unfair, doesn’t it?  The Captain views a wonderful panorama of nature at its finest while the Stoker gets an eyeful of butt (or back) all day long.  There are two lessons to be learned here:  life ain’t fair, and apparently you didn’t pay attention during anatomy class.

It is true that the stoker will never be able to see the little bit of road directly in front of the bike.  Keep in mind that the spine is a marvel in engineering; it bends, flexes and articulates.  In other words… a Stoker can turn her head and stare off into the distance whenever she chooses.  This is a luxury that is never afforded to the Captain.

A Captain can only ocassionaly glance away from the road surface directly in front of him.  He is constantly watching for chuck-holes, cracks, broken glass, loose sand or gravel, rocks or other debris along the side of the road… even road kill… all of which are things you should never run over on a tandem (or a single bike, for that matter). 

The Captain is also monitoring traffic both in front of and (if he’s using a mirror) in back of the tandem.  There isn’t any time for sightseeing, except for what you can absorb through peripheral vision as you pilot your double-bike down the highway.  The Stoker can look for details in the distance to either side of the bike and breathe in all the visual beauty there is to be had during the ride. 

The Captain is busy monitoring a small width of asphalt as they pedal down the road; the Stoker is saying things like, “there’s a small herd of deer up on that hill” or “there’s a bald eagle perched in that tree”.  I’m wondering “which hill?”  “What tree?”  If I look around for any amount of time at all, I’ll be derelict in my first obligation of keeping us on course, upright and safe. 

Fortunately for me, our tandem is equipped with this technological marvel known to the common-folk as “brakes”.  If something is really worth taking a good look at, I can always stop the bike and take a look at the Stoker’s discovery without fear of running off the edge of a cliff! 

So… the Stoker's short answer to “do you ever get tired of staring at his butt all day?” 

“No.  But if I do… I can always turn my head!”

Denbigh the Dog, Part One

There was once a family that lived on Resseguie Street that had a couple of dogs.  One was a dog of questionable breed, though probably had some border collie in her, named Riddle.  The other was a dog that was definitelya border collie; his name was Denbigh. 

They were located at the end of this fabled street in Boise, so automobile traffic was limited just to those living up the dead-end street that adjoins at Resseguie’s terminus.  Riddle was much older and was approaching the end of her life as Denbigh was reaching his prime.

Riddle was going blind and deaf, and was happy just to sit on the porch and enjoy the sunshine.  Although she could no longer see or hear me coming, she could feel the wooden steps and porch reverberate with each footstep and when I offered my hand for a sniff she immediately would start wagging her tail and say “hello” to me the best she could. 

Riddle didn’t quite make it to the 20-year mark, but she gave it her best.  Once she was gone and Denbigh was alone, he needed a diversion.  His “parents” got a few backyard chickens, which immediately became his obsession; his herding instincts took over and he had a sense of purpose to his life.  Denbigh would spend hours watching “his” chickens and keeping track of their every movement.

Denbigh was also one of the smartest dogs I ever met, and this excess of intelligence often got him in trouble.  Early on in our friendship, Denbigh had decided that my sole purpose in his life was to throw a stick for him whenever I showed up.  He once told me (telepathically, of course) that “Petting was fine for other dogs… but life is short and here’s a stick.  Now THROW it!”

The minute I would step into Denbigh’s yard he would start glancing from left to right until he found a stick that was suitable for the task and then bring it to me and drop it at my feet.  He would then back up a few feet and then hunker down, never taking his eyes off of the stick.  I’d throw it, he’d bring it back and we’d repeat the process a few times until I had to move on.  Then he’d look at me with a hurt expression, like I’d failed him somehow by walking away.  But if he was out the next day, all would be forgiven and we’d start the process anew.

Ah… now there was the key.  IF he was out.  You see, he had a nice fenced back yard.  He wasn’t hurting for space to run around in.  But Denbigh was an escape artist, and if he could find a weakness anywhere along the fence line he would exploit it.  Many a day would find me ringing the bell, and then letting the folks know that Denbigh had escaped once again.  “I just fixed two new escape routes I found in the fence yesterday” would often be the reply.  No matter.  When the master closes a door, Denbigh opens a window. 

Not only did Denbigh know how to get out with alarming regularity, but he also could recognize the sound of my mail truck before I’d get to the house.  So as I was rounding the corner a couple of houses away I’d see Denbigh come bounding out of his yard with a stick in his mouth, running up the middle of the street directly at my truck.  I’d have to stop and open my door, at which point he would get out of the way and come over to the door and drop the stick inside by my feet (or in the footwell, depending on his placement).  He’d then back away and wait for me to throw it.

It’s tough to play with a dog and drive at the same time.  Especially when it’s a determined dog.  Fortunately the houses just prior to his had some terrain that required a little effort to get up and into, so I could make it to the next house before he’d show up with the stick again.  One more throw and then I’d be at his house, ratting him out to his owner once again who would say in a defeated tone, “nowhow did you get out?”

The trouble with an escape artist is that sooner or later they discover that they can wander further than the front yard.  Denbigh did just that, and I’ll share a couple tales of his “travels” in Part Two of this tale one week from this posting.

(Jump to "Denbigh the Dog, Part Two)

Biking in Florida

See this map in full size on the
Florida Greenways & Trails
Foundation website.

I’m writing this on the last day of January.  The sun has been up for less than an hour, although I have yet to see any hint of direct sunlight.  Clouds shroud the mountaintops to the south; all I can see is the valley floor and the bottom half of the mountains.

Where we live the temperature should hit the freezing mark by 3:00 PM for the high of the day.  (But there’s a layer of snow or frost on the road, so riding up here today is out of the question.)  50 miles to the south, Boise should reach a high of 38 degrees by 3:00 PM.  In the area we’re moving to later this year it should reach 68 degrees by 3:00 PM.  Guess where I’d rather be?

Most people get to hang their bikes up in the garage this time of year, or else they really have to bundle up before they go out and get in a short ride.  We’ve had a couple of rides this year, wearing several layers of clothing for warmth.  We survived and were grateful to be able to get out – but I’d much rather get out in the sunshine and shirtsleeve weather!  Of course this is the main reason we will move to Florida and live out the rest of our cycling lives there.

We’re excited about the opportunity to be able to ride just about every single day of the year.  Yes, the summers might be a wee bit miserable.  Perhaps that ‘s why some people go out early in the morning or late in the evening for their rides.  Then there are those who simply acclimate to the weather and humidity and just get out there no matter what. 

But back to lamenting about the lack of winter bike rides.  Wouldn’t it be nice to pack up your bike and get out of the snow-zone for a week or so for a little respite and to get reacquainted with your bike before the traditional spring thaw?  I’m excited about a couple of trails that are nearing completion in central Florida, and would recommend to anyone who enjoys recreational cycling or touring to bookmark these links and keep an eye on them.  One day they’ll be a “must do” destination getaway.

The Coast-To-Coast Connector is a project that should excite anyone who likes to bike from “Point A to Point B”.  The trail will link St. Petersburg on the gulf coast to Titusville (and then east to Cape Canaveral and the Atlantic Ocean).  There’s a 27 minute long video on the website that’s worth a watch when you’ve got some spare time.

The Heart of Florida Loop utilizes part of the C2C trail on the south as well as arcing up toward Ocala and Dunnellon to the north.  This would make a wonderful diversion (or extension of your trip) if you were riding round trip from St. Petersburg to the Atlantic and wanted some different scenery on the return leg.

Getting there will take a little planning, as you could fly into Tampa or Orlando, or take Amtrak to several locations near the C2C.  Of course, one could always drive there, although in the winter driving long distances is something most people hope to avoid!  If one flew into Tampa, it’s just a matter of getting over to the St. Pete side of the bay to connect with the Pinellas Trail, which will merge with the Coast-to-Coast Connector.  There’s either the Gandy Bridge (U.S. 92) or a “trail only” bridge north of Florida 60 (Courtney Campbell) that can get you over the bay.  I have no personal experience in this area, but it sounds from opinions posted on the Internet that getting to either of these options on your bike is not for the weak-of-heart!

As these trails reach completion I would expect people in the area to start thinking about how they can get trail users from the major transit centers to the trailheads.  As they would say in Field of Dreams, “If you build it, [they] will come.”  With the promise of the financial shot in the arm these trails will bring to the communities along the way, someone will figure out how to get you and your bike there.