Day 1- The hardest day (I hope)

Day 1

Origin: Cowtown, Fort Wort

Destination: Waco Area

Weather: Excellent temperature, high southerly winds (28km-20km)

Distance ridden: 81 miles (130km)

This is it... Dallas (Fort Worth is pretty much same city) to New Orleans. After so much talk, finally time to bite the bullet and get moving. Always before one is about to undertake a long journey,  they ask themselves ‘I think I’ve got everything, right?’. This has been constantly played over in my head, the mental checklist revised and revised. However sometimes you can never be fully prepared, as I was about to find out during this first performance.

After a mustering all my belongings and arranging them in my various packs, I sat down to find out where my launching pad should be. I guess since I’m in Dallas it should be quintessentially Dallas (Dallasian, Dallite, Dali don’t know what word they use). So what better place than the massive rodeo area and stockyards? After a top brekkie (slang for breakfast) cooked by Michael, we loaded up the Landcruiser and drove out the Tenny’s driveway. This is it (for the second time I realised, it growing even stronger)...

I was to be taken to Michael’s work, where Art was going to take me where I needed to set sail, southward bound. So after plugging the address into the GPS we were taken to a proper Texan place. Samantha (a lady who posted a review on google) describes it as a place where there are “A lot of animals to see and the show was very entertaining”. Correct and correct, we didn’t even go to the rodeo but there was a meet, with pickups and their cattle trailers causing a bank up down the road that could be seen in LA during peak hour. All going down to sell their stock. Police wearing Cowboy hats were directing the traffic as we tried to get through we were stopped by one custodian of a specific stretch of road. His drawl was loooooonnnnnnnggggg. “What you here for?”, he asked. Art told him we were ‘just traveling through to other side’. No budging whatsoever. I had another place in mind, the old stockyards...

It was getting late in the day and with this new location, I had no google maps to guide me through. But my impatient side told me just get going you will figure it out. Setting an old school Garmin GPS which drew a straight line to a place that looked as though I would rendezevous with my original google map, I set it to direction me with the general south east-ish direction of Crowley. I started pedalling, finally!

The first 10 minutes involved my mind playing a lot of tricks. Some of the path was cobbled and the bags certainly magnified this. Are these bags suitable? The front bag especially could be deemed as flimsy, with it not really receiving the best of reviews for its’ design. Online shopping, cost-effective but unproved. The next came over a massive pothole where the tire, jolted and I immediately became paranoid about a flat of some description. The way downtown was slightly uphill and my legs untrained in carrying this added weight up hills and just generally untrained (Lance’s program didn’t work for me), were immediately tested. Not to mention I was already starting to sweat and had not drunk enough water. Time to suck it up Nick and deal with it.

Navigating my way through down town, I knew I needed to generally head eastward of town or face backtracking due to the interstate and various urban highways that cater for the motor-mad Dallas folk. Heading east I looked at one of google maps I intended to use, that left from downtown. There was a few streets I could potentially run into... I did in fact. Linking back onto this it successfully took me through an underpass and onto the eastside. Eastside is not the best side, with a fair few people just ‘hangin out’. I overshot the mark on one street going too far. After trying to reconnect with it, going too far west, and east I decided to try and rediscover this side in the township of Crowley. All this confusion and stopping and starting was wasting valuable sunlight.

I soon discovered why these area is deemed as such a sprawl, passing the endless run-down Mexican places, what appeared as a squatter-house that served up a $3.95 buffet (I was so tempted) and the shoddy car dealers (like I said they love their cars). I kept riding amongst the traffic and those souls ‘hangin out’, the blank expression on their faces. Once more out of the burbs I was hit with that cruel Texas wind. As Dave from Ranchward’s Steakhouse said, you can either get it north or south. Meaning life can be such a breeze (pardon the pun) or an absolute battle. Today it was a battle, as much as I tried to keep that 20 average as soon as an incline was encountered I was pushed back to 16kmph . Did I mention a battle?

Getting into Crowley, it was not the quaint place I expected. Fast food reigned and any other commerce was few and far between. I wanted to find what it offered pulling up to duck donuts, the sign was lit as being open. In fact it was cleared out. I dismissed the idea of finding a hidden gem in Crowley, turning my focus to rehydrating and finding my road prescribed by google (south freeway). I asked a cop pulled up that was looking to clock in any speeders. Apparently the bridge was down for the direct route, so I had to listen intently to the turns and landmarks. I set out, once again going too far down the road before realising I would have to go back north. Going north was fantastic, I cruised down at 35kmph effortlessly before hitting the interstate. A rude realisation hit me, he didn’t mean south i-35. I crossed the overpass, but there was no indication of an old highway west of i-35. Going back I though I will take this service road. Bingo, I was back on my way.

A quick Wendy’s crispy chicken (99c) and a bit of stupid attitude (long way to Waco) from some a teenager sporting a moustache that looked as though he had glued on hairs to his lip, I was on track. The interstate was providing me with some proper pollution and the service road heavy with traffic, but to my right I was treated to some incredible RV parks, antique places and all other things Texan. Also those who tell me Texas is flat, are not fully informed. Sure comparatively to Colorado or other states but it still has its dips and rises, in combination with that direct S wind, hard yakka.

Time was essence and I had lost my fair share, as I rolled up and down Burlison Rd (i-35 frontage). I knew the navigation difficulty in Crowley and Fort Worth would come back and bite me, as I well and truly realised later on.

To be continued (currently 11am in Waco I got to find a light (story about lights soon to come) and hit the road otherwise face darkness like yesterday)

   Stay tuned

Reviewing my training regime

Training, that concept that allows one to actively move forward to being equipped with the right skill set to reach their goals. Or something along those lines. 
For this ride, something that I have had in the pipe dream for a few months now, you think I would be practicing like crazy? Maybe like Vladimir Horowitz I subscribe to the principle, "If I don't practice for a day, I know it. If I don't practice for two days, my wife knows it. If I don't 
practice for three days, the world knows it." 


The last month I have been training like crazy don't believe me? Below is an outline of my training schedule.

Week 1
3 x per-week weight training

4 x per-week fix gear riding for 1 1/2-2 hours 
with 145 HR ceiling

2 x per-week road ride on normal bike for 2-21/2 hours
with 145 HR ceiling, high pedal speed, 95+ rpms

Week 2
3 x per-week weight training

4 x per-week fix gear riding for 1 1/2-2 hours with
145 HR ceiling

2 x per-week road ride on normal bike for 2-3 hours with
145 HR ceiling, high pedal speed, 95+ rpms

Week 3
3 x per-week weight training
4 x per-week fix gear riding for 1 1/2-2 hours 
with 145 HR ceiling

2 x per-week road ride on normal bike for 3-31/2 hours 
with 145 HR ceiling, high pedal speed, 95+ rpms

Week 4
3 x per-week weight training

4 x per-week fix gear riding for 1 1/2-2 hours 
with 145 HR ceiling

2 x per-week road ride on normal bike for 3 1/2-4 hours 
with 145 HR ceiling, high pedal speed, 95+ rpms 
with 3 short flat sprints of 8 seconds each, full recovery between sprints. 


Actually that was Lance Armstrong '99 a month before le Tour. My training regime one month before tomorrow consisted of


Week 1- Walk around NY searching for cheapest dumplings, pizza and beer, sometimes with alcohol in system sometimes without. 


Week 2- Dodge the mines in the DMZ located between Canadian and US border (Fort Niagara). Snowboarding a few times, get used to feeling pain with bruised and battered coccyx and supposed cracked rib. 


Week 3- More altitude training (getting back off ass after falling, drinking and occasional hike). Columbia, MO Icebreaking (literally off Katy Trail) 


Week 4- Lug 3 bags around Los Angeles public transport, where it may take 3 days of walking/waiting for connecting bus or light rail. Learn and practice how to clip in on bicycle and get on bike ride for 3 hours (only valid form).


So there you have it my arduous and grueling training regime. going to set me up for my ride to Waco (160km) followed by the ride to Austin (180km). It will be my birthday on Thursday, if youre going to be there for it great: I ask for presents of ice packs for my sore coccyx

My bike ready in action

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Unique New York

Escape from New York

Re-visitation of Escape from New York: Part 1

Its 11am Buffalo Greyhound Station, a sense of exhaustion sweeps of me but as I survey the characters around me I know I must keep my coherence or face one of my pieces of luggage disappearing. I am exhausted from previous 2 weeks accumulated without a proper sleep and only 1 hour managed the night. Despite this I am smiling, in good spirits and thinking of the staunch irony of this sense of Hotel California I had just experienced. De ja vu yet again.

It was 3 and a half years ago, a travel weary 18 year old hoisted his backpack over his shoulder and breathed a deep sigh of relief. He had also arrived at Buffalo Greyhound Station and he was also waiting for the same lovely Leah Sallach. This time the stakes were higher, it was more of a rescue mission. He had made it through an extremely challenging time, yet had had made the most and lived this out to the fullest. At this time I had reached my refuge, found in a Lutheran Camp 30 mins south of Buffalo New York. To explain further...

After getting my credit and debit cards stolen midway through my central American expedition, I had arrived in New York at 3am with only 55 dollars to my name. The same NY city that is one of the most expensive cities, the same NY city where the demand to couchsurf exceeds the supply of hosts of couchsurfing, the same NY city that was at least 8 hours and 70 dollar bus ticket to where my credit card was being sent to.

But in Guatemala after much skype and frantic dollars used up on internet planning, I had managed to find a roof 2 nights out of my arrival and Leah had potentially found a sponsor for getting me to Camp Pioneer. I had a plan but it was highly contingent on things falling my way.

I arrived at La Guardia at 1:00am, I was tired but knew what station to get to on Queens that would enable me to recharge. It was approximately 2:10am when I walked out of the subway, aware  that my destination was roughly 2 blocks away but becoming disorientated by the many sub exits. Map-less, I conducted a 2 block ‘parameter search’. Not one of the most sensible things to do, but my trust in nothing going wrong in NY over Guate was in guiding me. After asking a few ‘gentlemen’ hanging out on the streets and then coming across a cop-shop I made it to Kieran and Hailey’s. Only a few bucks down with the subway and walking method. Nice...  They were super people and despite having no furniture with recently moving, so cool in hosting me. With a blanket, my backpack cushion and a secure place to sleep, never had the floor felt so good.

The next day, still no news of Leah but I decided to trust and go exploring NY with David, a fellow couchsurfer who had done a fair bit of travel with the marines. He was top company walking down Wall St, before hightailing it up to central park to play some lawn bowls (I’m a premature geriatric). After such a scenic roll we decided to locate a cheap culinary offering of New York. This is not an apple, but a hot dog. We needed to find the most authentic, which of course was Greys Papaya, not papaya dog! not dogs’ n papaya!  Yes that was a cheap take on Monty Python. After much exploring we found it. It turned out David was in town for Fleet week, where he could get the opportunity to hang out with his navy girlfriend Dawn, as they had docked for a few days. Dawn was with her friend Donnie, who out of such kindness and sympathy for lack of funds shouted me to an off-Broadway and meal at TGIs time square. I was so happy by everybody’s generosity, but nervous about my fading funds. Despite living so frugally I was down to 38 dollars.

Bonanza! I finally got through to Leah and we were able to pick a time for my emphatic ride out of town on my trusty steed (the Greyhound). This was to take place at 12:35am, to strategically coincide with the idea of checking out the Yankee bleachers, which were retailing for 20 and not requiring another night in NY city. Hailey and took me east village to get the best falafels in town, which lived up to their name in deliciousness and located on the adjacent stoop was a free desert to boot. These were doughnuts in a random paper bag. Of course these doughnuts were lacv ed and just moments later, I was hurriedly forced into a van, but I they were tasty and free! I later found out these apparently are intended for the homeless people. Karma would catch up to me. The next few hours consisted of the girls taking me to a place called the ‘dream room’, an exhibition next to the New Museum of Art which consisted of a purple coloured room with various lighting effects, a vibration-like sound and cushions on the floor. Before I knew it, it was Yankee time down on the Bronx.

Here I was, trying to negotiate the baseball crowd with my entire wardrobe strapped up on my back and front. Upon approaching the ticket office to acquire my seating with the ‘bleacher creatures’, I was greeted with the agonising news they were sold out. The next cheapest ticket was  strapped up on my back and front. Upon approaching the ticket office to acquire my seating with the ‘bleacher creatures’, I was greeted with the agonising news they were sold out. The next cheapest ticket was 45 dollars, perhaps I could pay with my 30 remaining and write an IOU  on my serviette acquired from my falafel. What to do now? Get the wardrobe that I had carried 10 odd km for the day on my bike sounded like a logical start. So no restaurants to be seen, yet there were ‘professionals’ who would take custody of personal possessions around the ground. Now to get a quote as to whether it was worth it. First guy said 35 in his thick NYorker accent, seriously I thought could write him another IOU. Next guy 45 and the following 40.

As if divine 'yankee' intervention struck, I sourced a bowling alley who agreed to hold the bags for $5 and I trusted that it would be still there when I returned. As soon as I walked 50 metres outside, I came across a ‘legitimate scalper’... “What are you selling?” I ask. She replies a ticket to an extremely good seat. I told her I only had 25 dollars, this was an appropriate amount to the lady it seemed. Questioning further I realised she just was grateful to see them used after acquiring a last minute shift at the hospital. Unbelievably I was in.

It was a sight to behold, this historic stadium that hosted one of the wealthiest sporting teams in the world packed with diehard Nayorkas. Mind you this was the last season before they relocated their games to the brand new twin stadium that was across the road. So it was such an incredible feeling to spend my last 30 dollars on such a spectacle. The thoroughfare was underway with the greats like Jeter getting a few hits as the Yankees easily discarded the Marlins. I was sitting next to a dentist surgeon, who bemoaned how he paid 125 dollars after hearing my scalping story. Couldn’t he have just been happy for me?

I stayed for the end before using up my last trip left on my 5 ride card, to travel to the infamous point authority. I eventually located the greyhound office and with reservation number in hand, I strolled in to claim my ticket. After handing me the ticket, the attendant immediately closed the office. That was when the realisation of how close I had run this gauntlet hit. Apparently the greyhound closed at 11 despite my bus leaving at 12:35. Greyhound are merciless when it comes to administering tickets and if I had of been 5 minutes later I would have been stranded.

The adaption theory pertaining to this whole situation of mixing pleasure and survival had finally kicked into exhaustion as I parked myself on a seat. The remaining task at hand; wait out the 1 and half hours remaining. I asked an old guy across from me whether this was the right terminal for Buffalo, naturally these characters always want to spin a yarn or two. So after hearing about this fellas life in the successful automotive business he had worked on all through Queens and then the trials and tribulations he encountered living in such a segregated time. Riding the emotive and nostalgic wave with him was interesting but at the same time I just wanted to sleep due to the exhaustion. Eventually it was time to board and ended up sitting next to the loveliest of people in Pamela born in Nigeria now living in London. She even ended up spotting me on a subway sandwich, which remains the best sub Ive ever had to this day (helps after not eating for 16 hrs and bought with such humbling kindness).

Buffalo was brightly shining when I arrived that day, contrary to the day I was currently experiencing 3 and a half years later. This greyhound trip just experienced was also quite different too...

Lack of organisation for sorting out shelter in NY led me to desperate measures