The Awkward Pose

July 29, 2016 – Sun, 90 degrees

Miles Today: 12

Miles to Date: 13,694

States to Date: 36

It rained hard all night. My dreams came in torrents. I woke fully rested to the first cool breeze in over a week.

July in DC is for tourists, and so I played the tourist on my one day in a place that is not a state. My host rode me into DC. We breakfasted at a combo bike/coffee shop in Brookland, an up and coming neighborhood. Then I pedaled over to Howard University and spent several interesting hours with people from the School of Architecture; a very enthusiastic bunch the day after the Democratic Convention.

Though I have been to DC many times, there are always new places to see. Since I have been spending so much time in libraries on this trip I visited the Library of Congress. The tour of this incredible building (1897 Beaux Arts masterpiece with breathtaking interiors) is worthwhile. The contents of this amazing institution (163,000,000 articles, and 12,000 new ones every day) are beyond imagining. Anyone over 16 with a valid ID can access the materials. Somewhere buried in those stacks is Architecture by Moonlight, but I didn’t ask for a copy. I’ve already read it.

I stayed in the Dupont Circle neighborhood, which is a happening place on a Friday night.

July 28, 2016 – Sun, 95 degrees

Miles Today: 35

Miles to Date: 13,682

States to Date: 36 

Can a person get too much sleep? Despite yesterday being a light day, I slept ten hours, and then felt draggy all day. I stopped at the NASA Goddard Visitor Center; the only adult not accompanied by an eight-year-old boy. The kids loved all the models of various rocket and space capsules. I was enchanted by the incredible images of our galaxy that line the walls.

My favorite exhibit was the Solarium, a black space where they run actual footage of NASA’s Solar Dynamics Observatory. Each wavelength is assigned a unique color. It takes a team of videographers about ten hours to create one minute of these high-resolution images.

Back on earth, I had a pair of meetings with folks from Greenbelt, MD, a New Deal era new town that has proven to be a fascinating social experiment. Then I pedaled toward Mount Rainier. The saturating heat continues day after day. As long as I’m moving, all is good. But if I stop, even for a traffic light, the heat penetrates me and the sweat pours through the question mark on my back. The swelter created ominous clouds, so I took a late afternoon McDonald’s break to sit out some thunderstorms. Then continued on along beautiful bike paths that sparkled in the dusk to reach my evening host.

July 27, 2016 – Sun, 90 degrees

Miles Today: 19

Miles to Date: 13,647

States to Date: 36

Today may be the first day when I didn’t start riding until after 4 p.m.! I spent my day in Charm City, having a reunion lunch with fellow architect Tonia Burnett, and then visiting the NICU at University of Maryland Medical Center that we designed together back in 2011. Due to delays, the NICU did not open until last year. Fortunately Nurse Manager Joan Treacy and her staff agree it was worth the wait – the finished product is spectacular.

I pedaled out of Baltimore to the southwest, through Pigtown and Lansdowne, along the bike path that circumnavigates BWI Airport and on to Harmon. Along the way, I witnessed how the traditional Baltimore row houses get bigger and bigger until, when I arrived in Severn, row houses give over to single-family suburbia.

July 26, 2016 – Sun, 90 degrees

Miles Today: 67

Miles to Date: 13,628

States to Date: 36

My last ten miles in Delaware took me past two of the state’s best-known brands: University of Delaware and DuPont. Then I rolled into Maryland.

The big event of the day was crossing the Hatem Bridge in Havre de Grace on US 40. The bridge has only been open to cyclists since July 1, and there are signs and notices about it everywhere. The bridge has two lanes in each direction but no shoulder. They’ve installed a flashing light sign that cyclists activate before entering the bridge to warn oncoming motorists.

A police officer spoke with me before I got on the bridge. All of this worked well. The only snag was that they’ve closed one lane of the bridge for repairs; workers were hanging off the sides. For ninety percent of the distance I travelled in my own lane. Then I had to signal and shift onto the traffic lane to pass the repair trucks. It all worked fine. At the far end the police officer waved me ‘good to go’. He had crossed the bridge behind me to ensure safe passage.

The remaining thirty miles into Baltimore were uneventful but traffic-filled. I entered into the Northeast quadrant, a historically poor area. I passed blocks of Baltimore-style row houses. I went by Greenmount Cemetery, which sits high above the city with the skyline beyond. By the time I got closer in, the row houses were tight to the street, not a bit of shade or green on a hot afternoon to help the folks on their stoops get cool. Several blocks were boarded up completely.

Downtown Baltimore is another matter – flush with tourists and Orioles fans. I stayed with a friend of a friend on the 28^th floor with a terrific view of the city. After dinner, Hannah and I strolled through the Inner Harbor and delighted in the city activity on a hot summer night.

July 25, 2016 – Sun, 90 degrees

Miles Today: 51

Miles to Date: 13,561

States to Date: 35

Seattle may be the best city I’ve cycled; Ohio is tops for the network of rail trails; but no state (so far) tops Delaware for overall cycle consciousness. I love cycling here! There are marked lanes everywhere, clear signage, even designated detours. Drivers are super-courteous. Even in construction zones, no sense of hurry, absolutely no heckling. I only wish the state were bigger; I could cycle in this environment a long, long time.

Unfortunately I pretty much reached the limits of this tiny state today. After entering the southeast corner in Lewes. I climbed the hills of Northwest Delaware to visit my VISTA-volunteer friend Adela and her husband Scott who literally live only a few blocks from the Pennsylvania line.

July 24, 2016 – Sun, 90 degrees

Miles Today: 24

Miles to Date: 13,510

States to Date: 35

 After spending the morning with my high school friend Gary Ralph and his husband Bill Robbins and attending a joyous service at their church, Epworth UMC in Rehoboth, I didn’t get on the road until after two; a short ride on a hot day through Delaware countryside. The First State is in the midst of a development boom. Subdivisions are popping up everywhere. Ryan Homes may be the state’s second largest employer (DuPont is the still king here). Delaware is a very low tax state, and apparently there is a big market in retirees who like the benign climate and easy access to the beach. Every development, from trailer park to McMansion enclave, has an official ‘Welcome’ sign that gives suburban sprawl authenticity.

My host in Dover, Sara, is one of the most inquisitive and wide-thinkers I’ve met. We talked for a full two hours before I even got out of my cycling gear. We hauled ourselves over to the Flavor of India buffet, a most inauspicious looking place in front of a Super 8. Inside, the walls are covered with ‘Best of Delaware’ posters and the buffet included some of the best Indian food of my life. It was a feast!

July 23, 2016 – Sun, 100 degrees

Miles Today: 38

Miles to Date: 13,486

States to Date: 35 

Yoga on the beach! My Cape May host is a yoga teacher who runs a beach class every morning for the posh Congress Hotel. He invited me to participate. I had not taken a full yoga class since my accident. I am so far from the flexibility of my salad days, but managed pretty well. As far as doing yoga on the beach – the romanticism is much greater than the reality of sand, sand everywhere.

I pedaled through Cape May, a bucolic historic seaside town. The place was packed on this sweltering hot July Saturday. Shopkeepers smiled; waitresses stuffed their pockets with tips.

I caught a midafternoon ferry to Lewes, DE, and a welcome hour and half in the shade, then pedaled to Milford to spend the night with a friend from Oklahoma I hadn’t seen since high school. At times, this journey seems like a string of remarkable reunions.

July 22, 2016 – Sun, 95 degrees

Miles Today: 104

Miles to Date: 13,448

States to Date: 34

Some days you just have to pedal. After so much nostalgia and lots to ruminate upon, I looked forward to the fifth century of my adventure, pedaling through the Jersey Pines to historic Cape May. Five miles outside of Toms River, I entered the Pinelands, a land of scrub pine and package stores. I was never far from either the rest of the day.

Mishaps are an essential part of a long cycling day. When I missed a turn and wound up on a dirt road, GPS showed the highway I wanted was only two or three miles beyond. I thought I could handle that. Unfortunately, dirt roads in South Jersey aren’t dirt. They’re sand. In a few spots I had to push Tom through the soft white stuff.

With the thermometer flirting with 100 and a steady wind in my face, I drank over 300 ounces of water, Powerade and lemonade along the way. Twice, I stopped at Wawa, New Jersey’s preeminent convenience store, to camel up. They are the nicest quick road stops anywhere. The fresh made subs, ordered via computer, are better than anyone could expect at a convenience chain.

Along the way I had several stretches of excellent cycling. Ocean County 537 south to Tuckerton has smooth pavement and wide shoulders. Cape May County 661 is short but memorable; the trees create a full canopy over the road. My last twenty miles, along Highway 47 on the west side of Cape May, is a real treat. Besides being a good surface, the unspoiled area has many beautiful historic buildings, small farms and produce stands that offer the goodness of The Garden State to anyone willing to stop.

July 21, 2016 – Sun, 85 degrees

Miles Today: 19

Miles to Date: 13,344

States to Date: 34

Thomas Wolfe wrote, You Can’t Go Home Again. He was wrong. You can return. Just be prepared for home to be so much smaller than memory insists. It took me half and hour, max, to roll through the precinct of my youth, the house, neighborhood, school, and church that stretched so wide to a young boy on his first bicycle. My family moved to Toms River when I was a year old. We lived on a street of cookie cutter houses within cycling distance of everything a child might want. By the time we moved to Oklahoma, when I was sixteen in 1971, the town had tripled in size. Today, houses on quarter acre lots crawl out in every direction. The streets I inhabited are now quaintly referred to as ‘The Village’. It is remarkably the same.

The subsequent owners of our house have followed in my father’s ‘tinkering’ tradition. It is the most distinct on our indistinct block.

Bishop Memorial Library, the first building I ever sketched, is still the most gracious structure downtown. I used to crouch in the stacks and savor Dr. Seuss, who was banned from my Catholic home.

I puffed my one and only cigarette in the ally behind the movie theater, which has been turned into a mini-mall.

I have only one friend still living in Toms River, though Gus is much more than a friend. I spent the afternoon and evening with Gus and his wife, Robin, his children and grandchildren. His daughter Maggie is my only godchild. Seeing her after too many years gone was a reunion of the spirit.

July 20, 2016 – Sun, 80 degrees

Miles Today: 51

Miles to Date: 13,325

States to Date: 34

Sorry Cape Cod, sorry Miami, sorry Port Christian, sorry Malibu. The most beautiful beaches in the world are along the Jersey Shore. Over one hundred miles of pristine sand bar that include areas of natural preservation, fabulous mansions, and honky tonk boardwalks. I rode south along Ocean Blvd and Route 35 on a perfect beach day of crisp sunshine and steady breeze with the intoxicating scent of the salty sea, overburdened every so often by the smell of greasy fries and deep-fried Oreos. Forty-five years ago I moved away from this strip of sand where I was raised. I am surprised how little these places have changed, how familiar they still feel.

Mansions that rival the Hamptons line Ocean Blvd in Deal.

As a child, the Convention Center in Asbury Park was the swankiest place I’d ever seen. In 1965 we drove 25 miles to see the opening of The Sound of Music at the elegant Paramount Theater. Asbury Park nosedived just as Bruce Springsteen made it famous. By the 1990s it was a collection of halfway houses, going down, down, down. But as the locals relate, ‘the gays moved in,’ and saved the place. It’s not exactly South Beach, but it has an upbeat charm.

Immediately south, Ocean Grove was founded as a Methodist Chautauqua-style camp with a massive revival hall. People still vacation in the rows of tents and small houses with grand porches.

There is miniature golf, of course, and newer houses that still harken back to porch tradition.

When I arrived at Mantoloking, I began to see the effects of Hurricane Sandy. Along the ten miles to Seaside, bulldozers replenish beach sand, construction crews rebuild mega-houses, and house-lifting companies raise salvaged structures.

Several people told me the boardwalk at Seaside Heights wasn’t what it had been, but I found it exactly as I remembered, a titillating concoction of suntan lotion and cigarettes, sweet taffy and sausage with onions. I had a frozen custard cone from Kohr’s, creamier than any frozen treat on earth.

My hometown, Toms River, is famous for three things: the environmental/chemical damage that Ciba-Geigy inflicted, the epicenter of Hurricane Sandy, and Little League. I grew up in the abandoned gravel pits that the town deeded to Little League to create baseball fields for tiny boys. We spent hours trying to coax infield grass from the sandy earth. My father was a coach; I got hit by more balls than I caught. After two years, one hit, and dozens of errors, I retired to scorekeeping and running the concession stand. I proved talented at both tasks. I scored our way the Toms River’s first state championship and made enough money selling Twizzlers to buy my first guitar.

In 1998, Toms River won the Little League World Championship. Today, those snarly gravel pits contain seven beautiful baseball fields and a clubhouse that includes indoor batting and pitching stalls. I watched a practice in session. The coaches are so patient. The boys, and now girls, are so small. But in their minds, they are all major-league stars.