click on a state to read excerpts
Oklahoma
The evening finds us camped in the side-yard of the stranger’s rental house. It’s a vacant building and the grass is soft. We bought two gallon water jugs on the way. Pouring water on hand towels, we wash up. Poor man’s showers once again! Lying on my sleeping bag under the stars I wonder, what the hell are we doing here?
We ran into him today on the highway looking lost, with a map draped over his handlebars. Ken, always Mr. Helpful, stops. Harvey is your stereotypical cycling tourist; a computer-type in his mid-to- late forties, wearing an old white Bell V1 pro helmet, tennis shoes, short-shorts and tube socks pulled up to his knees. His bike has thick, puffy handlebar tape, rearview mirror and an over-stuffed seat-bag with a broken zipper. He is the opposite of dialed.