This week, I share a travel report for those who have asked for more travelogue. Driving a car doesn’t count. My ride begins on Tuesday, the 20th of August 2019, in Andover, Connecticut, an invisible town hiding in the woods east of Manchester and Bolton. Continue reading
Last week, I enjoyed watching the Tour de France race through the countryside that Cheryl and I rode in the summer of 2017. On some stages, the helicopter photos of the mountains upstaged the drama on the road. Some of you joined this blog less than two years ago, and others have asked for more travelogue. This week, I revisit that ride with you. Enjoy! Continue reading
Rolling out the east gate of Camp LeJeune, I left the quiet, smooth roads of the Marine Corps Base and found myself dodging potholes and pickup trucks on Bear Creek Road. At the same time, I was looking forward to riding the 56 km to Emerald Isle, the barrier island at the south end of what most people consider the Outer Banks. Nothing could spoil my mood. Continue reading
Thursday morning, the 14th, dawned sunny and pleasant. After breakfast, I walked my bike down the cobblestones to River Street and boarded the ferry to Hutchinson Island. Crossing the island on local roads took me easily to US 17 where it crossed the Little Back River across dropping most of its traffic in Savannah. Continue reading
Saturday, the 10th of February. The big Naval Submarine Base at King’s Bay Georgia, custom-built for the Polaris submarine fleet, looked more like a golf course than a Navy facility: acres of manicured grass, isolated buildings spread far apart and signs at every corner, because each destination was out of sight. I checked into the Navy Gateway Inn, showered and hung my laundry in the shower Continue reading
- New novel continuing Days of Lead.
- Memoirs (sea stories, non-fiction stories).
There may be more responses coming in, which might break the tie. Meanwhile the trip resumes, not in the middle of the year, but back in January. I have saved this travel report while Days of Lead ran its course. It’s not fair to interrupt a serial novel. Continue reading
Tuesday, 17 October, I woke up in a pleasant, modern room in the Wyndham TRYP Hotel in midtown Manhattan. With plenty of time to catch a 1415 train, I did my stretches, showered, shaved, and packed my panniers for the last time. Catching breakfast at the Starbucks on the corner of 9th Avenue and 34th Street, I witnessed the Modern American Ballet in full form. Six baristas crammed behind a tiny counter took care of a line out the door with incredible efficiency, never once running into one another. Continue reading