Grandmas Across America: The Story of a Cross-Country Bike Ride

By Sandra Mason

A young-at-heart grandmother wishes to fulfill a life-long dream of crossing America by bicycle. The only one she knows who has the time, energy and guts to go with her is a fellow grandma, younger, stronger, and the complete emotional opposite. Would their opposite personalities cause problems? You bet! Would they make it? Well, you don't get to be old enough to be a grandma by giving up.

Read about their adventures and misadventures as they discover their own individual strengths and weaknesses.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Mar 25, 2004
• ISBN: 9781412221139

Sandra Mason

Sandra Mason lives in Ocean Shores, Washington, with her husband, Bob. Between them they have raised six daughters and at last count had ten grandchildren and seven great grandchildren. Sandra plans to continue riding her bike in the Seattle to Portland (STP) each year until she's at least 70. Grandmas Across America is Sandra Mason's first book. The Ocean Shores Community Club publishes her humorous column in its monthly newspaper The Ocean Observer (Wildwood Publishing).

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© Copyright 2004 Sandra Mason. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

Cover photograph by Sandra Mason.

Cover design by Latona Artworks.

Note for Librarians: a cataloguing record for this book that includes Dewey Classification and US Library of Congress numbers is available from the National Library of Canada. The complete cataloguing record can be obtained from the National Library’s online database at: www.nlc-bnc.ca/amicus/index-e.html

ISBN: 978-1-4120-2123-4 (softcover)

ISBN: 978-1-4122-2113-9 (ebook)

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This book was published on-demand in cooperation with Trafford Publishing.

On-demand publishing is a unique process and service of making a book available for retail sale to the public taking advantage of on-demand manufacturing and Internet marketing. On-demand publishing includes promotions, retail sales, manufacturing, order fulfilment, accounting and collecting royalties on behalf of the author.

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Contents

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

INTRODUCTION

Chapter 1 Alone On ‘The Kanc’

Chapter 2 The Plan

Chapter 3 On The Road at Last

Chapter 4 Reunion

Chapter 5 Adirondacks and Road Kill

Chapter 6 Panic in Camp

Chapter 7 Blazing a New Trail

Chapter 8 Across Ontario

Chapter 9 Michigan and New Friends

Chapter 10 Back on the Bike Route

Chapter 11 Half Way Home

Chapter 12 Big Sky Country

Chapter 13 Four H’s of Hell

Chapter 14 Ride to the Rockies

Chapter 15 Across the Great Divide

Chapter 16 Home at Last

Chapter 17 Grandmas After America

END NOTES

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my long-suffering and patient husband who is secure enough to allow me the freedom to follow a life-long dream and other occasional flights of fancy.

He can thank me for keeping him young despite his 15-year head start in life. The way I’ve done this is to be so aggravating that his one great wish is to outlive me.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

There were so many kind and wonderful people we met on our trip that I can’t begin to mention them all, nor did I get all their names. We met several beautiful families in Niagara Falls, New York, some in Fargo, North Dakota, many in Wisconsin—well, all across the country. The hospitality of the Canadians was heartwarming. The encouragement we received all across this beautiful country was inspiring and much appreciated.

I want to thank Peter Holman-Smith, of Latona Artworks, for his editing skills and cover design. Also, his wife, Susan, for taking the time to read my manuscript and encouraging me with kind words.

INTRODUCTION

Everyone has a dream they’ve secretly carried over from childhood. It may be to climb a mountain, travel abroad, compete in the Ididerod, learn to kayak, hike the Appalachian Trail or, take a trip across America. I’ve imagined doing all of those, but especially crossing America, either on foot or by bicycle.

I received my first bicycle on my seventh birthday. She was a beauty, a classic, full-sized blue and white Schwinn with lovely fat tires. For several years I had to ride standing up because I couldn’t reach the pedals from the seat. My frugal depression-era parents meant it to be my first and last bike. It was my constant companion for the next six years or so until it wasn’t cool to ride anymore. It would be exactly 50 years before I finally found the courage to fulfill my dream of crossing America. Having neither the time nor the family support necessary to walk it, I settled for the bike.

I hope this book will appeal to all, but especially the aging Baby Boomers. They are a few short years behind me chronologically but I’m right there in the midst of them in spirit. As we get older we throw off a lot of our inhibitions and, believe me, I had more than the average. I’ve come to realize that no one is paying attention to what we do or how silly we look, they all have their own anxieties and inhibitions. So, if it’s your dream to embark on that great adventure, go for it.

I think the moment of final decision came when I read an obituary where the family members of the dearly departed mentioned dear old grandma, how sweet she was, how she loved to sew and garden, and how she made great applesauce. Now, I’m not a sweet little old lady, I’m a lousy cook, and I wanted something more in my obituary.

I wanted to push myself physically beyond what I ever dreamed possible and accomplish that goal before it was too late. I’ve always been a little miffed that I wasn’t born 100 years earlier so I could have come West on a wagon train. But I wasn’t. So riding a bike across America was the next best thing.

To prepare I read three book that inspired me. Over the Hills, by David Lamb (Crown Publishing Group), Hey Mom, Can I Ride Across America? by John S. Boettner (Sbf Productions) and Miles From Nowhere by Barbara Savage (The Mountaineers). All three books were about ordinary people doing what at that time I thought of as an extraordinary thing. Now I realize it is not, it just takes determination to take it a day at a time, a mile at a time, or sometimes just a step at a time.

I want to thank my family. They didn’t really approve but they didn’t try to talk me out of it either. I hope I haven’t embarrassed them too much. And thank you Teanna for going with me. It became your great adventure too.

HOW I SPENT MY SUMMER VACATION

(Recorded while riding my bike up a hill in North Dakota)

In the summer of ‘98,

The year I turned 58,

I crossed the country state by state,

On my bicycle.

I pedaled beyond my heart’s content,

And took that bike wherever I went,

And when all my energy I’d spent,

I was only in North Dakota!

Two thousand miles are left behind,

Sixteen hundred more plus mountains to climb,

I must have been out of my mind,

To think I could do this.

I know that the 4th lines don’t rhyme,

And I might do better were I so inclined

But I’ve dribbled my brains along the centerline,

And I don’t care anymore.

My skin is like leather, I look like road kill,

Oh, but let us not forget the thrill

Of ‘zooming’ 3 miles per hour up a hill.

Great big whoopee!

Headwinds are blowing a hole in my brain,

My partner’s talking about taking a train,

But I’ll never give up is my refrain,

As I pedal on.

So I’ll see you at the end of the line,

Break out the beer and break out the wine,

This old grandma will be just fine,

And I’ll see you in Anacortes!

Sandra Mason

Chapter 1

Alone On ‘The Kanc’

June 23

It appeared ‘The Kane’ was going to kill me! It didn’t look steep—the map said the elevation rose to only 2,800 feet—but as I mashed down on the pedals I slowed to a point where it was hard to keep my balance. Blood pounded in my ears and my lungs were bursting with the effort to suck in enough air. I wobbled to a stop and got off the bike to push; two steps forward, rest on the bar, then a few more shaky steps. I peered into the tree canopy hoping to get a hint that I was near the summit. I prayed as I rounded each bend, but the road continued to twist and turn, seemingly forever. I swear it didn’t look like much of an incline, but gravity seemed to have an ungodly hold on me. It might as well have been Mount Everest.

With gritted teeth, slowly, step by step, I struggled on. It was all I could do to push that cursed bike and keep it upright. Fully loaded it weighed about 80 pounds. I could understand why the pioneers had ditched their belongings along the trail. What could I get rid of? Nothing. I was down to the bare essentials as it was.

I had been on the road only two days and it was obvious my pre-ride physical conditioning was woefully inadequate. I was not ready to tackle the mountain ranges that stood between me and home, much less this comparatively small pass through the White Mountains of New Hampshire. What lay ahead was far worse. Provided I survived.

My arms and legs were quivering noodles and I was on the verge of collapse when at last I came to a side road leading to a campground. A quaint covered bridge spanned a river tumbling down the mountainside. It was the first covered bridge I’d ever seen but a long cool drink and rest were my first priorities. Instead of a water faucet, there was a green hand pump. I grasped the handle and pumped furiously to fill my two bottles, gulped the first one down and started on the second.

As my strength returned I looked around the area and saw that the campground was built on the site of an old family cemetery. The gravesites were fenced off from the camping spots and the crumbling gravestones were tipped and lopsided. My curiosity was aroused but I didn’t dare linger. It was late in the afternoon and I had to get across the mountain before dark. I rallied the strength to pull out my little point-and-shoot camera and snap a few pictures. As I left I took some pictures of the covered bridge and the plaque over the entrance that said it was constructed in 1858.

The sparkling river and the beautiful old bridge were lovely and peaceful. As I paused to take one last look an ominous buzzing caught my attention. Dozens of mosquitoes swarmed out of the forest and dove in for the attack. Evidently the word was out that lunch was served. I was a

veritable insect smorgasbord. I needed some bug repellent fast. Ohmigod! The bug repellant was with Teanna, my supposed riding partner. So were the tent and the food, three things that I needed badly before nightfall. I had no idea where Teanna was and, frankly, I didn’t care. I was still mad—she always had to be in control! Who needed her anyway? Drawing energy from my fury I continued my slow ascent, alternately pedaling, then getting off and pushing for a while.

The only food I did have were a few crumbs of an energy bar and a plastic bag of melted cheese. The water bottles were soon empty again and there didn’t appear to be any more campgrounds. I was in serious trouble.

Any sense of dignity and decorum was replaced by the greater need of survival so I crawled off to the shoulder of the road and lay down in the dusty weeds. In an effort to escape the carnivorous swarm, I wrapped myself in a nylon tarp. I took out my camera, held it at arm’s length and snapped a self-portrait to document my last suffering hours for my family. Stoically, I willed myself to ignore the small black flies that had taken over where the mosquitoes left off.

A ear stopped and an attractive young woman called

out.

Are you okay? Do you need help?

A thin reedy voice I didn’t recognize answered. No, I’m fine, I just thought I would rest for a while.

Was that my voice? The handsome husband and