Happy Birthday to Me

Sunday morning had me riding the short (only 4 hours!) road to the Windy City, where I met my long time friend Kate. We went to college together, and Kate's now a lawyer in the big city. She hiked the Appalachian Trail last summer with her brother and friend Emily, and she's now working with her friend Jay to splice together an awesome documentary about the adventure. It's amazing how many of my gripes about this trip are the same ones she had about the Trail... Kate and Jay took me out in Chicago to celebrate my birthday with some Giordano's deep dish pizza, a visit to the famous "bean" and a private screening of the movie's rough cut.

The "bean", as photographed by a professional...

Much better in real life...

I think I need a haircut.

Iowa City, and an Unexpected Donor

Iowa City, home of Iowa University, is home to a small, but well organized city department. The guys took me in and showed me the kind of hospitality I've grown accustomed to. It wasn't until I got up in the morning, though, and talked to the oncoming shift that I got a sense of how meaningful my visit was.

On the wall of their day room, there's a cork board with a pamphlet from Christopher Bok's funeral. Chris, or "Bok" as the guys called him, was a beloved Iowa City Fire Lieutenant. He was diagnosed too late with colorectal cancer, the 3rd leading cause of death by cancer, and died on May 29, 2011. One of the firemen gave me his memorial sticker - the letters BOK in a spiderweb, because of his love for Spiderman. I was honored to affix it to my helmet, as one of the men observed that "Bok would've liked that, riding around the country on your helmet."

At breakfast, one of the guys slipped me a donation; I found out later that his wife had died from ovarian cancer. And while I was enroute to my next destination, I got a very generous, and completely out of the blue, donation from Karen Bok, Chris's widow. She's on a mission of her own to educate everyone she can about the early signs and recognition of cancer. I was so touched, I was speechless...

Chris and Karen

Beginning of the End

 Wyoming was freezing cold, and Nebraska gave me my first rain experience. Even though the sky was occasionally clear, the intermittent drizzle coupled with the less than breathtaking scenery was enough to begin breaking my spirit. 


After hours of uninterrupted boredom, I got to Grand Island (which is a misnomer), the third largest city in Nebraska. I happened to be wearing a Kentland t-shirt, which led one of the firefighters to ask me if I had ever "been to that place". Turned out that this guy took one of Matt Despos's auto extrication class a few years ago. What a small world. 

The Grand Island FD went to a fire the night I was there, but I've been too tired to ride at most of the places I spend the night. I didn't miss much though, as their "blaze" was is a commercial trash compactor.


The department is much older than I realized, organized in 1874. A lot of cool history remains on the walls of even their newest station, alongside the most modern of training tools.

Cheyenne

The guys in Cheyenne treated me really well. So, of course, I forgot to get a picture with them. Here's the oncoming shift the next morning instead...

Salt Lake City and into Wyoming

I'm a few days behind, again, so a quick recap of my last few stops:

In Salt Lake City, I bunked at Engine 1, where backsteppers Mike and Amy were enjoying one of their last shifts on the unit, as they were being transferred to a slower house to make room for paramedics. Or was it Hazmat techs? I can't remember now...

Anyway, they took me for a tour of the city and showed me the one redeeming factor of their future house: the view.

 According to Capt. George, the ski resorts still have 16 feet of snow, and are going to stay open until July 24th. That's right, July.

I guess that should've been a warning about the upcoming weather. When I left in the morning, it was freezing cold. In fact, I shivered the entire way to Cheyenne. It sucked.

Photos from Wyoming and Nebraska upcoming, I'm on my way to Iowa City now...

Scenes on the Road to Salt Lake City

Mad Max!

Actually, his name is Leland, and when I passed him on I-80, I did a double take. With some creative hand signals, I was able to get this road warrior to pull over so I could snap some shots of his monster machine, which started life as a Toyota pickup. Leland is on a cross country tour of his own, visiting campsites and taking in all the beauty of the land.

Reno

With a glorious ride through the mountains behind me, I pulled in to the Biggest Little City in the World on Tuesday evening, ready to stretch my legs. I got to Station 3 at about the same time as the crew, who had been training in Carson City all day. My trend of brushes with fame continued, as I met fireman/novelist Shawn Grady, author of Through the Fire, Tomorrow We Die, and the upcoming Falls Like Lightning, a suspense thriller about smokejumpers in the Sierra Nevadas.

Reno's fire department, it turns out, has been decimated by the City Council, and they regularly "brown out" a third of the city's companies. Only one of Reno's four ladder trucks was in service during my visit. What a shame.

The crew of Engine 3 was awesome, though, and I got to talk shop with a few of the guys. Thanks for the hospitality, fellas!

My New Ride

I'm trading the Harley in. The Schwinn gets better gas mileage.

We Have a New Champion

The first 300 miles of Tuesday's ride were flat, hot and boring, not to mention smelly from Central California's agricultural establishments. The only bright spots were a great chicken sandwich from an unasuming roadside grill and a billboard I couldn't resist for Gnarly Head Wines in Lodi. Turns out shipping wine to Maryland is a felony, so I couldn't send a bottle back to Stacy. But, I did strike up a conversation with a patron that led to an impromptu on the spot donation!

However gruelling they were, it's as though the first 300 miles were the price of admission for the last quarter of the day, and it was well woth it. The road up to Donner Pass is nothing short of amazing, and when the tall pines part to reveal the snow caps of the Sierra Nevada mountains for the first time, it is astounding. One might even say, "super impressive". The road winds up the mountain through the most spectacular scenery I've experience throughout this trip. Unfortunately, there are very few places to (safely) stop to photograph the scenery, so I didn't come close to capturing all of the majesty. But Wikipedia did:

So did Google Street View

Here are some of my own (less spectacular) photos -

Regrowth after what I'm assuming was last year's wildfire (if you look closely, there are char marks at the bases of the trunks) -

There were lots of these little cabins right of the highway. This one is on the South Yuba River -

California Dreamin'

The weather is beautiful, the people are nice, the scenery is gorgeous, and the earth hasn't quaked once since I've been here! What's not to like?

Between LA and Bakersfield, I got to experience some of the legendary traffic jams the California highways have to offer. When traffic cleared, I got some spectacular views of the mountains.

I underestimated just how much I would be delayed, so I was a few minutes late. Battalion Chief Ross Kelly had invited the local media, so I did an on camera interview, fresh from the road. The photographer/reporter from the local paper, who happened to be a University of Maryland alum just like me, stayed at the firehouse for the evening, snapping shots of the guys devouring a delicious meal of fish tacos. I don't know why this dish isn't more popular outside of California, because every version I've had here has been awesome. The guys at Bakersfield Fire Station 1 upheld the California standard, treating me great all night. The "Golden State" has definitely been my favorite so far.

I'm almost sad to leave, but the journey is halfway over, and from now on every trip is heading home. I didn't realize how much I'd be yearning for home, and Stacy sending me photos of the dogs really puts it into perspective. I'll be home with the ones I love in 8 days.

LA City

California is the kind of state you just don't want to leave, so I'm glad that it's the only one I get to spend two days in. After a breakfast burrito with my future cousins-in-law, I headed north to Bakersfield, taking a detour to cruise along the coast up the famous Highway 1. The sky was overcast, and the ride was scenic but rather chilly, and too grey for any good pictures.

I couldn't pass LA without stopping in at the world famous Task Force 33 in South Central. The guys were terrific, professional, knowledgeable and friendly. They fed me an amazing lunch of homemade pozole, a spicy Mexican soup, and we spent a couple of hours talking shop before I headed up north to Bakersfield.

Desert Daze

The best part about the desert is the time it gives me to think, about important matters and more trivial ones. Yesterday, I spent the better part of two hours trying to come up with a name for my bike. I'll let you categorize that one. I must have been in the middle of a very deep thought somewhere west of Tuscon, because I missed the exit for Highway 8, my route to San Diego, by about 30 miles. When I stopped seeing signs for it, I finally took the exit for Riggs Rd (you always stick with the familiar) and pulled off into a middle-of-nowhere town to figure out my new route. The workaround path would take me past the town of Maricopa, down 40 miles of State Route 238, back to the interstate. When I hit State Route 238, I was almost glad I'd missed the exit, because it was a stunning drive, with dips and curves, a a railroad on the left and 20 foot tall cacti on the right. I didn't get to enjoy the view, though, because I had more pressing matters at hand: my fuel light had come on, and the next gas station was likely at the end of 238. For 30 some twisty miles, I prayed, pleaded and bargained with Becky/Eve/Kelly/Holly/Roxy to keep going, for just a couple more miles. With every mile marker, my chant would adjust: just 12 more miles, just 12 more miles... just 11 more... Sure enough, my faithful steed conquered every foot, and delivered me safely to the service station, where I've never been happier to pay more than 4 dollars for gas.

I've seen some great views so far, but the approach to San Diego was, hands down, the most gorgeous stretch of road I have yet to see. The road rises out of the sand dunes, and begins a steep, gently winding ascent into the mountains, entering into amazing canyons of piled boulders. The wind is fierce and gusty, and makes for some disconcerting riding as it pushes the bike toward the guardrail-less canyon edge, but the spectacular views are totally worth it. I stopped at Devil's Canyon #2 to take some pictures...

When I got to the San Diego area, Stacy's cousin Brendan and his wife Meredith took me for a tour of San Diego's beaches, where we got amazing fish tacos.  Of course I didn't bring my camera. They were nice enough to take me out to dinner, too, for some absolutely phenomenal Mexican food (and another fish taco) before putting me up for the night in their house. Thanks guys!