I don’t do much self-contained touring, but this photo is from a solo, self-contained tour I took in late May 2001, from Champaign IL to places on the Wabash River and then home. It rained almost every day and my bike was plagued with flats and broken spokes on that trip, but it was a good ride. Here’s a bit of what I wrote about it for the Phred list:

…the next day I enjoyed the Wabash valley even more. I got lost a little, had a pinch flat on a back road, but got it fixed before the next storm cell. There are a lot of pretty river roads, and some of them were pleasant even when it was raining. I crossed the Wabash River in a couple of places, having a fine run down into the valley, and then a hard climb back out of it. Toward the end of the day, as I was nearing Lafayette, IN I had another flat, and this one I had to fix in the rain. Then it looked like the rain (a cold rain) was not going to let up for the evening, I took more wrong turns and had trouble finding the campground due to new road construction, so started thinking motel. I stopped at a gas station to ask about nearby motels and was told they were all on the other end of town, by the Interstate, maybe 10-15 miles away. It was questionable whether I could reach one before dark, but by now I was determined to have a dry place to sleep and was going to take the first motel I could find. Luckily, the first hotel wasn’t quite that far away, but it was on a busy road, the traffic was heavy, and I didn’t want to go further. It was an expensive one. My wife will find out just how expensive when she sees our next credit card statement. I asked for some rags to wipe off my bike before wheeling it to my room, and then found I had some broken spokes on the rear wheel….

I was reminded of this trip because of something David H. Young wrote for the Phred list yesterday. A college student had asked about riding her bike across the country with a couple of friends. She had ridden her bike around campus, but not much else. The Phred list is a great place to ask questions like that, because there are a lot of people who like to be helpful. David was afraid they might have been innundating her with too much helpful advice, so wrote this, under the heading, “How hard is this, anyway?” I thought he had just the right attitude, and am posting it here with this permission. Others among the Phred denizens liked it, too.

Groups of people who share a common interest like to think what they’re doing is special. Sometimes it is. But that doesn’t mean it’s difficult.

The truth is, riding a bike is a fairly easy thing to do. Personally I find little to no value in group-think, so “joining” groups of other bikers is a non-starter. I find that the beginning of a tour is a great time to think about getting into shape–you’re actually guaranteed to think about it at that time. And that’s okay.

It’s also very rare to need to fix anything more complex than a flat tire or brake-adjustment–neither of which requires any particular training; a moderately intelligent person could figure it out as needed. Or she could spend ten minutes reading about such issues online in advance of the trip, or even carry a bike-repair book. And then maybe toss the book at some point.

The way I see it: if figuring out how to make the bike work, at least long enough to get to somebody who can make it work well, is the hardest problem I have to solve on any given day–even if I have to figure out how to hitch a ride with somebody who has a pickup–well, that day was an easy, luxurious day. Life away from the bike gets a bit tougher than that sometimes.

So. A day touring is much like any other day. You do your thing, you make progress toward a goal. People in general are amazingly friendly. It’s just a day on the road, and if you can handle other sorts of days you can probably handle days on a bike.

It is not especially dangerous. It is not difficult. You do not have to be in great physical shape. You do not have to be a skilled mechanic. All you really have to do is ride the bike, until you decide you’ve ridden far enough. You don’t even have to have a pre-planned route–personally I prefer to avoid the notion. I especially recommend avoiding a planned route for first-timers. How do you know in advance what you like? State maps are great, and many of them show camping spots. If you’re into camping.

Mental preparation does help–there’s not always a campsite, or a hotel, handy. So it is good to be prepared to improvise, and change your plan as you go. Just like any other aspect of life. But either you’re the sort of person who solves problems, or you’re not. Which do you want to be?

I’m not trying to say it ain’t fun to think about this stuff in advance, because it is. What am I trying to say? Just this: it’s simple. It’s fun. Don’t let all the advice about preparation & training intimidate you. Most of that stuff is just puttering by people who like to putter. It’s a hobby. And thinking about a bike trip is a great escape from annoying aspects of non-bike-trip days.

Do yourself a favor. When you want to go–just go. You’ll figure it out.

On Wednesday August 6 I wanted to see if there was still a farmstead at a place in Fountain County, Indiana, where a false scare of Indian war had taken place in 1826. It was a place where other settlers were said to have gone for safety. I stopped here at a half-mile post along the road. The land ahead, to the south, had been bought from the government by the person whose farm other settlers were said to have gone to. I was hoping to find a farmstead in the next half mile and sure enough, there was one right ahead on higher ground among the surrounding prairie — just the sort of place an American farmer-settler might have picked.

Googlemap-newtown

It was easy to know where to look because the roads here, while not they don’t form a perfect checkerboard, do largely follow the section lines. The googlemap shows the land isn’t quite as squared off as the area around Parish’s Grove to the north, but it is full of rectangles that make it easy to find one’s way and to know where one is.

I’m planning some riding in Ohio where it won’t be quite that simple.

This snippet is from the Puetz map of Belmont County, Ohio. This area is part of the Seven Ranges — the first part of the United States that was surveyed according to the rectangular survey system. The survey here was in neat squares — well, not quite so neat, because bugs were still being worked out of the system. But there are square mile sections. The problem is, the roads don’t follow those section lines.

The blue square above is supposed to be for the first land patent that was granted under this system. I got that information from this web site, but haven’t yet been able to verify it with lookups at the online database at the Department of Interior. But supposing the information is correct, it’s interesting to note that there is now an airport on part of that land. Maybe a piece of flat ground among the hills — a place flat enough for an airport over a century later — was what made that land attractive to one of the first buyers.

I presume the hills along the Ohio River are in part what kept roads from being built along the section lines. Note, though, that the small piece I’ve marked in red does follow a section line. The concept isn’t completely unknown in that part of the world. But far, most of the roads do not follow section lines.

The area I’m planning to visit is not quite so extreme. It has a road network that is more rectangular than that in this area near the Ohio River, but it still isn’t as rectangular as that near Newtown, Indiana, much less that of Benton County, Indiana.

So how to know where I am when I’m taking photos? Until now I’ve resisted getting a GPS. I like to use paper maps to find my way. I don’t just want to know what road to take. I want maps that can tell me about my surroundings, too. But I’ve given in somewhat. I’ve ordered the above item for my bicycle — a Sony GPS (GPS-CS1KASP). After each ride I should be able to download the data and use it to label my photo collection. I hope to get it in time for my next trip.