Preparation for Thailand

Back in Chelmsford we now had a home base to begin our final preparations for our departure to Thailand.  The primary goals were to develop a field testing method for bacterial contamination in water while we are abroad and the ever present challenge of catching up with our Blog.  Our friend, Nick, whom we found through Warm Showers nearly a month earlier, had graciously agreed to help us out.  He is currently working on his PhD in Computational Microbiology and spends his time growing E-Coli in a laboratory at Harvard.  E-Coli is one of those lovely bacteria that live in our gut, some strains if ingested can make you sick and are commonly used as an indicator of Fecal (poop) contamination of drinking water and other sources.  Perfect.

The morning after our arrival in Chelmsford we headed down the now familiar 20 mile route to Cambridge to meet with Nick at his lab.  Unfortunately, once we were within about 200 meters of our destination I realized that we had forgotten our SteriPens.  These were the crux of my experiment as they would be used to sterilize field glassware between uses.  This minor oversight resulted in insurmountable frustration.  We found Nick and the lab anyway and called our dear host Wally in desperation to see if we could use his car to recover the forgotten goods, but this was to no avail as he was incredibly busy.  So after sitting and blogging at one of our favorite coffee shops in Cambridge and visiting a book store, we returned home, defeated.

The next day we made a second attempt.  This time I managed to remember everything, showing up at the Lab in the early afternoon.  Nick gave me the nasties to test and I went to it.  I am using a product called Petrifilm, produced by 3M, which is an agar method replacement that is about the thickness of a playing card.  While this is a product that is used in the food industry currently, I needed to verify that methods performed in the field would be consistent with those typically used in a lab setting.  

The variables I would be examining were inoculation (putting the sample onto the plate) and incubation (growing the bacteria for identification in a lab setting).   To test the inoculation aspect, for some of the plates I used sterile lab pipettes (a new one for each test) and glass eyedroppers (sterilized between tests with the Steripen).  For some plates a contaminated sample was used and for others a blank or uncontaminated sample was used to prove that no cross contamination was occurring.  To test incubation some plates were put in the lab incubator and others were taped to my leg, as the incubation temperature for these bugs is in fact body temperature.  Now we had to wait 24 hours for the results, so we rode back to Wally's with our fingers crossed, because this was our last opportunity to be in a lab before our departure.

Thursday, with 3 days till our flight, we made our final bike ride into Cambridge and Boston with the intention of running some final errands.  We went to REI and exchanged faulty and damaged gear and then to Ibex and Patagonia. At Ibex I returned a pair of damaged bike shorts that were out of stock on our previous visit.  During our last visit they were incredibly helpful and more than happy to perform the exchange, and this time they remembered me.  During the transaction I was flipping through a catalog and I made a comment about another pair of world cyclists, The Restless Collective, whom they sponsored.  Then we were graced with little bit of magic.  Apparently, during our time in Maine they had visited our blog and become stoked on how much I love their garments and how I am using them.  They had even gone so far as asking the manager if there was some way that they could help us out.

Just as the cashier was about to tell me that these queries had not yet produced anything, that very manager walked through the door.  We were introduced and we shook hands, and before I could respond she asked if there was anything that we needed.   Some days earlier I had lost my thin long sleeve that expanded my wardrobe to a total of four different tops.  I told her this and she asked my size and handed me a beautiful striped wool base layer that more than replaced the one that I had lost.  I was lost for words, then she offered one for Lauren as well (and I managed to pick the colors that she wanted).  We left the store elated and promised them a place on our website in exchange.

Late again, we headed for the lab where the finished plates were waiting.  We stopped off and bought Nick a six pack of one of our favorite beers, Lagunitas IPA, as some small token of gratitude.  When I grabbed the plates I began to flip through them quickly realizing that everything had turned out as I had hoped, leaving me confident in my field method.  This would mark the beginnings of our water stories abroad.  Riding back to Wally's for the last time we felt accomplished and relieved, but much still needed to be done.

Our remaining days in the states were spent blogging, inventorying, documenting, unpacking, re-packing, and most time consuming of all: packing the bikes into their respective boxes. Earlier that week we had stopped at a bike shop at the end of the bike trail where Lauren got a second pair of bike shorts for our sweaty future, and the shop owner promised us some bike boxes, one extra large to accommodate my bike, and one normal size box for Lauren. From my experiences with packing bikes, TSA will always open it up and inspect it and the bike will come back somewhat shredded. To prevent loss of some of the smaller parts, all dissembled components must be zip-tied to the main frame so that everything can be lifted out of the box as a single unit and could even exist without the box if all else fails.

Normally I am not too fazed by packing for any flight, but this one seemed surprisingly stressful for me. This would be the last time that we would be in the states for 3 to 9 months and I had a minor breakdown that blinded me to proper packing. Fortunately for me, Lauren remained calm (as usual) and got me through it. We got everything down to one pannier and one backpack for carry-on each, and a bike and 2 panniers lashed together to check. We loaded up Wally's sister's truck, said our good byes to Betsy, and were off.

 

 We arrived at the airport with some uncertainty about American Airlines baggage policy regarding bikes, and we were prepared to spend up to $300 for the privilege of getting our bikes smashed by baggage handlers. After waiting about 30 minutes in the check-in line, we were called over by the seemingly grumpiest attendant. We approached the counter and she demanded our passports before we could say anything else. After some frantic typing and frowning she said, "How many bags are you checking?" We tried to explain that we both had a bike and a bag to check. The response was a straight faced, "So you each are checking two bags?" Again we tried to clarify that two of the bags were bikes, she didn't seem to care. Some more typing, then viola, she tapped on four baggage codes and three boarding passes each and she tersely said, "Have a nice flight." We walked away startled that no money had been exchanged and we gave each other a victorious hi-five.

It wasn't ten steps before we were in the security line. This one took nearly an hour to get through and the checkpoint wasn't even visible from the back of it. People were swearing and sweating worrying about missing their flights. Attendants were hustling back and forth ushering people on soon-to-depart flights up to the front. People were not stoked. Since we were still about two hours early the line didn't ever move much for us. When we finally got to the front I joked with the passport agent that there were "lots of smiling people today," and I got the only one in the room back. Soon we were at the gate with some time to spare and we got some pre-departure food. Boarding was called, we walked down the causeway; I crammed into my seat; Lauren exchanged with the man next to me so that we might sit together; we took a collective deep breath, and prepared for the 24 hour trip halfway around the world hoping that our bikes would make it too.

The Ginsbergs and Tandem Coffee Roasters

Once we arrived in Portland, we pretended like we had normal lives for about five days. Caroline and her awesome roommate Kelsey had an empty room for us to nest in. We got to spend time with another old friend, Jocylin, who had just moved to town. Jocylin took us to a great cooperative cafe and then guided us to the local farmers market. We bought north eastern apples, local milk, and salsa fixings. The market was bustling with people and fresh local goodies.

We read books, and made many dinners with new and old friends. Julie and Kevin, who live just down the street from Caroline met us our first night there for dinner. And after that, it seemed that we saw them everyday. It was fun to feel a part of a community, even for just a short while.

Much like its west coast counterpart, Portland is known for its food. Arabica Coffee and the Speckled Ax served up great espresso. We became obsessed with the local Standard Baking Company and its fresh breads and sticky buns.

After staying longer than intended, we rambled up the coast to Caroline's parents house. With its incredible scenery and adorable seacoast towns, we quickly learned to love cycling the backroads of Maine. L.L. Bean land was a hoot. After passing through the little town of Wiscasset, we found a camp spot  just off Highway 1 in the woods. It was a beautiful spot; and for the first time, Brant and I relished in feeling cold. We put on our down jackets and wool long johns and slept so well.

 We arrived at Judy and Allen Ginsberg's house in the evening of Friday September 7th. As soon as we arrived, we knew we were going to love them. It was one of those moments when you think, the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree, or wow, I think my friend's parents are cooler than my friend. And Caroline is about as awesome and motivated as they come.

Allen and Judy live in a beautiful little farmhouse they purchased thirty years ago. The walls breath the memories of many stories. The house feels lived in with weathered wood floors and old photos on the walls. Allen built the barn in the back to house his business, The Fiddler's Green Farm: he mills organic flour and makes whole grain warm cereals, pancake mixes, cookie mixes and many other delicious things. He and Judy helped start the first food co-op in Maine, which is now the largest. Since Reid left, I haven't seen anyone make Brant laugh more than Allen did. He has a subtle, perfect sense of humor and the best laugh. I loved watching Brant bust up in a huge smile and a full loud laugh when Allen made his on-point comments.

Judy is one of the best listeners I have met, and it goes to show that she must be a fantastic high school guidance counselor (one of my dream jobs, by the way). She also is an avid cyclist that has ridden across Maine many times, and while we were there she road in a half century charity ride.

All to say, we were in good good company. But Judy and Allen's most outstanding quality is definitely their kindness. They are utterly and totally kind. Brant and I couldn't stop talking about it. And after meeting Don and Barbara only a week earlier, we began to feel that there were some major life lessons to be learned from these people. What kind of life do we want to lead?

We spent two days with Judy and Allen. In that time, Brant finally had lobster--something he had been dreaming of since Kansas. Like good Mainers, Judy and Allen know how to cook lobster. The feast was wonderful.

Belfast is an adorable seacoast town. Brant and I walked down to the harbor and admired some stunning wooden sailboats. We played cribbage at a local happy hour and ate at the local co-op.

While we were at the Ginsberg's house, we received a Facebook message from Tandem Coffee Roasters in Portland, asking us to pay them a visit if we were still in Portland. With that, we decided to make Portland on our way. So we turned our gaze back on Boston and our upcoming flight to Thailand. We had a few stops to make along the way (Peter White's being one of them).

We bid Judy and Allen farewell, explaining to them how we thought they were heroes.

100 miles later, we made it to Tandem, just as they were about to close.

Tandem Coffee Roasters is an absolute dream. The space is simple and beautiful, an art deco brick building full of good natural light. It sits in the industrial area of East Portland, an up and coming part of town. They share an address with Bunker Brewing Company, so if you are ever in this part of the world, it is beyond a worthwhile stop.

Kathleen and Will welcomed us in with fresh shots of espresso and cookies. As fellow bike tourists who rode cross country a few years back, they were full of questions about our trip. We talked about the details of our adventures and we inquired them about their touring experiences and how they arrived at Tandem. They had just opened their doors only two weeks earlier. However, it was quite apparent that these two (and their dear friend and coworker Vien) know exactly what they are doing.

Kathleen used to work for Blue Bottle in the Bay Area for a few years before the owner of Blue Bottle asked her to take his company to the East Coast. So Kathleen started and ran Blue Bottle out of Brooklyn, NY for a few years before leaving to start her own company with her husband, Will, a craftsman carpenter and old roaster for Blue Bottle. They are focusing on wholesale at the moment, but do a have a small cafe dedicated to pouring beautiful cups of coffee and espresso and to providing a welcoming space for the community.

Brant and I soaked up our good fortune. I couldn't believe that they had sought us out. Kathleen reassured me that taking care of bicycle tourists was in their wedding vows, so I had to accept the kindness based on principle. They could not have found more happy tourists.

We got to spend more time with Caroline and Jocylin before heading out the next morning. We rode back to Tandem and said goodbye and thank you to our new friends over coffee. It was lovely.

With no destination ahead of us, we retraced our ride through New Hampshire back down to Boston to get ready to leave for Thailand.

We made a quick pitstop at Cobbett's pond at Wally and his family's cabin. We were prividged to meet the whole Walworth clan while we were there. Everyone left after one night, and Brant and I had the place to ourselves. We pretended to be at summer camp, swimming, playing cards on the party barge, lounging in the sun. It was pure summer camp magic.

After two days of lakeside bliss we began the small trek back down to Wally's house in Chelmsford. 

The Coolest 83 year-olds You'll Ever Meet and Other Teenage Stories.

The roads of New Hampshire were empty like Connecticut's. We rolled up and down hills in a canopy of trees, popping out for an adorable village every now and then.

 Brant had called Peter White Cycles earlier that week to schedule an appointment to talk about the malfunctions we were having with "the Plugs" we had purchased from him. So instead of heading northeast towards Portland, ME, we headed northwest to Hillsborough, NH, where his shop is located.

We got to Peter's around 7 pm, just as the sun was about to set. We had not asked if we could sleep in his yard, so Brant and I had a small argument about whether we should just find a place to sleep in the woods instead of assuming that this guy we have to meet in the morning is just going to let us sleep on his property. I felt it was presumptuous. Brant went ahead and asked. Good thing too, because Peter and his wife Linda unreservedly welcomed us to sleep in their yard.

The next morning, as we made our breakfast and drank our coffee, we gawked at the most beautiful bike shop we have ever seen, set in the woods, and in beautiful craftsman wooden barns, Peter White Cycles is a pretty place, not to mention full of uber pretty things. 

Peter came out in the morning explaining that he only had one hour before he was off to the airport to attend a bicycle show in Germany. Brant explained our issues with The Plug (The USB connector powered by our dynamo hubs). And Peter quickly expressed that he knew nearly nothing about the device, but had never received any complaints about them. He promised to ask the manufacturer on his trip to Germany about the issue. And Peter was gone.

We packed up, not exactly knowing where we were headed next. I think we had envisioned spending more time at the shop, actually resolving the issue. Instead, we left for Dunkin Donuts, the only place in Hillsborough with WiFi. So Brant started mapping us toward Portland, ME, until I expressed that Caroline (our Portland friend) wasn't available to host till Friday (four days away). So we sat there, lost for the first time. Dunkin Donuts wasn't helping either, the McDonald's of coffee makes Starbucks look cool. And I think we left more depressed than when we arrived. With directions to Maine we left  DD, confused as to how we would stall ourselves till Friday. The day was getting away from us, so with only 20 miles of riding done, we began to look for water and a place to camp. We pulled over, and I began to look for some Warm Shower's hosts to pedal towards the following day. In doing so, we found the best Warm Shower's host profile I have ever seen:

Don and Barbara Carey:
Active,vegetarian 80 year-olds in a 1788 hilltop farmhouse. Lived for 14 years in India and     West Africa. Have bicycled in Zimbabwe, Eritrea, Ethiopia, Mali, Togo, Benin. Also C2C     1984. Members NE 4000-footers club. Erie Canal at Medicare pace Sept. 2009.

No Joke.

I said to Brant, "We have to try and stay with these people." With that, I dialed their phone number. It rang and rang till their message machine told me to leave my name and number because they screen all of their calls. Before I could finish explaining who we were, Don picked up the phone. After hearing we were calling from Warm Showers he was full of questions about our trip, so full of questions he forgot to ask us logistics of when we would be arriving. I could hear his wife, Barbara, asking in the background, "Don, you can ask them about the size of their tires later. When are they coming?"

We would arrive the following day in the late afternoon.

With a goal ahead of us, we found a gas station to fill up our water reservoirs in Contoocook, NH. When we asked an interested local about a good place to camp, he said, "I have 300 acres if you'd like to camp on my property?" We were super thankful as he ushered us two miles away to his land. John pointed us to the old "Sugar Shack" as a good place to camp. We met the other family members that live on the property, primarily his nephew and his family--who were super welcoming and kind. We were warned that a bear had been roaming around the property early that day. And sure enough, as we were setting up our tent, a black bear cub fumbled just past the sugar shack! We spent some time with the family after setting up tent, admiring their seven year old daughter's skills on a quad track.

3 hours in to our sleep we were awoken by a bear trying to get into the barricaded sugar shack, guarding our food. After that we didn't sleep too well.

The next day we made our way to Don and Barbara's. After climbing the many hills  in between us and Gilford, we arrived at their hilltop farmhouse overlooking Lake Winnipesaukee and the White Mountains that lead to Vermont.

We were greeted by a thriving oasis. Don ran out to check out our rigs and to welcome us inside. From this moment till the time we left the Carey household, Brant and I were wide eyed and full of amazement. The old farmhouse was bustling with music and family members from many generations. Barbara was teaching their great nephew, Peel, who had come to live with them from California, how to make pear jam from their abundant pear tree. I noticed her batik flowy purple pants and I knew I was going to love this woman. She reminded me of our old landlord Sara McEre; I still think they would be friends.

We spent two full days at the Carey house. Meals were beautiful vegetarian feasts, and we always had a full table. Their old lovely house was covered in African and Indian art reflecting their many travels.  Both Brant and I, after listening to the many stories of their very full life together, felt entirely inspired. Don worked as a physician in India for many years researching viruses; he also served as a physician in the Peace Corps in Western Africa; for their 70th birthdays they ran the New York City Marathon; they biked across the country in their sixties; and just a week ago, they set out to cycle the Danube river from Munich to Budapest with one of their daughters. All in all, they are prime examples of people who have pursued life with a fervor, and continue to do so everyday. (Don went on a four mile run in the morning while we were there…most people can't run four miles, let alone 83 year olds!)

We got quite a bit of writing and work done while at the Carey's house. I sat in a wicker chair on their red wooden porch overlooking the lake and the mountains, sipping coffee and writing you all, while also purchasing travel insurance and other impending necessities. We connected with our friend in Portland, Caroline, and she confirmed that she had an extra room waiting for us on Friday. She also pushed for us to think about  cycling to midcoast Maine to meet and stay with her parents in their Belfast farmhouse. She said they host cyclists all the time, let alone friends of their daughter.

We got ready to leave and said sad goodbyes to our fabulous hosts. We tried to express how wonderful and inspiring they were to us, but I don't think we conveyed just how much we loved them. We pedaled down their great hill and wound around the incredible, clearest blue Lake Winnipesaukee. With only 55 miles to go that day, we vowed to stop if we found a public beach. And we sure did. We had to pay five bucks each, but this lake was better than any swimming pool we had paid for, so we felt it was entirely worth the money. The sun drenched this picturesque spot, and Brant and I swam and opened our eyes underwater just to relish in the magic of clear water. We ate lunch and read our books on beach towels. Before long we were back on our bikes, headed for the New Hampshire/Maine border.

If you, like me, imagined all of Maine to be quaint little fishing villages, Sanford would have destroyed this image. Just like when you tell someone you're from California who has never been to California, they always seem to ask, "Do you surf?" No, California isn't a giant beach town with perfect barrels rolling to your doorstep. In the same light,  Maine's culture changes drastically away from the coast. And Sanford is no place anyone wants to visit.

As we made our way through town, we began to look for a good spot to camp. We got a little antsy and camped at what we though looked as good as it was gonna get: a vacant lot for sale. We pedaled down the dirt driveway to find a circular dirt clearing, the kind high school kids do donuts in. There were remnants of old bonfires, but they looked old enough that we didn't think we would be bothered by anyone on this random Thursday night.

We made a fire and set up camp. It was the second campfire for our trip and a good fire always makes camping feel like real camping. So we enjoyed our standard burritos around the glow of a flame. After reading books till the sun went down, we fell fast asleep.

Around 11pm three cars full of local teens pulled in to our little getaway, and we quickly realized that our camp spot was the parking lot for high school "woodsy" parties. Yay. When our tent didn't scare anyone away, all hopes of good sleep left us. In my sleepy state I was like, "Hey, we're in a tent over here" (good one). Some girl said, "Sorry, we'll be quiet" (sure). They laughed and giggled and made way to their pre planned drinking spot. About twenty minutes later, two other cars pulled up. Confused by the tent, one kid thought we were one of his friends and came over to shake it; he was a little startled and apologetic when he realized we were not his peers. Also, randomly, they all thought we owned the property, and kept saying "shhh, those people live here." No, if we actually lived here we would have told ya'll to leave, but we don't belong here just as much as you don't belong here…

So the two new cars full of guys brought back some flashy lights to the woodsy and started screaming, "It's the Police." They ran back out and took off before the rest of the crew came running out of the woods, freaking out that the cops were after them. Then Brant and I got to listen to 16 year old girls frantically make phone calls for someone to pick them up. "I don't know where I am, but I just want out of here."

To top it off, one of the girls lost her keys while running from the "cops." So then the big dilemma became how they were going to get everyone home. Eventually, after Brant  got really fed up, he walked over to the poor teens and said, "Can you please take your drama somewhere else." They left, leaving one car behind.

We woke up in the morning, a little unrested, but laughing over the whole extravaganza.  We got on the road with only a few miles before the trailhead to the part of the East Coast Greenway that would take us all the way to Portland. Only a mile down the road we found approximately eight perfect places to camp. C'est la vie.

The greenway was awesome and took us over spanning estuaries and through miles of woods, before dropping us off in South Portland. We crossed the bridge into Portland and immediately began to love her, a miniature San Francisco: a peninsula city full of cafes and renowned restaurants, surrounded by boats, but with cobblestone streets and colonial charm.