Touring Tip: Setting up Camp

I have set up camp so many times that I mostly do it on autopilot at this point.  Muscle memory is a good thing to have when wrapping up a twelve hour day of riding.  Thinking isn't always an option when you're an exhausted, dehydrated, electrolyte depleted mess.

Bertha Creek Campground in the Chugach National Forest

The thing with muscle memory, though, is that it takes a lot of repetition to really make your muscles remember.  Muscles are pretty dumb like that.  So for those of you who don't have that tour camping muscle memory yet, here's a list of the things I do once I reach camp.  Feel free to use and modify it to build your own routine, or at the very least, to allow yourself to think less after a hard day:

1. Find Campsite - I usually camp near showers because I don't like long walks after long rides.  If you're a light sleeper, your preference may be to camp as far from other people as possible.  Whatever the case may be, don't just grab the first site you see.  Put at least a tiny bit of thought into it as not all sites were created equal.


2. Pitch Tent ASAP - Don't linger on this one.  As soon as you get to camp, set up your tent.  Aside from removing any question about site ownership, it gives you a place to put the stuff you're about to unload from your bike.


3. Set up the Inside of the Tent - While you still have tent pitch momentum, inflate your bedroll and lay out your sleeping bag.  You'll be happy they're already arranged when you get back relaxed from a hot shower.


4. Start Cooking - Start prepping dinner.  Water takes a while to boil and you can do other things while waiting.


5. Prep for Shower - Get out your toiletries and bed clothes.  This way you can head straight to the showers after you eat.


6. Put Bags in Tent/Bear Box - Your meal kit and toiletries are out, so put the rest of your stuff in the tent.  You'll have to do it eventually, may as well do it now.  If you're in bear country, all scented items should go in a nearby bear box.


7. Eat/Clean Up - At most campgrounds, this is pretty straight forward.  But again, if you're in bear country, any scented non-garbage should go in the bear box.


8. Lock Bike - Before leaving camp to shower, secure your bike.  I usually lock to a picnic bench or tree.  Your bike is probably not going to be stolen, but why risk it?


9. Shower Time/Laundry - Wash up, you filthy beast.  Also, wash your day's riding clothes (shirt, shorts, socks) while you're in the shower.  You'll get a rash, otherwise.  


10. Dishes - Wash your dishes in the bathroom sink after the shower.  This step may be optional depending on how you eat.


11. Hang Wet Clothes from Bike - This will not dry them, but will get them closer to it.


12. Pull Tarp over Bike - Tarping your bike will keep it dry overnight.  Even if it doesn't rain, morning dew will soak your saddle.  Make sure to tuck the tarp under the tires so it doesn't flap around in the wind at night.

At this point you're free!  Do whatever you want!  Explore the campgrounds, phone a friend, read a book, or just go to bed.  The world is your oyster and you have a bed waiting for you when you're ready to crash.

Motel Camping in State Regulated Wilderness

Day 5 - Sept. 20, 2016 - Columbus, GA > Indian Springs State Park

Econolodge served as a great reminder of why I shouldn't take camping for granted.  The air conditioning was nice, don't get me wrong, but the whole place just felt like, well, people.  And people are kinda the opposite of nature.

When I first opened the door to my room, I found a sheetless mattress angled awkwardly on top of a cheap box spring.  The next room they gave me had sheets, as well as a broken toilet seat and a fridge that dumped cold air out of a broken door (which I promptly unplugged).  People done been here.  Mhm.

At least it had a continental breakfast.  I was going to need to load up if I was planning on riding over 100 miles to Indian Springs State Park.  What Econo lacked in fresh fruit, I made up for in mini lemon poppy muffins, everything bagels, reconstituted OJ, and burnt coffee.  I'd say I easily got my $2 worth.

Cooled down, cleaned off, and carbed up, I was ready for the start of the northward leg of my journey.  As I started on my way out of Columbus, I was extremely excited to note that the humidity level had dropped markedly.  I didn't know if it was a temporary thing or if it the dog days were done, but I was going to enjoy it for what it was.  After four days of miserably damp air, this dryness could've been the precursor to a 100 year drought and I'd still have been thankful.  My rash was even more thankful.  I'd named him Bumpy.

Not too much to report from the road, other than a large bug getting lodged in my eye near sundown.  This was the one draw back to evening riding.  I wore sunglasses all day long, unwittingly protecting myself from airborne bug assaults while wittingly protecting myself from UV assaults.  Once the sun had started to set, I pulled off my shades, and sure as shit, a bug went flying directly into my right eye.  I quickly slammed Tibor to a halt and frantically tried to pull the critter out while standing along the side of the road.  A minute or so later, a Jeep pulled over, the driver concerned for the safety of the cyclist desperately pawing at his eyeball.  After a quick check-in, the driver went back into their Jeep, came back with a Q-Tip, and pulled that bug out of the inside corner of my eye.  What can I say?  Eye always rel-eye on the k-eye-ndess of strangers.  Eye.

After 102 miles and 3,700' of climbing, I reached Indian Springs around 11pm.  Not too bad for someone as pokey as myself.  The campground was closed due to the late hour, so I sidestepped the gate and checked out the map of the grounds.  I found a site close to a shower and headed off.  Passing through, I could see that the State Park was mostly vacant, with the occasional RV-occupied site.  This late in the season I wouldn't likely be running into many people, especially not after the sun set and the bugs came out.  As much as I loathe mosquitoes, they at least serve that purpose well.

This is the photo they have up for "Camping" on the Indian Springs website... (Courtesy of GAStateParks.org)

I found my spot and pulled in, leaning my fully loaded bike against the picnic table while I started to make a quick, late night dinner of bagged noodles.  Moments later, a light went on in the RV to the left of the showers.  A few moments after that, the door of the RV swung open and a large man in his mid-40s lumbered down the little stairs and came across the road to my camp, flashlight in hand.  I guessed that he really liked noodles.

I was wrong.  He didn't care about my noodles, he cared about what the hell I was doing coming into camp so damn late.  Assuming he was the campground host, because who else would imagine running over to a new camper and grilling them in the middle of the night, I told him that I had been riding all day and that this was the fastest I could get here.  I added that it usually isn't a problem since I make very little noise, what with my bicycle being human powered.  He eyed me very suspiciously and then asked where my friend was.  Confused, I told him I didn't have any friends, well, not that I didn't have any friends, just that I didn't arrive with any friends nor would any friends be joining me.  I was riding solo.  He said he was going to have to talk to the campground hosts to see if I could stay.  Who the F was this guy if he wasn't the campground host?

After a quick call to the hosts from his camper, he came back to let me know I could stay but that I had to pay the hosts in the morning.  Losing a bit of his gruff edge, he explained that when I'd ridden in, I'd awoken his wife (I have no idea how this is possible).  She then woke him up and told him that two motorcycles had pulled into camp and that she wanted him to come over to investigate.  I'm assuming that once he walked over and found neither a motorcycle nor a second rider, he started to question the concerns of his wife.  He said he was going back to bed and that I needed to make sure to keep it down so I didn't wake his wife anymore.  I didn't know how to get to a lower decibel, as that would dip into the range of anti-sound.

I didn't know if this was any better than the Econolodge.  Motels, for better or worse, don't act like they're something they're not.  They're cheap, dirty, and reek of people, some of which are there for unsavory reasons (see Day 3).  It's just what they are, and if I get something better than that, it's a pleasant surprise.  State Parks, on the other hand, are supposed to provide connections to nature.  Fresh air, open space, and the white noise of nighttime cricket chatter.  So when I get to a State Park and find that my neighbors, who are in the safety and comfort of their mobile motel room, have the audacity to question my intentions as I roll in with no more than can fit on my bike, it kinda gets me riled up.  Here they are, telling themselves they're campers getting in touch with nature, but they're really just a bunch of scared little suburbanites so far removed from real danger that they need to whip up imaginary scares in order to feel like they're living.  Kinda made me wish a murderer would show up in the middle of the night.  Jerk-ass RV people.

ACOE Campgrounds: Who knew?

If you've been keeping up, you know that the last three places I stayed were ACOE Campgrounds.  If you didn't know or look it up, ACOE stands for Army Corps of Engineers.  Don't feel bad if you didn't know.  The only reason I knew anything about the ACOE was from my previous job, where the Corps was a customer.  Here's a general overview of the ACOE from their website so you don't have to look it up yourself:

The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers has approximately 37,000 dedicated Civilians and Soldiers delivering engineering services to customers in more than 130 countries worldwide.

With environmental sustainability as a guiding principle, our disciplined Corps team is working diligently to strengthen our Nation’s security by building and maintaining America’s infrastructure and providing military facilities where our servicemembers train, work and live. We are also researching and developing technology for our war fighters while protecting America’s interests abroad by using our engineering expertise to promote stability and improve quality of life.

We are energizing the economy by dredging America’s waterways to support the movement of critical commodities and providing recreation opportunities at our campgrounds, lakes and marinas.

And by devising hurricane and storm damage reduction infrastructure, we are reducing risks from disasters.

Our men and women are protecting and restoring the Nation’s environment including critical efforts in the Everglades, the Louisiana coast, and along many of our Nation’s major waterways. The Corps is also cleaning sites contaminated with hazardous, toxic or radioactive waste and material in an effort to sustain the environment.

Through deeds, not words, we are BUILDING STRONG.

I knew that they worked on large projects like dredging the Delaware River and building levees in New Orleans, but hadn't realized they also worked on recreational projects, like campgrounds and hiking trails.  I seem to learn something new every day on tour.  Sometimes it's that nipples can chafe right off in the right conditions and sometimes it's that the Army is responsible for hundreds of campgrounds.

I don't know who or where this is.  The ACOE has a ton of free images on their website.  (Credit: ACOE)

Here's the gist with these ACOE spots.  They're a lot like any other regional and state park campgrounds, meaning running water, warm showers, and clearly marked camping spots.  This means that much like most regional and state parks, they cater heavily to RVs.  Regardless of how you feel about RVs, it seems the majority of Americans think camping involves air conditioning and satellite television.  Since these spots cater to RVs, they aren't cheap.  They're about $20 a night, and there aren't discounted rates for tent campers.  These campgrounds appear to be mostly run by volunteer retirees, who, if you remind them of one of their grandkids, they might let you stay a night for free.  Who knows.  Be nice and find out.

In any case, if it wasn't for the ACOE campgrounds, I really would have struggled to find places to camp in the South.  It's not like Wisconsin or Minnesota or Oregon where you can't throw a stick without hitting a state park.  I was happy to have them, but now that I'm done with the South, I'm happy to not need them.  I'm not a huge fan of RVs.

Ringing Rocks County Park

Last week was Spring Break, which meant a lot of Bike Tours.  For parents, Spring Break must be a nightmare.  Not only are your kids no longer absent from the home, they're also no longer someone else's daytime responsibility.  To make matters worse, the weather has finally shifted from unpredictably cold to manageably warm, meaning severe pangs of guilt for plopping the kid down in front of the TV all day.  As a bicycle tour guide, this means a steady flow of families seeking out a way to keep the kids educationally occupied while also managing to wear them out.  Long bicycle tours in historic cities are great for that.  You should take one sometime.

My only weekday sans-tour group was Thursday, allowing me to tag along with a friend of mine and her two kids for a different but similar sort of Spring Break day trip: day hiking + camping.  Hiking is a spectacular way to wear out children.  They get so excited to be permitted to run around swinging sticks and throwing rocks that they never catch on to the fact that it's all just a clever ruse to get them to put themselves to bed without a fuss.  I don't know, can you pick up that giant rock?  Only one way to find out!  Wow!  You did it!  But I bet you can't carry it all the way to the end of the trail...

So Thursday morning, with education and exhaustion in mind, we set out for Ringing Rocks County Park in Upper Black Eddy, an imaginary town in Bucks County (home to fabulous Ringing Rocks Jewelry).  What is/are Ringing Rocks?  Great question.  Ringing Rocks County Park is a small, 128-acre park that is home to a giant rock river unlike any other rock river that I know of, though my knowledge of rock rivers is fairly limited as I can only think of two local rivers of rocks: Hickory Run and Hawk Mountain.

Plenty of places for kids to hurt themselves.

Regardless of my limited rock river knowledge, I do know that Ringing Rocks is special.  Not so much in size or composition, but in that its rocks, when struck by a hammer, can produce chimes similar to that of a bell.  The other rock fields I know of definitely cannot do that.  Observe:

Now, only about a third of those rocks make sounds, and each of those rocks has its own pitch.  As far as I could tell, pitch was entirely unrelated to rock size, as smaller rocks sometimes possessed the deepest tones and vice versa.  And as far as scientists can tell, there's nothing special about these rocks, as they appear to be made up of the same iron and aluminum mixture as most of the rocks in the general area.  The do have a bit of a rusty color to them, though, so for the sake of a lack of empirical evidence, let's just say it's the iron that does it.  In any case, as it's impossible to tell which rocks will ring based solely on appearance, the only way to properly appreciate the park is to jump from boulder to boulder striking them with a hammer.  What kid wouldn't want to visit this park?  Not only do you get to run and climb over giant rocks, you get to hit them with hammers making different bell tones.

After taking a fair amount of swings, and the ten-year-old breaking a hammer, we made our way down the rocky path to a nameless offshoot of the Delaware River.  While only a shallow creek this early in the season, the giant boulders along the wide river bed let us know how powerfully the water could flow during the wet season.  Tired of the precarious boulder balancing act, especially with the added difficulty of maintaining rocky footing while holding hands with a five-year-old that wanted nothing more than to run off on her own even though she would most definitely face-plant if allowed to do so, we hopped off of the rocky path and out onto the slimy river bed.  From there it was onward and upward past a series of small water falls and flowing puddles until eventually we reached the big mama waterfall.

We maintained a positive waterfalls to human-falls ratio.  Not too shabby.

Not particularly spectacular in April, it was nice to be able to stroll around underneath it without worry of death.  If you'd like a more spectacular waterfall experience, I'd recommend Ricketts Glen.  Regardless of its magnificence, a waterfall was still a bonus after all the rock hammering.  Also, the top of the 30' waterfall is, for all I's and P's, the end of the loop that started at the ringing rocks.  Only a few miles in total, Ringing Rocks is an easy day for adults, but a real workout for the kiddos with all of the boulder scrambling and slime navigating.  I'd recommend Ringing Rocks to any parents in the Philly area with kids under 15.  There's even a nearby, family-friendly campground if you'd like to extend your vacation by a day so as to include a visit to nearby Nockamixon State Park.  Also, if you go on an April 13th of any year, all Wawa coffee is free (and there are more than a few Wawas on the way up), so like, maybe go then?

The Parable of the Three Water Filters

I was recently on the phone (talking, like, using my voice) with a friend of mine from Moab, and during our conversation, she reminded me of the famous local fable of the three water filters.  I couldn't remember the tale in its entirety, so I called the Grand Country Public Library and had a librarian track down the ancient, sun bleached scroll on which it was written.  From there in the Artifacts and Relics room in the basement, she read these words:

One summer day, under the sweltering desert sun, three weary travelers came upon the same hidden spring.  As they sat down upon the large rock covering the tiny oasis, they discussed the virtues of each of their water filtration systems.

The first traveler was a young man in his 20's, and he carried a gravity based water filtration system.  He stated that his water filter was the best because it required the least amount of effort.  All he needed to do was fill the dirty water bag with one mighty scoop and then hang the filtration system from a nearby rock, allowing gravity to handle passing the water through the filter to the clean bag.

The second traveler was a bearded man in his 50's, and he carried a standard, hand operated, backpacking filter. He claimed that the young man was wrong, and that his water filter was the best because it was the fastest.  Sure, it required more effort with all of the pumping, but the work was worth it, as his filter was 10x faster than the gravity filter.

The third traveler, a man by the name of Troy, also carried a standard, hand operated, backpacking filter.  His filter was different from the old man's, though.  Not in model, as they were the exact same, but in operation speed, as Troy's was only 2x faster than the gravity filter.  He said that he wasn't sure if his water filter was best, but he at least knew it was better than that slow-ass gravity filter.  He also had his suspicions that it might be better than the old man's due to some basic knowledge of how filtration through dense, semi-porous rock worked.

The first traveler died of dehydration on that rock while waiting for his clean bag to fill.  The second traveler (also) died of dehydration a few days later when he succumb to Giardia induced diarrhea, as his filter was missing a gasket and was not really filtering anything, hence the speed of which he was so boastful.  The third traveler, hydrated and in good health, eventually found his way back to civilization and lived happily ever after.

Moral: Water filters should pump slowly, as proper filtration takes time.  But seriously, gravity?  That's soooooo slow!

Some say that isn't a fable at all. That it's a true story you can still hear faintly echoing off canyon walls if you listen closely enough.  Still others say, "Yeah, that's a lie.  No one died.  The slow filter part was spot on, and the guy with the missing gasket is lucky he never got sick drinking that filthy, standing water, but other than that, this story was parabolic at best and braggartly at worst."  As it's an ancient fable, I guess we'll never know the truth...

This is the filter I use.  I love this filter and have used it all over, never once getting sick.  Please notice the red gasket that's faintly visible near the bottom of the main filter cylinder, just above the widened threaded bottom.  You need that.
(Photo courtesy of MSR)

Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park has BLM Camping

After the fun, distracted, exploratory hike in Buckskin, I set my sights back on The Wave.  Protected from the rain, I hopped back on the highway, heading westbound towards Kanab.  I was going to need to camp closer to the BLM/Visitor's Center so I could try a second time for a North Coyote Buttes permit.  My hope was that this crappy weather would potentially scare off some of the more casual visitors.  I don't know why I would think that.  If anyone drove all the way to Kanab on vacation, I really doubt a little rain was going to scare them off.  But maybe rabid coyotes would...  I am going to have to start that rumor to keep the lottery numbers down.  I can just start here.  Did you hear about all the rabid coyotes in and around North Coyote Buttes?  There've been so many attacks that people have started calling it "North Coyote Bites."

The non-Lebowski Ranger back in Kanab had told me there was BLM camping up near Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park, which was twice as close to the permit lottery as any of the campsites near Buckskin Gulch.  Also, since it was BLM camping, it would also be free.  Well, BLM is usually free, so I assumed it would be free.

It rained off and on the whole way back to Kanab and had mostly stopped by the time I turned off of US-89 and onto Hancock Rd.  Once off the highway, I followed winding Hancock for miles through rocky, sandy desert with scattered trees and shrubs, some areas greener than others.  I kept an eye peeled for turn-offs and side roads for potential camping, but everything looked like it was intended for off-road vehicles and quads, not two-wheel drive pickups lugging a trailer behind it.

Eventually I came upon a promising turnout.  It was a roadside clearing with some scattered trees and tire tracks running over pink dirt.  Clearly people had camped here, so I pulled off the paved road and took the truck onto the firm, pink dirt.  After getting up a slight upgrade, I found a series of "roads" that headed off into the desert.  I chose the one closest to the road since it looped back to the pavement in another 50'.  Backing up with a trailer is a pain in the ass, so being able to pull through was ideal.  Perfect.

As I started to head up the slight hill, though, I noticed traction start to give way.  This was the moment I realized that the pink dirt I was driving on wasn't pink dirt.  It was pink sand.  I was on a pink sand dune.  A coral pink sand dune.  An appropriately named coral pink sand dune that had been rained on for quite some time, and I was not going to be able to go any further forward without risking getting stuck.  Especially not without four-wheel drive.  So I decided to back out of the spot while I still had a chance.  I was only 15'-20' from the road, easy enough to back out onto.  Except I was already deep in sand.  The truck wouldn't move in either direction, with wheels spinning and spraying sand.  I was stuck in the middle of nowhere with no cell reception and miles between me and the State Park that may be able to pull my dumb ass out of the clearly labeled pink sand.

Driving that truck from Mississippi, I had a few worries.  Getting stuck was probably #3 on the list, behind (#1) being blown over but gusting crosswinds on the highway and (#2) the trailer getting disconnected and wrecking on the side of the road.  At least the other two hadn't happened.  They seemed a lot worse.  This was mostly just embarrassing.

Not giving up just quite yet, I still had a trick up my sleeve.  Anyone that's lived in the Northeast through the winter should know exactly what to do in the situation I found myself in.  Mushy sand, mushy snow, same thing.  You gotta rock that car, baby!  Gas, release, gas, release, gas, release... until I magically got out of my rear rut and was able to back out onto the road.  That had been a close one.  I wasn't going to make that same mistake twice.  Or was I???

I kept heading towards the Sand Dunes, and within a mile or so came upon a wide open turnout that looked to have a few camping spots around it.  Most importantly, it was full of hard packed, light colored dirt, not loose, pink, sand.  On top of that, it was so big I could make a full u-turn.  I pulled in, parked, hopped out, and took a quick survey of my surroundings.  There was a makeshift fire pit about 20' away, a lot of dried out juniper and pine, and no other campers.  It was perfect.

The first thing I needed to take care of was food.  I set up my little stove next to the truck and started making noodles. When I looked up, this was what I saw:

The cuisine was average at best, but the atmosphere was divine.  Review: ★★★★

This was clearly where I was meant to be camping.  Also, now I was pretty happy to have had that rain.  Even more happy to not be stuck in the side of a dune.

That night I collected some loose firewood, lit a fire, and tried my best to stay up for the Perseid Meteor Shower.  I fell asleep at the fire well before the shooting stars began (but well after the coyotes had started).  I only saw two or three, one of which was a monster on the horizon, but that's pretty normal.  I blamed my sleepiness on waking up early for the permit.  Stupid North Coyote Buttes.

I ended up spending the following evening in the exact same camp site, this time with a bigger fire, as I found a giant field of clear-cut pine across the road about a quarter of a mile away.  When I arrived the second day, I found out why the space needed to be so wide open, as a trailer was parked off to the west of me.  It had been full of quads that were now out tearing up the dunes.  Oh right, the dunes.  Here, this is what they look like:

Dunes with Trees.  Weird.