When is an adventure not adventurous enough?

When your drunk dad tells you so. My old man is wise and bald, mostly bald, and when he gets drunk and tells you following “some path that heaps of other people are already doing” is boring, well, it’s time to take a look at route planning and beginning the process of coming out of your soft cocoon and take the hard road for once in your damn life, son. Or something like that.

It wasn’t like my dad wasn’t talking sense, he’s right. Why take the path well traveled when the path less traveled beckons with the promise of trials and tribulations yet undiscovered by cycle tourists, of roads so dangerous and appalling that they are yet to feature on a cycling map? Because in the end it isn’t adventure the reason to ride across America in the first place (actually the real motivation is being able to eat whatever the fudge we want).

Two drunks do route planning

My drunk dad and I got to work on a route so diabolical that even I myself am surprised to be capable of such maverick thinking. My recollections are hazy at best, something to do with low-carb beer, but the plan became to ride from Philadelphia to Nashville to Austin to Florence. Which would look something like this:

The route planning my drunk dad would have me ride across america

Like I said, we were drunk route planning. This route would add nearly another 1,000 miles to and already 3,700 mile journey and take us another three weeks. Nice one. It is sure disappointing for the cities of Nashville and Austin that this route is ridiculous, we’ll have to see you next time.

It is now one day before we fly out and I’ve been busy putting our bikes into boxes. The box looked bigger when I wasn’t trying toput a bike in it.

Scott packing his Masi Randoneur

My drunk dad’s advice has lead to extensive changes in our route. We’ve decided to take the opportunity to watch our good friend make his stage debut in Columbus, OH, giving ourselves two weeks to ride from Philadelphia. I’m actually more interested in seeing some of the bigger cities, Cincinnati, St Louis, Kansas City, through the middle part of our journey, rather than following “some path that heaps of other people are already doing” through corn fields. Is it a coincidence each of these cities has a Major League Baseball team? Must be.

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