Motorized traffic takes a terrible toll of animals, as any bicyclist can’t help but notice. Every time I ride I see the casualties of drivers who speed, drive recklessly, and some who deliberately alter their paths to hit turtles, raccoons, and skunks. It’s unusual to see dead turkeys, though. They’re normally alert and wary, but one was too slow to take off and paid the ultimate price.

As you drive the roads, be alert to those who are in your path, not just cyclists and runners, but also the wild animals who might be crossing or sunning themselves on the pavement.

 
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Not all cyclists agree with me about mounting a rearview mirror. Some bicyclists think that rearview mirrors don’t look good on their steeds. Others feel it’s the motorists which should look out for cyclists, dammit. And go-faster-and-faster cyclists want to squeeze every last bit of speed out of their rides, and anything that sticks out causes drag and slows them down. I appreciate aesthetics as much as the next cyclist, and I demand my patch of the road, and it sure is fun to go as fast as possible, BUT, I also want to stay alive. A rearview mirror has helped me do that.

The cost of a rearview mirror won’t break the bank, and it’s as necessary a piece of safety equipment as the blinkies I put on all my bikes. When riding a bike, the wind is in my ears—self-generated or atmospheric, it makes no difference—and that wind noise can mask the sound of vehicles approaching from behind. Why not just turn my head around and look to see if there’s anything there? Because that takes time, affects my balance, sometimes alters my line of travel, and is less efficient than sweeping my eyes from side to front to side to front. I can see in the rearview AND see what’s to the left side in one go.

Last week on a country road (no guidelines painted on the sides or down the middle) I was yet again convinced by the utility of a rearview mirror. It’s a pleasant biking road, one I often traverse. Woods and wetlands border the road for several level, straight miles, and the wind is usually blunted by the trees. I was driving a car down this road (a rare occurrence) when I came up behind a pair of cyclists I’d never met before. They seemed to be a middle-aged man and woman on comfort bikes who rode side-by-side down the middle of the road, leaving no room to either side for a car to pass. They pedaled at a leisurely pace and chatted while they rode, weaving all the while. The worrying thing was that they were completely oblivious to my presence. I followed at their pace for perhaps half a mile, and even though they turned their heads to one another to talk they were unaware a car was behind them. I didn’t want to startle them by honking the horn, nor did I want to side-swipe them by passing, especially because the woman was wavering dramatically into the oncoming lane, but I didn’t want to be stuck behind them for several miles, either, and the chances for passing them were coming to an end.

The cyclists did not have rearview mirrors, and they apparently couldn’t hear my car. I was about to tap the horn in as soft a toot as it would manage when the woman turned to talk to the man and chanced to notice the headlights—I use them even on bright days, such as that day. She wavered so dramatically in her surprise that I eased my foot down onto the brake because I thought she’d fall in the middle of the road. Luckily she did not fall, and she and the man squeezed together to allow me to pass, but even so I had to move into the oncoming lane. When I checked them in the car rearview mirrors, they were back to wavering down the middle of the road.

If I’d been one of the aggressive drivers I’ve met on that road when I’ve biked there, those two cyclists would have had a much harder time of it. They’d have been startled out of their wits by a loud roaring and honking not 10 feet behind them, then side-swiped and perhaps even struck or blown down. With rearview mirrors mounted on their handlebars, though, they wouldn’t have been taken by surprise, and could have moved to one side to allow me to pass. Of course, they’d have been alert enough to look into the mirror, but that’s a topic for another time.

 
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If you’ve ever been an endurance cyclist or marathoner, you’ve almost surely heard of the bonk. Also called “hitting the wall,” “bonking” amounts to a sudden loss of energy and an inability to go on. How does it feel? Your muscles become weak—they might even cramp—and almost all at once you feel as if you can’t move another foot. Concentration falters, and worse, you might find you don’t care if a truck runs you down. You simply don’t have enough energy to care. It’s not a pleasant experience at all, and it can be dangerous, especially if coupled with heat exhaustion or heat stroke. Push hard enough for long enough without taking precautions, and you’re sure to find yourself bonking. Recovering from the bonk isn’t exactly a snap, either, particularly for those of us in the Over the Hill Gang. Older bodies are more reluctant to bounce back from hardship than younger ones. No doubt about it, but bonking can ruin your day. Read more about fatigue, how to prevent it, and what to do when it hits…

 
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You’re hungry, you’re tired, and you want dinner pronto without driving out to pick up an infarct burger at the closest fast food joint. Nope, you’re in the mood for pasta, and why not? Pasta’s inexpensive, delicious, and filling. But tonight you just don’t want to bother steaming the place up by boiling a pot of water while you simmer sauce. What to do? Make a skillet pasta that comes together faster than it takes to read the instructions in this article. If you stock your pantry with sauces and sauce mixes, and a variety of dried pasta shapes, dinner can be on the table well inside half an hour. For this meal, I picked a packet of Knorr® Sun-Dried Tomato Pesto sauce mix and angel hair pasta.

 
The beauty of angel hair pasta is that it cooks quickly, and the Knorr sauce mixes cook up in a flash, too. Combine the two cooking processes and you’re well on your way to reducing cooking to as fast as it can be without a microwave. Fast food like this does come at a price, though. You can’t put it on the stove and walk away. You’ll have to stand by and keep an eye on the skillet or your pasta will burn and the sauce will stick.

My instructions couldn’t be easier, and they’re a take-off from those on the sauce packet’s combine-stir-cook-eat method. First, assemble your tools: a 10-inch wide skillet and lid, a fork and measuring cup. Now put together the ingredients: half a pound of angel hair (serves two hungry people or three with light appetites), one Knorr pasta sauce packet, and a couple tablespoons of olive oil. Don’t have olive oil? Leave it out, no problem. Put one cup of water into the skillet, then open the sauce packet and sprinkle the powder over the water. Pour in the olive oil if you’ve got it:

 
Don’t turn on the heat yet. Stir the mix until the powder and oil is blended with the water. Now break your pasta in half so it will fit inside the skillet. Do this by gathering the pasta strands into a tight log, grab the log in both fists near the center, and snapping the log in two. (Be careful not to be stabbed in the eye with flying pieces of pasta!) With the sauce blended, drop the pasta strands over it in the skillet. Using your fork, press the pasta into the sauce, then pour another cup of water over it all:

 
You should have enough water to almost cover all the pasta:

 
Now turn on the heat to high and bring the sauce to a boil, then reduce the heat to simmer the sauce. Cover the pasta and begin assembling a salad. Stir the pasta frequently to prevent sticking of sauce or pasta. It won’t take long for the pasta to cook and the sauce to thicken, perhaps four to five minutes. Add more water if the pasta is still a little crunchy once the sauce thickens:

 
Stir to bring up any sauce sticking to the skillet. When you can twist strands of pasta around a fork, and the sauce is thick, the dish is cooked through:

 
Turn off the heat, set the pasta aside to keep warm as you finish putting together a salad, then lift pasta and sauce from the skillet with tongs and plate it. I sprinkled a little grated parmesan and some few pine nuts over the pasta, though that’s not necessary. With salad and maybe a few bread sticks, dinner’s served, inside 15 minutes!

 
From time to time I’ll suggest other fast meals that can be whipped up by anyone. After all, when you’d rather be bicycling, hiking, or paddling, who has the time to spend all day cooking dinner? Instead, try some fast food, my way!

 
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When I was a kid I had a bike, and like all my friends, I rode my bike everywhere. Fresh pavement was the most fun, especially if that meant riding circuits around the grocery store on Sunday mornings when the store was closed. But we also took our bikes onto dirt roads, across streams on farm tracks, and on forest roads. We rode the bike we had. I carried that philosophy along with me into adulthood, and took my road bike everywhere. I even rode it up some terribly steep jeep tracks by way of training my legs and lungs for a mountaineering trip to the Pacific Northwest. Today I still have that road bike, but I’ve also got a utility mountain bike and a Surly Long Haul Trucker touring bike. The LHT is my bike of choice for going everywhere, in all seasons, because she fits me so well.

Whether it’s a road bike set up for rough riding, or a mountain bike, riding on unimproved roads has its rewards. My recent article, “Riding the Rough Stuff: Out My Back Door With My Long Haul Trucker,” pointed Brazilian Helton Moraes towards more rough-riding photos in our photo gallery. What he saw there encouraged him to write and share his collection of photos from a 90-day trip he made across south and southwest Brazil in 2006-2007, much of it over rugged terrain and terrible roads. His bike? Let him tell you:

 
My bike is actually a pure-breed mountain-bike, a circa ‘96 GT Karakoram, with chromoly tubes, 26-inch wheels, large tire clearance, and a somewhat aggressive and slightly uncomfortable riding position. What I did was put full fenders, a large rack, mounted a pair of Schwalbe Marathon XR 2.00 tires, and ride it with its original rigid fork. It is not much different from a LHT, and for practical purposes a brand new LHT does not differ much from what my bike has become, because of what I would call “adaptive convergence”.

 
And a beautiful bike the Karakoram is, too. It’s surely a capable steed. Take a look at this photo to see why I say that:

 
And if you think that’s bad, look at the boulders in this roadside turn-off:

 
They’re only a little larger than the ones on the road. But what about taking your road bike on an amphibious adventure?

 
The reduced images here don’t do justice to Helton’s original photos. Visit Helton’s Picasaweb gallery for nearly 80 excellent photos of his exciting bicycle tour in Brazil.

 
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Our story continues…

 
Chapter Twenty-Three

 
Brenna woke suddenly to the murky half-light of a gray dawn. Whispers filtered through the thin nylon walls of the tent. She strained to make out the words but had no luck. All she could hear was the muted buzz of earnest conversation.

Curious, she rolled onto her stomach and rose up on her elbows to look out through the half-open door. Nothing. By her side, Ed stirred and threw his arm over the small of her back. Still asleep, he grunted affectionately. Then the voices stopped, only to be replaced by quiet footfalls. Talk had apparently given way to purposeful action. An acrid smell of wood smoke filtered into the tent. Brenna heard someone unzip the door of the Nearys’ tent. The hushed whispers resumed.

By now she was wide awake, and her bladder was sending messages that couldn’t be ignored for long. Without waking Ed, she slid out of their paired bags and began to dress, standing as nearly erect as the five-foot headroom would permit. Not a day passed when she wasn’t glad that they’d brought the 4-man Timberline rather than something like the Nearys’ little coffin-shaped tent. What was that line of Nessmuk’s? She racked her memory. “We don’t go to the woods to rough it; we go to smooth it. We get it rough enough at home.” That was it. “Right on!” Brenna thought.

Dressed now, Brenna unzipped the door slowly and stepped out into a damp, dim world of stunted spruce and mossy rock. She didn’t see the Nearys. She didn’t see Billy Swamp, either. For the moment, at least, she was the only soul moving about the camp.

Brenna walked over to the fire, catching a glimpse of the Misehkow now and again through gaps in the trees. The rocky island she stood on was the only bit of solid ground in a vast expanse of swamp. She kept walking, and was rewarded by a sweeping view up and down the river when she squatted to tend to business. A moose browsed in the shallows across the channel, its head periodically disappearing below the surface of the water.

The mosquitoes were as aggressive as ever, but Brenna didn’t notice them much now. She felt good about that. “I’m starting to become part of this country,” she thought. “I’m not a tourist any more…. Or maybe it’s the dirt!”

Walking back toward the fire, Brenna picked up the covered pot of water she’d set aside the night before and put it on the grill. As she straightened up, she saw Karin crawling out of the Nearys’ tent. Karin’s expression was a confused amalgam of chagrin and determination. “Uh, oh,” Brenna murmured to herself, wondering what was coming next. She nodded to Karin and then stood quietly, waiting.

“Morning,” Karin said. She joined Brenna by the fire. “Hope we didn’t wake you,” she added.

“Don’t think so,” Brenna replied, still waiting. Then she caught sight of movement down at the landing. It was Billy Swamp. He was tugging faded canvas sacks around in his big freighter, his pipe belching smoke. It looked like he was getting ready to go.

Karin spoke again: “Ah, listen Brenna,” she began, kicking at a small pile of cones at her feet. Close by, the fire spat and hissed. “Got to talk to you. We’ve…I mean Pete and I…we’ve hired Billy Swamp to take us out.” She stopped abruptly, waiting for a reaction. When Brenna said nothing, she continued. “We’ve…ah…about had it with this wilderness stuff, you know? And we…we’ve been thinking that we would fly out at Fort Hope when we got there. But then we ran into Billy, and we…ah…we decided that since he’s a guide and since he’s heading out anyway, then maybe we should take this chance now, rather than waiting.” Her voice broke. She stopped.

Brenna said nothing. She looked away, staring into the fire. She crossed her arms. She was angry. Not surprised. Just angry. No, thinking back over the last few days, she wasn’t at all surprised. Still, Karin’s news certainly wasn’t welcome. “Trip of a lifetime!” The words rang mockingly in her head. And what to do now? Continue on? Risky. She and Ed, alone on a big river. A little trouble could become big trouble in no time. “Trip of a lifetime!” It could be the last trip of their lifetimes… Read more…

 
Hooked? A new chapter in our serial adventure novel, Trip of a Lifetime, will appear every Sunday. If you’ve missed a chapter, or if you’re coming aboard for the first time and want to catch up, just use the hot-linked title to go to the archives.

 
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A REMINDER This is a work of fiction. All the characters are figments of the imaginations. It’s NOT a paddling guide. If you’re planning a trip on the Albany River—or any other body of water, come to that—consult the most recent edition of a good guidebook and be sure you’re thoroughly familiar with all applicable regulations. While maps of Ontario show some of the waterways mentioned here, the places depicted in our story exist only in our minds—and in yours.

 
It’s a busy time for turtles. Mothers are laying eggs, hatchlings from the previous season are breaking free of their shells, digging themselves to the surface, and making the perilous journey from nest to the shelter of water or thick vegetation. As we all know, many turtles don’t make it. Natural predators take their toll, but no threat is as great as that of our motor vehicles. When turtles need to cross our roads, chances are they’ll be crushed outright or maimed to suffer an agonizing, lingering death. That’s why I’m determined to spread the word and encourage everyone to become a Turtle Taxi. I’m happy to say that the word is getting out.

Lisa Hammersla of South Carolina remembered what she’d read here at Outside Up North about giving turtles a lift when she recently saved this terrapin from an almost certain death on a busy Beaufort highway:

 
Lisa stopped her car and gave the terrapin a lift to the safety of a marsh on the side, taking she in the direction she wanted to go. As it happened, a beautiful rainbow glistened over the wetland as the terrapin attempted her crossing under a “Terrapin Crossing” sign. Thanks, Lisa, for saving the terrapin’s life and for sending us her portrait!

 
I’m pleased to report a turtle save on a bike ride I took earlier in the week. As I cruised down an unusually busy country road I saw what appeared to be a pebble in my path. I adjusted my line, and as I got close realized it wasn’t a pebble. It was a hatchling snapping turtle:

 
He was a feisty little fellow, kicking at my fingers with his sharp little claws and opening his mouth to hiss at me. A hatchling snapper like this one can safely be lifted as shown in the photo above. Larger snappers require a special technique when lifting them—read how in “Help Turtles Cross Roads.”

The traffic was picking up and the place where the snapper was heading was unsafe because of aggressive dogs and sterile lawns. I zipped him securely into my rack trunk, where he wandered around exploring for the half-mile I carried him to the edge of a wetland.

 
He’s already eager to get onto the ground and on his way. I placed him in the tall grasses and wildflowers, and he quickly scooted to safety in the shadows of overhanging vegetation.

 
Then news came to me from Japan expert, Bob Angel, who’s a keen saver of turtles in his own right. He found an article in a Japanese newspaper which astonished me. Go to the article entitled “Turtle Gets Prosthetic Legs” in The Asahi Shumbun for the full (though brief) story, and if you want to see a photo, check out the Japanese language version of the article. A Ridley’s sea turtle who had badly injured front legs because of a shark attack has been fitted with prosthetics. So far tests appear to indicate that the turtle will be able to cope in the wild in a year or two. Let’s hope so! Thanks to Bob for this pointer. Incidentally, Bob’s blog, Mobile Studio Travels of the Japan Considered Project, is always a good read as he describes his kayak and hiking explorations in South Carolina and points distant.

 
Sea turtles found their way into another publication this week. Barney Ward writes Old Fat Man Adventures most days, chronicling what’s going on wherever his explorations have found him. While fishing and exploring Flour Bluff, Texas, this week, he caught sight of sea turtles not far offshore. Barney patiently shot frame after frame before catching a terrific photo of a turtle surfacing for air. Read about it and see his excellent picture in “The Critter Home.”

 
Turtles are remarkably well equipped to survive in a hostile world. But however smart, alert, and strong a turtle is, she or he is no match against a cruel human or a motor vehicle. Even dogs can do harm to turtles. That’s why it’s so important to learn how to “Help Turtles Cross Roads.”

 
Have you saved a turtle from being hit by cars? Do you have a story or pictures to share? Just send us an email and we’ll publish your comments and turtle pictures in our “Turtle Portrait Gallery.”

 
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A drizzly hike along The River offered perfect conditions for shooting slow-motion photos of moving water. See more such pictures in our “A River Runs…” gallery.

 
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While the RR-16 is generously padded, I wanted additional protection for my camera and lenses. The solution came in the form of a lunch-sized soft cooler found at the local Dollar Store. It fits perfectly inside the trunk:

 
The cooler is padded and has a simple zip-closure lid. Its shoulder strap folds underneath when inside the trunk, but is handy if I want to remove the camera kit and sling it over my shoulder while leaving the trunk in place. There’s plenty of room left over in the trunk for food, clothes, tools, or a jacket and hat.

The DSLR fits inside the lunch cooler with a bit of elbow room, and being a belts-and-suspenders kind of gal, I wasn’t satisfied until I added more padding to prevent the camera and lenses from being jostled on rough roads. I also wanted to immobilize the kit in case of a crash, so I cut up an old closed-cell sleeping pad and added separators which I can slip between camera and extra lens, and around the sides to snug the fit:

 
I rest the camera back against the side closest to the bike saddle, with the lens facing aft. The spare lens (in a plastic freezer bag) goes face-down next to the lens mounted on the camera, and is held snugly in place with strips of foam. There’s room for a few odds and ends if I want them inside the camera bag. With the camera kit packed, I pull the top edges of the foam over the kit and zip the cooler lid closed.

 
While the hook-and-loop tabs on the rack trunk are substantial and have good grip, I couldn’t stop thinking about how awful I’d feel if the trunk was knocked free of its moorings when riding a rough road, so I used a length of heavy-duty cord to form a lanyard that lets me securely tie the bag to the bike rack without impairing my ability to get inside pockets or the main compartment:

 
I looped the cord through the aft D-ring on the trunk lid, ran the ends through the near D-ring, then down around the rack before bringing the ends up through the near D-ring once more before securely tying the knot. The loose ends are tucked under the mesh flap. I can unzip the lid or expand the trunk without the lanyard getting in the way, but the trunk won’t go flying into a ditch if all four flaps fail at once (not likely, but you never know!). Here’s a photo of the trunk in use, with the top flap pulled back with the lanyard in place:

 
When I want to stop and shoot pictures, I park, unzip the top flap of the RR-16, unzip the cooler, remove the camera, put the camera strap over my head, and shoot away. The trunk rack makes a nice platform, and if I’m going to be away from the bike’s side, I zip the top trunk flap shut to keep out dust and drizzle. It takes a bit of time to extract my camera from the trunk, but it’s worth knowing the camera kit is safe and protected as I ride, while still being accessible. If I want to take quick shots without the bother of dismounting, I pull my point-and-shoot Canon from my handlebar bag. By and large, I’m very satisfied with the LG RR-16 rack trunk, and I expect to put in many hundreds of miles with it as my camera bag.

 
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If you’ve been searching without success for a dry box for your camera gear, binoculars, or even an expedition medical kit, a dry box that’s both cheap and bombproof, look no further. The end of your quest could be as close as the nearest military surplus outlet. It may not be cutting-edge cool, and it’s certainly not light, but an old stamped steel ammo can makes a great alternative to pricey commercial dry boxes. Heavy metal rocks! It’s that simple. Read more…

 
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