Distant Touring With The iPad

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An iPad is a bulky device, relative to a phone. How well does it perform as a piece of kit on a bike tour? Well, that answer is bound to be a bit subjective. Here are my own impressions.

I used mine extensively when traveling in Australia. My local host Celia took me to a phone store where I got a month-to-month data-only SIM for the iPad. So for 25 bucks, I was able to use the 3G in the iPad all through Australia, including Tasmania.

I used it every day, multiple times a day. I used it to find motels and restaurants, read local news, chat with people on AIM, make reservations and book tickets, send email trip updates from cafes, look at my environment in satellite and street view, etc. It’s even got Skype on it, which is MUCH cheaper for international calls to the folks back home. When the battery was low I could (slowly) charge it using the same adapter I used for the phone, saving a bit of weight.

In restaurants it was a conversation starter. I used it to show people photos from back home. Played a little jazz on it when I was relaxing. I used it with Celia to co-plan my outings the day before, since it was big enough for both of us to see and easily poke at the same time.

I placed the iPad in a saddlebag on the bicycle. Whenever I wanted to know where I was, what was around me, where I needed to go, et cetera, I had to go through a short routine: I stopped, walked around to the back of the bike, fetched the iPad from the bag, and used it while standing there over the rear tire. When I was done I packed it away and got back on the bike. Not a big deal, as long as I don’t have to refer to it often, and as long as I’m in a low-crime environment.

(I had an iPhone on the handlebars but it was for the wrong kind of network, so I couldn’t buy a SIM for it in Australia. The only reason I brought it at all was to use it as a music player while riding.)

The one thing that held me back when using the iPad was that I couldn’t immediately call ahead to the hotels I found that didn’t offer digital reservations. I’m pretty sure some cleverness with Skype would have solved that problem.

So, would I travel with an iPad in the future? After all of these use cases you’d think my answer would be an instant “yes”, but here’s the thing: If I bring a laptop, and I already have a phone with a data plan to tether it, then I just don’t need the iPad. … And I am a huge nerd, so a laptop is probably a given for almost all long journeys.

It’s worth noting one more difference between an iPad and a laptop: You stand a chance of charging the iPad with a solar panel. You could conceivably go camping in the woods for a couple of weeks, and use your iPad the whole time, while the laptop would die after a day or two. But on the other hand, when you’re on a bike trip, you’re on roads – and where there are roads, there is almost always electricity nearby. You’d have to be a very particular individual on a very particular bicycle trip – say, a gadget hound meandering through Kazakhstan – for that to shift the balance.

If I had a phone but could not bring a laptop, would I want to bring the iPad?

That’s a more interesting question. Different people have different ways of navigating or documenting their travel, and personally, I’m used to having a laptop, and would still want to do all the things I usually do with it. Most of those activities are difficult or uncomfortable on a phone screen.

With the iPad along I could:

  • Import and store photos from my camera without filling up my phone.
  • Edit and organize those photos more easily than on the phone.
  • Type journal entries and emails, and chat using instant messaging, a lot more comfortably and quickly than on the phone.
  • Research my route a bit more comfortably. (Any notes and screenshots I take will sync over to the phone.)
  • Relax by watching movies and TV shows a lot more comfortably than on the phone.
  • Conduct video chats more comfortably.

In summary, it’s mostly a matter of comfort. Is that level of comfort worth the extra one pound that the latest iPad weighs? For me, the answer is yes. For others, perhaps not.

Australia and Tasmania: The Flight In

I had loads of time at the checkin. A visa to travel in Australia cost 25 bucks at the counter. There was no need to stamp my passport – the records were stored electronically. All these fresh, blank pages would have to remain blank, for now.

I stood in line for almost an hour, and I swear, the music played over the loudspeakers was deliberately selected to turn human brains into soggy mush. Overwrought love ballads and face-punching anthems about partying. First time, that Lady Gaga song is catchy. Second time, it’s a chore. Third time, it makes me grit my teeth and look for the speakers so I can cut them. I wore my headphones and listened to my own music, and felt better. In fact, since I had all day, and was officially on vacation time, I was in quite a good mood, despite my surroundings. I bopped along to my music and shoved my bicycle box ahead of myself on the carpet until I got to the front desk, where I checked the bike with no extra fees. The box was oversize but it qualified as “sporting equipment”. Hah!

The checkin line was long, but the security scan was easy. I grabbed four plastic trays, for my backpack, laptop, ipad, and shoes, and was through in a few minutes. I had no suitcase to be rummaged through, and I drank the rest of my water and pitched it into the trash just as I got to the checkpoint.

While walking around the LA airport I noticed something strange. I was surrounded by all kinds of people, but I noticed a “type” of person – a sequence of people so similar that they made a repeating pattern. The best name I could think of for the the type was “poodle women”. They had many of the following traits:

  • Soft sweatpants
  • A “clever” tattoo half concealed
  • An almost suspiciously even dark tan
  • Eye makeup
  • Long hair – blond or bleached blond, or with bleached highlights
  • A shape conveying a slight aversion to exercise and a slight excess of drink (or, if you’re on a college campus, she’s in shape.)
  • An aloof, unfriendly manner, belying a nervous fear underneath.
  • “UGG” boots

She will not smile at you, she will not look directly at you except to check whether you are looking at her or to stare you down, and if she is in conversation, it will be with someone who looks just like her, about something banal. I counted half a dozen young women like this as I walked around the airport, so similar they may have been from the same family. What gives?

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As the plane moved into position I saw an incredible sequence of blinking lights, strips, colored bars, and wavy lines on the tarmac. Each signal has a meaning that pilots or other airport staff need to know, and I imagine it takes a lifetime to learn all the details. And that is possible, since the system has been around for a lifetime at least. It certainly couldn’t have started this complex – it must have ratcheted up as the years went by.

I was flying V Australia, and the first thing I noticed were the instantly adorable accents of all the staff. I always listen to Pete Namlook’s “Autumn” on my iPod as a plane takes off, since it’s the perfect looong instrumental buildup, airy and profound, but I had to pause it for a while just to listen to the flight attendants talking. I’m sure in a few days of immersion this will not sound as unique, but for now, it tickles my ears.

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Another thing that tickled me was the introductory video they broadcast on the displays embedded in the seats. “These long flights can knock you about a bit,” says the announcer. “So be sure to keep limber, by getting up and walking around the cabin when you can, and drink plenty of water.”

About 20 minutes into the flight, the girl sitting next to me pressed a few buttons on her display and began playing a 3-D driving game, using the control pad mounted just below. A driving game, in a seat-back display, on a plane. Worlds within worlds, maaaaan. While she played I noticed she had a scarf tied around one of her wrists. A motion-sickness pressure point, or just a fashion accessory?

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V Australia also has adorable corporate banter on their dining utensils. This is the first time I have ever seen copy from an international airline that contains the phrase “No, you know what, screw it.”

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It was cramped but livable. I listened to “The Wee Free Men”, then a big chunk of “Hat Full of Sky”. I didn’t want to bust into the new Pratchett book until I had reacquainted myself with the main character, Tiffany Aching.

The enormity of what I’m doing still hasn’t set in.  I’m traveling 8000 miles in 14 hours of flight, to a country on the other side of the Earth.  And I’m doing it because I feel like it.

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I slept unevenly for quite a while, then woke up and looked out the window. I think this is somewhere over Fiji.

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The little seat-back computer says it’s -48 degrees Fahrenheit outside, at 36,000 feet. Carraaazy, man.

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A little heart of ice formed in the membrane between the two windows. Awww!

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As the day brightened up and we passed over mainland Australia, the clouds got more serious.

Everything looks so flat from up here…
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Everything looks so flat from up here…

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Descending now, but still quite a long way up…

Crater Lake To Stanley : Afterword

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I went on vacation to get away from it all and I certainly have. I’ve also had plenty of time to think about what I’m doing and why, and it’s occurred to me that touring by bike, especially alone, is a unique experience, and the way that experience feels depends mostly on how populated the route is. I put together a route that was sparsely populated, and hopefully flat.

Unfortunately, the flatness part turned out to be inaccurate. I’ve spent eight hours on the bike most days, and probably almost half of that time toiling slowly up hills steep enough to require first gear. Part of the problem is that I didn’t survey the area I would be biking through with my own two eyes, and instead I relied on Google Earth, which reports height data correctly but only to a certain granularity. It smoothed the hills right out of most of the terrain I examined.

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The other problem is that I thought I would be able to go up shallow hills with no trouble at all, but I underestimated the drag that all of this hardware creates on the bike. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I went through my packing list many times, and aside from one pair of ski gloves and a couple of pairs of shorts, there wasn’t anything that I could have left out. I had to carry at least this much weight if I wanted to camp, and I had to be able to camp if I was going to travel through wilderness.

Speaking of camping, I’ve very much enjoyed the seven days that I was able to camp. The sites have been lovely. The gear has worked well, too. The tent is easy to set up, the sleeping bag is warm and roomy enough, and the mattress is easy to deploy. But the tent, bag, and mattress are very large items. They occupy the whole back half of the bicycle, with just a little space remaining for laundry and a spare tire. Combined, they also weigh more than everything else I brought, so I’m riding with at least double my usual weight. The consequence of this is that I spend a long time crawling up hills that I am interested in for significantly less time than it takes to climb them. It’s also a problem when I’m going down the only paved road, and roads that branch off it may lead to interesting things, but they’re all gravel or dirt and would be brutal on my tires. So I’m very disinclined to actually explore these side roads, and I just keep trucking along instead.

But despite the weight, I actually made excellent time. In addition to being ridiculously comfortable, the recumbent bike also carries the weight of luggage much better than an upright bike. None of it is on the handlebars, and most of it is lower to the ground. The only downside is the additional sun exposure you get from being in a reclined position. I spent two weeks riding through desert, and discovered that sunburn is much more the problem than the heat is. If I have almost all of my body covered by thin cloth, I can keep cool by dumping water on myself and letting the constant breeze created by the motion of my bike evaporate the water. I actually end up cooler than if I was standing around in shorts and no shirt. In the town of Christmas Valley I bought a pair of glove liners that cover my hands, and so the sunburn on my hands was a temporary thing, but the burns on my nose and cheeks got pretty severe, and I had to tear up one of my spare shirts to make a second, heavier bandanna for my face.

But seriously, I should have expected this, because I am deliberately biking through desert, and during the hottest time of year, and I’m doing it during a time when the UV exposure is bad enough for the weather service to publish a health alert about it.

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I budgeted 30 miles a day maximum for most days, and it turns out that even with all these hills in the way I can actually pedal the bike for a full eight hours, and take myself fifty miles or more, provided I take time to stretch, and lie flat on the ground every once in a while. Of course I have to be careful lying on the ground because every time a car comes by the driver gets worried that I have passed out in the heat. So, in practice, I can lay down for about ten minutes average, and then when I hear a car approaching, I have to get up and act like I’m rearranging my luggage, because if I don’t, they’ll stop and I’ll feel bad for making them stop and they’ll feel silly for stopping, and yadda yadda.

One time I was just leaning against the wheel and didn’t bother getting up, and sure enough the car stopped. I had to thank and compliment them for stopping. The last thing I want to do is erode their willingness to help, since it might save my life one day.

In summary, it was a lot easier than I expected, and a lot of fun. Would I do this again? Definitely. If I had the time, I would do it every couple of months. Not this exact route again, but something like it. Or something longer.

Crater Lake to Stanley: Let’s go!

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I deliberately chose a route that went through some of the most remote geography that I could find, up to the limits of my gear and carrying capacity. I wanted to get out into the middle of nowhere, and encounter as few people as possible on the way.

I tried to make a route like that through California, but all the sparsely populated parts of California are sparse for good reasons. They are all either too steep, too dangerous, or unpaved. One of the reasons I settled on Oregon – the eastern portions especially – was because it appeared to be the flattest and also some of the most remote territory I could find without having to deal with transporting a recumbent bike on the train system.

It is possible to transport a recumbent bike by train, and start a trip that way, if you’re willing to assemble the bike right there on the platform, then fold up the box and haul it to a post office. However, I got lucky on my trip: My father agreed to meet me at the train station with his truck, into which I’d packed the recumbent a few months earlier.

Crater Lake Preparation Slide Show

Over the years I’ve learned something about the way I do things: I tend to study things carefully, quietly, and thoroughly, and then take a running jump into them and keep running.

I spent more than a year customizing my Bridgestone Mountain Bike a piece at a time, with different racks and lights and tires and gearsets, slowly making it into the machine I could ride across a country. Then, I bumped into a fellow employee outside my building as he was unlocking his nifty monopod-style recumbent bicycle, and impetuously asked him if I could test ride it, and whether it was for sale.

Two days later, after I confirmed that I could get a generator installed in a 20-inch wheel sent to me through the mail in time for my trip, I drove to his house and purchased the bicycle, and all its accessories. Suddenly I had a completely different machine for carrying me from Oregon to Idaho. I had less than a month to get used to riding it, and to overhaul it for long-distance touring, but I felt I could do it, and that I was doing the right thing.

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This bike is called a Bacchetta Giro 20. It is so much more comfortable to ride than my Mountain Bike that it feels like cheating. I rode it for the June ride of San Jose Bike Party and it was like sitting at home in an easy chair the whole time. On top of that, it was more aerodynamic, and distributed the weight of my body and luggage more evenly across the wheels.

I had originally planned to leave for my trip on July 3rd. (Work intervened.) The new 20-inch wheel with the tougher tire and the generator arrived with about four days to spare, and I hauled everything out to Menlo Park so my buddy Breakpoint and I could complete the assembly.

The first thing we needed to do was wire up the new wheel.

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Next, I had to make some modifications to my charger design, since I was using smaller batteries than before. We printed a draft piece on the 3D plastic printer – a small slice of the model – and crammed the parts into it, then tweaked my final version based on the results.

The 3D printer takes many hours to print a plastic widget of this size. Then it has to soak in an acid bath to remove the structural support material that was laid down during printing.

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When it came out of the bath, it looked like this. There was a little residue still on it, but we chipped it away with dental tools.

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Here’s Breakpoint examining the fit of the components. I think I did a pretty good job.

There was still one regulator circuit I needed to wire up, so I busied myself with that while Breakpoint did some 3D drafting work on a computer nearby, designing a lid that I could screw onto the top of the enclosure and attach velcro straps to.

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Here’s a sample cutting from the printer. We chopped a little cube out of the corner while we calibrated the device to the thickness of our plastic.

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At home I tested the charging unit on the Mountain Bike, since it was much easier to put up on the table and turn upside down than the Giro.

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And here’s the Giro fully loaded. I asked La to come up with a name for her, but she hasn’t given me one yet. Well, actually I think she suggested one, but I didn’t like it, because it didn’t sound adventurous and tough enough.

It’s been a long, complicated process preparing for long-range cycling. Part of the preparation has consisted of long conversations with other bicyclists who had had similar adventures. Talking to them, I get the sense that they all share a complicated set of emotions about their pastime. On the one hand, they feel a surge of pride in their accomplishments, and find it gratifying that they can share their enthusiasm with other people interested in doing the same thing. On the other hand, they must inevitably describe some of the places they’ve gone and the things they’ve seen, and that can often sound like bragging, which they find distasteful. Long-distance cyclists mostly want to be left alone with their adventures, or at least share them with other people who are actively out on the road, because they want to keep themselves distinct from racing cyclists who are all about the competition.

I’m definitely not out here to beat competitors.