What to Expect When Expecting a Bike Tour

Simon here, I’m Adrienne’s partner, and I’m the major reason the name of this blog changed from “Birds, Birds, Birds, Birds” (that’s right) to “Bike and Bird.” You could say I’m the bike to her bird. In a previous post, Adrienne blogged about how bike touring doesn’t require high-end gear, loads of gadgetry, or hours of grueling training. I completely agree! Just about anyone can enjoy a two day or two month bike tour without rigorous training or breaking the bank, but there are a few essentials to enjoying a bike tour that I’d like to discuss here.

To begin a bicycle tour you must own, or acquire, a bicycle (sure); but the two items you’re definitely going to want while in the saddle, the two things your just shouldn’t leave home without, are your gumption and your willingness to have a good time. Everyone hits the road for different reasons, but after meeting dozens of other long distance cyclers I’ve noticed that most of us share some universal goals: to explore, to challenge our bodies and minds, and to have fun!

The hardest part of every bike tour is arriving at the moment of departure. Once begun, a bike tour assumes its own shape and pattern, priorities shift dramatically, and standards are jettisoned like four-day-old ham sandwiches. Once on the road, Maslow’s “hierarchy of needs” affirms its steady grip on reality and the rest unfolds like a “choose your own adventure” story. But departing…departing is easily the hardest part.

Eating, sleeping, and keeping up with maintenance (both physical and mental) are critical to any sustained activity. Even when traveling light I always carry a tent, sleeping bag, stove, cook gear, some food supplies, safety gear, book, change of clothes, and a bike repair kit; all attached to a rear rack (I’ll use a front rack on longer rides). See Adrienne’s plastic bucket article for some ideas on inexpensive packing. But alas, there are many ways to cruise the country. I’ve met the gamut of touring types from the hobo with a backpack making his annual ride from California to Maine and “sleeping in the third bush on the right” to the executive happily hopping from one bed and breakfast to the next with nothing but a fanny pack and a credit card.

Realistic expectations are important. In my experience, pedaling a loaded bike over varied terrain travels at about 10 mph and, well, that’s just a little faster than a car in drive while idling. Generally speaking, a full day’s ride on a bike tour equates to an hour’s drive doing the speed limit. Bike touring isn’t a speedy affair (only on the rarest occasion might you find yourself breaking the speed limit). At times, when you’re tired and the wind won’t stop, the hill won’t stop, and you think you may have another slow leak even though you just stopped to patch your third leak of the day, it can feel (and be!) monotonous and painfully slow. My point being, if it’s the destination your heart of hearts is after, bicycling almost certainly isn’t the fastest way to get there, so be prepared to enjoy the crawl.

My personal philosophy: bike touring is supposed to be fun. If you’re not having fun, you may want to consider making some minor, or possibly major, changes to your daily routine. Minor adjustments in routine may include fiddling with your seat and handlebar arrangements, modifying the distance you expect to cover in a day, or changing what you eat. Major changes may include the bike your riding, the company you’re riding with, or the state you’re riding in! If lack of fun persists, you may want to consider simply ending your tour. At the end of the day, just because you can do something doesn’t mean you’re going to enjoy it (cage-fighting and enemas come to mind). Just as it’s easier to criticize than it is to create, ending a bike tour is significantly easier than beginning one. Bike touring can be a deeply enriching and empowering experience. I encourage everyone to give it a go, but just remember, stay safe, talk to strangers, and have fun!

Flying Foxes in the Hand

We turn onto an inconspicuous dirt road, up towards the heart of a crater. By now, I am accustomed to unmarked dirt roads leading to pure natural treasures in American Samoa. We park and birdsong immediately overcomes our ears. Pacific pigeons, or Lupes in Samoan, criss-cross the sky. The call they bellow sounds like a cow to Ashley, but to me they sound like a ghost, “oooooo.”

The sky still shines with daylight, but already huge bats frequent the sky. Two species of flying foxes inhabit Tutuila: Pteropus samoensis, commonly called the Samoan Bat, and Pteropus tonganus, or the Tongan Bat, also called the white-naped Bat. These two, plus a micro-bat which hasn’t been spotted on the island for decades, are the only native mammals to the island. In Samoan, the bats are called pe’a veo and pe’a fauna. I particularly enjoy this because the white-rumped swiftlets, who echolocate and have a bat-like manner, are called pe’a pe’a.

“I don’t call the white-naped bat a Tongan bat anymore. When I would talk to Samoans about it they thought Tongan Bats belonged on Tonga, not Samoa.” Adam chuckles, and the two Samoans with us nod in disapproval of a name like Tongan Bat for a creature native to their island.

As dusk approaches, the net goes up on a pulley system between two large coconut trees. Ailao warns us to not sit under the coconut tree, heavy with fruit, because of the danger of being killed by a falling coconut. A few hours later, we hear a coconut strike the ground and knowingly exchange glances.

We watch the skies and see more than bats: white-tailed tropicbirds, white terns, crimson-capped fruit doves (formally purple-capped fruit doves), wattled honeyeaters, Samoan starlings, invasive but handsome jungle mynas, and (the best) three male many-colored fruit doves chasing a female.

Purple hues streak the sky and the fruit bat chatter in the trees, high-pitched screeches sounding off as they prepare for dusk flight. At first, only a few take to the sky. Their bodies are so large they almost look unreal, like Halloween decorations. A barn owl skreeches too, and circles the crater. Almost in an instant, the fruit bats pour into the sky. We sit low in a crater and volcanic walls covered in vegetation surround us, creating a circular image of the sky. It feels like we are in a snowglobe populated by bats instead of snowflakes, and some large hand has tipped us upside-down, and then righted us again. The bats swirl unorganized in the sky, and occasionally swoop low.

We begin to focus on the net–one, two bats hit. Another. Some bounce out. The barn owl, a Lulu in Samoan, collides with the net and us birders whoop with delight. But the net, designed for delicate, smaller creatures, cradles him like a hammock, and eventually he pops out.

The light fades and signals us to put headlamps on. The net, suspended well above us, holds six bats. Ailao and Eddie lower the net from each end.

“They are small.” Adam remarks, disappointed. He hopes to attach satellite transmitters and track the engamic nightly jaunts of the bats, but one needs to be at least 300g to support the tag.

many hands help ease tension off the net to aid in extraction

Extracting a bat seems like it should resemble bird extraction. The nets are the same, the animals nearly the same size. But instead of feathers are long, delicate fingers, and, of course, in each mouth teeth await for a misplaced finger. Hence, bats require more: two extractors, one gloved, and a headlamp for working in the dark. Bats make chickadees look very cooperative.

All the flying foxes in the net are white-naped and juveniles. Adam and Ailao work together to extract each one, placing each bat in a pillow to case to wait to be processed. Just like birds, the cotton bags, devoid of stimulation, calm the creatures down.

Flying foxes, out of the sky, possess a look of utter adoreableness coupled with alien appendages. The body–covered in soft, teddy bear colored fur–contrasts with the long, thin tightly covered by thin skin. Each bones shines through the wings, and their feet have such excessively long toes they resemble spider legs.

Adam pulls the first one out, and curious dark round eyes study the small audience watching the process. The bat is cute. Insanely adorable. This is not the somewhat horrifying face of the micro-bat of North America. Small, leathery ears switch side to side, twitching in all directions, sucking up the audible environment. These fruit bats do not echolocate, but still clearly gather sound to assess the world.

sipping on some mango juice before take off

weighing bats in a bat burrito

Juvenile birds, even sporting adult plumage, have an incomplete ossification of the skull. Eventually, a second layer of bone grows and fills in what is called “windows,” which we look for to determine the age of birds if plumage is not obvious. Young bats also have incomplete ossification in the of bones of the wing. Adam holds up a bat to Simon’s headlamp to check for the ossification.

checking for ossification

The bats are weighed, measured and given as much fruit juice as they want for their trouble, and then we release each one from the hand. Birds always take off immediately, but young bats are more curious about the strange, fleshly branch suddenly holding them up to the sky. Each one eventually flies smoothly away, leaving a little bit of that nature-magic with each of us.

Fish in the Shallow Coral Reef

Fish, my magical spirit creature as a Pisces, dash in electric blues and swim decked out in fantastical colors along the coral reef of American Samoa. They sport names like Picasso Triggerfish, Vagabond Bufferflyfish, and Bandtail Goatfish.

Snorkeling, always a great high tide activity, has become my new favorite since trying this ridiculous looking easy breath snorkeling mask. Warning: swimming with such a mask creates such comfortable breathing that you may become sunburnt from over-sun exposure… Coral also hates to be touched, and even a light brush of one against the leg will swell up and burn like a jellyfish sting. Spying on the ocean’s inhabitants is well worth these seemingly small (but long lasting and painful) prices.

Like I said, ridiculous looking. But somehow, this ninja face mask doesn’t fog up and breathing through the nose is the definition of feeling like a mermaid or merman underwater.

As I swim, I am able to capture photos of some of the beauties dwelling just inches below the surface.

Picasso Triggerfish Rhinecanthus aculeatus

Blue-green chromis   Chromis viridis

Onespot Demoiselle – Juvenille      Chrysiptera unimaculata

Humbug Dascyllus   Dascyllus aruanus

As to be expected, the ocean is also full of strange, slightly terrifying sights that look innocent on first glance.

Don’t swim in there….

It’s a trap!

 

Chasing Waterfalls

Natural treasures are tucked behind small convenient stores, down long driveways and flanked by banana trees and backyards. I would never find these places in American Samoa without someone to guide me. Nu’uuli falls are no different.

We drive for a few minutes up a long, unmarked dirt driveway until we reach a gate. Adam hopes out and asks for permission to park. I glance around, searching for some kind of sign that we are close to a path, but between the house and the piggery, I find none.

Our crew is large, four dogs and seven humans. A pack of dogs, clearly belonging to the owners, immediately approach, barking and charging at our relatively timid pack. Everyone guards one of the four dogs we brought as we quickly make our way to the small path uphill.

We break into the dense jungle and follow a tiny path. The darkness created by the canopy immediately strikes me, and the other dogs do not follow now that we are off their backyard. We come upon a small stream and forge it, convincing the dogs to follow. Trigger, a puppy, whines until his owner scoops him up and carries him across.

The trail is small and easily lost, winding through overgrown sleek vegetation, many times skirting up a slope so steep the roots become hand-holds. We arrive at the first waterfall in fifteen minutes, pause to admire the gushing fall of water, and then traverse through a small stream.

“The second waterfall is even better for swimming!” Someone calls out, noticing Ashley ready to jump into this pool of water. Somewhat reluctantly, she replaces her t-shirt, and continues on. I too hunger for more than a mere pause at the beautiful waterfall we so easily stumbled upon.

The first waterfall of Nu’uuli Falls

The second waterfall takes longer to reach. On our way, we meet other folks traversing their way back. The large man has a young baby strapped to his chest, an impressive feat with all the climbing the trail requires. We pass them and continue uphill, pausing for a moment to admire two white-tailed tropicbirds hovering in the understory. These elegant  birds nest in the jungle, and we don’t doubt the two were a pair.

The dogs refuse the next steep incline and must be passed from one human to the next. A comical sight, for the dogs are large and full grown. Dirt resides under my fingernails and my forehead drips with perspiration by the time we make it to the second waterfall. The rocks glisten black with water and green with algae, creating a treacherous path of slippery steps to the pool.

A small off-shot waterfall

Refreshing waters of the second Nu’uuli waterfall

The water cools and refreshes, and behind the pouring waterfall is a small cave. After light snacking we charge up to the third and most epic waterfall, complete with a smooth section of rock you can slide down into a pool.

All in all, Nu’uuli falls made for an excellent Friday afternoon.

The Return

For a long time, I have been absent from my blogging duties. I have worked in the remote, beautiful wilderness of Denali National Park for the summers, happy to relish in little to no internet connection. Then, while biking, I documented our southwest tour last year mainly via TrackMyTour.

TrackMyTour made it super easy to create this map so we will always remember the weird places we found to sleep at night, snack on the side of the road (we called this bike tour Taco Tour 2015) and bird.

Now, a year later, we took a job with Institute for Bird Populations, banding the tropical birds of American Samoa. If this sounds familiar, that’s because three years ago we worked on Tutuila banding tropical birds and eating bananas with every meal. This time, however, we will be living and working on an even smaller island, Ofu-Olosega, and catching more birds. The outer islands are called collectively Manu’a.

Ofu-Olosega are small islands connected by a bridge. Stretching four miles in length, the land is populated by roughly 500 people. Supplies on the small outer islands are difficult to get, and many family members ship food on pallets to their relatives. The ferry, the MV Sili, has a reputation of inconsistency and delays. Hence, although we have been in Tutuila for a week now, we don’t know when the Sili might be running again. The large boat remains dry docked and awaiting an inspection by the coast guard.

We spend time on Tutuila preparing for the eventual departure to Manu’a. The challenge of shopping for five months has proven real, although we’ve been planning and brainstorming on food and meals that will keep. We won’t have an oven, sadly, just two burners run on propane. We will have a refrigerator and freezer, as well as a washer and wi-fi! Our abode, comparatively, is quiet lush with amenities.

While we wait, we bird and snorkel. The back of my legs are burnt from enjoying the waters too much without enough sunscreen. Lesson learned!

These red-vented bulbuls hang out next to our house, watching us as we wait.

 

Back on the road…biking across the USA

    
We have been riding for a week and already we made it over a mountain range and out of LA, now we are in desert territory. 

      
I have met a tame raven in Applewhite Campground and seen a few species that are lifers. For this morning, a trio of black throated sparrows and a pair of rock wrens chasing each other are added to my list.     

Next stop, Joshua Tree! 

The Common Ground Dove makes a nest in an odd place

This small bird is common in the south, and when it flies away the beautiful primary wing feathers flash with brick red color.

They usually nest on the ground, but I flushed one from her strange spot today, wedged between fence post and fence slats near the recycling and trash bins at work. Three white eggs: a full clutch for this sparrow-sized beauty.

10 Signs You Are Dating a Birder

A lot of people like birds, and occasionally bird watch, but not everyone is a “birder.” Birders are usually obsessive, love birds and everything bird-like, so this quality may seem impossible to miss. Still, loving birds and being a birder are a little different, so if you are wondering if you or a loved one is right on the edge of being a “birder” these tell tale signs will help you identify:

1. While driving, they suddenly shout out, “TURKEY VULTURE!” or “SWALLOW-TAIL KITE!”  This should be terrifying, especially since you usually don’t see said bird, or the bird is very far from the road that the driver should be concentrating on.

2. Occasionally, movies are not fun to watch with this person because he/she totally ruins the mood. A conversation might spring up as you settle down to re-watch some favorite classics, like Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark: “Oh, did you hear that willow ptarmigan calling? SERIOUSLY, a willow ptarmigan! That is an arctic bird!! Tundra, not rainforest! This really makes the movie unbelievable.”

3. You are unsure if he/she is ever really listening to you, because in the middle of a conversation, he/she might interrupt with, “I just heard a Northern Parula! Wow! They are migrating kind of early this year, how cool.”

4. Binoculars are apart of the wardrobe, regardless the event or place. Bonus points to those with the fancy harness instead of the neck strap. 

5. If you put their MP3 player on random, eventually a startling, loud bird call will blast through the speakers.

6. Vacation spots are planned based on eBird updates of rare sightings and the need to fill in “lifer” birds. 

7. You know what getting a Life Bird means. Party, list writing and joy.

8. You wonder about his or her sense of humor. 

“Which bird is still a virgin?” – birder
“Um what? Don’t all individuals want to procreate for the good of the species and themselves…?”

“Not the Fish Crow!! They always say Not-a! not-a! Hahahahaha!” 

9. They have more photos of birds on their computer then photos of friends or family members. 

10. While out on a walk with them, they will nonchalantly mimic birds, whistle back to towhees, caw at crows, and say “Cheery up! Cheerio!” when a flock of robins pass.

If all these points sound like your one special love, then congratulations! You are dating a birder, and it is only a matter of time before you become one too…

Because I love nuthatches, I can’t love bluebirds

As an observer of the natural world, I find it very easy to take a “that’s natural selection” emotion when other species interact negatively with the bird I currently study. I become invested in all the nests, and when I look in and see only bones and red fire ants, I feel heartbroken (because that is not a kind death) but I still respect that ants need to eat too. When snakes eat six eggs and the female incubating to boot, I don’t like it, but I respect the relationship between predator and prey that keeps an ecosystem running smoothly.  I love vireos more than any other bird, and when I closely tracked nest success of Bell’s vireos in Arkansas I saw countless nests abandoned due to brown-headed cowbird parasitism. Yet I value the oddity of cowbirds reproductive strategy, and being a member of the species Homo sapiens, I know we are as much to blame for cowbirds wild success and ability to destroy tiny populations of open cup nesters.

And I love nearly all birds…except one. The Eastern Bluebird Bully.

Brown-headed nuthatches are small, hard working birds that do an amazing job creating cavities for themselves and ultimately other species as well. They very rarely reuse cavities, so after their early breeding season is complete (February to May), they have created homes for bluebirds, small woodpeckers, and chickadees. Nuthatches are tool users as well, and generally a very impressive tiny bird to observe all day. They walk upside down nearly always. They cooperative breed even if they aren’t related to the parent breeders (unlike other examples of cooperative breeders, such as the Florida Scrub Jay and Red-cockaded Woodpeckers).

Ok, ok, you get it: nuthatches are ninjas who make cavities, work together to raise young, use tools and steal hearts with their cuteness. But why do I hate bluebirds? Bluebirds please most backyard bird watchers and children too; boy scouts put nest boxes out on public land to help bluebirds out. They can’t be that bad!

I recognize my emotional bias and investment in nuthatches, but I wanted everyone to know. Bluebirds are the mean kids on the block, don’t let that flashy feather color fool you. This parent nuthatch attempts to feed its young, but a bluebird couple in town won’t have any of it! They mob and mob the nuthatch, and sometimes grab the smaller bird off the snag all together. Nuthatches are persistent, and in response end up moving even faster then their normal, quick little movements. Bluebirds, if they can wedge themselves into the nuthatch cavity (which must be just large enough for a nuthatch) will destroy nuthatch eggs. Yes, they are creating a cavity vacancy for themselves, but I still feel like the abuse just isn’t justified. Nuthatches are done so early! But bluebirds are impatient.

Watch your back, nuthatches!

Bluebirds are always watching.

Holy Expensive Optic Equipment, BirdGirl!

Yep, that’s a DSLR in my day pack, and I am just now understanding why so many birders become photographers. Well, I suppose I’ve always understood it, but I never thought I would join the fun.

Since I arrived at Tall Timbers in February, I have carefully stalked over a dozen groups of brown-headed nuthatches, hoping to spy which cavity they call home for breeding season. I carry a scope, a tripod, binoculars, and a slew of other field equipment. My track record with nice things hasn’t always been impressive, and that combined with my general traveling way of life, I protested adding an expensive camera to the things I must carry, worry over and eventually feel unbelievable sadness about when dropped, soaked in a downpour, or simply lost. Just a month ago I dropped my old iPhone in a bowl of water shaped like a toilet, but since I haven’t lost my knife in the field yet, I felt like I could handle a used, wonderful, life-altering Canon T3i DSLR. And let me tell you: it’s a game changer.

For work, I already hide in bushes with optics pointed at birds, and since one of main goals (after nest searching) is to peg individual color bands on teeny, tiny birds, the camera adds a world of a difference.

This individual, known as DBDB/PuAl, exits the cavity with a chick’s fecal sack in beak. Yeah, that’s a sack of poop. Nuthatches are super clean birds, and they keep their nest very tidy. The amount of time it might have taken me to peg the bands on this bird could have been way longer with just a scope, but the camera allowed me to snap a bunch of shots and get both leg combinations in one nest visit by this individual. The nest cavity these guys have shacked up in is a new type of box we put out this season, and it succeeds where others fail because, turns out, nuthatches like a hardwood interior and do not settle for less.

I worried most that owning a nice camera would ruin my general enjoyment of outdoor experiences. For example, instead of feeling joy when I see a new species, I would feel dread that my camera wasn’t with me. Unexpectedly, the camera actually makes me enjoy birds more. The other day I saw a pair of brown thrashers copulating, so I ran inside to grab my camera, and of course the cloacal kiss had already gone down and everyone was back to foraging by the time I came back outside. But instead of disappointment at not catching that moment, I was grateful the pair still were in my backyard and I was able to snap this shot.

I am so excited to capture the strange and beautiful movements of bird flight! As long as I can be an adult and not destroy the camera, I have a feeling we will do amazing things together.