That's a really nice house in a nice looking neighborhood. I cannot imagine bridge noise being a problem.
But for only $383K more you could get this sliver of land in the town where I live. I encourage you to give this lot some consideration!
https://www.realtor.com/realestatea...eton_CA_93465_M15707-64326?from=srp-list-card
Seriously, I'd consider buying that home, especially with it being just 250 miles from your children. Our oldest and his family live 170 miles from us (each way). It's not a problem.
Scott
Edit: Also too, you have Fort Collins not too far to the south. Also too, you have some gorgeous countryside to the north. I rode through the Cody/Sheridan area on my bicycle when I road cross country in 1992 (at a 1,000 mile per week pace). I got caught in a life threatening rain/sleet/hail/snow/lightning storm, something I will never forget!
I don't want to derail the thread, but here is the story of that day. It's a chapter from a book I wrote about my life. It's an exciting read if you have nothing else to do. Haha!
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1992: PAC Tour Northern
I’ve always tried to maintain a decent level of physical fitness. Having competed in track, running was my thing. Throughout the ‘80s I ran for fitness, sometimes up to 20 miles per week. When I left San Francisco and got a Cupertino job, I wanted to start exercising again so I could regain the fitness I lost while working in The City. But rather than run I decided to try cycling. The last time I rode bikes was 25 years ago on my purple Gitane.
To get myself started I bought a mid quality Bianchi. Very quickly I sold that bike and bought a Cannondale with higher end componentry. My new job at corporate connected me with a colleague named Jeff L. Jeff was a successful bike racer. He took me under his wing and taught me everything I know about cycling etiquette and tactics. With his guidance I came up to speed very quickly.
Within a few months I was riding well and decided to set some goals. The first century (a 100 miler) I rode was one called the Sequoia, one of the most difficult centuries in the entire Bay Area. I didn’t know any better but I rode it well. No sooner had the paint dried, so to speak, then did I set an even higher goal - the Davis Double - my first double century (a 200 miler). I rode that well and after that set an even higher goal – something called PAC Tour (a 3,000 miler!).
I vividly remember sitting at my desk one afternoon at work. I had just returned from an errand at a bike shop. While there I picked up a Cycle California newspaper. I noticed an advertisement that said, “Ride Across America – FAST”. I called the number and spoke to Lon Haldeman, a two time RAAM winner. Lon explained that PAC Tour was a 1,000 mile per week crossing of the continental US. There was a lot of climbing and you rode rain or shine.
My mind raced with the thrill of doing something so wickedly difficult. Even though I had been riding bikes for just six months, Lon seemed to think I had a good enough fitness base to do PAC Tour. I signed up and sent him a check for $6,000.
During PAC Tour riders stay at a hotel each night. Because I signed up for a lower cost package I had a roommate. My first roommate was a super nice guy from Atlanta named Chuck. He had to abandon after 3 or 4 days because of knee problems - but remember 3 or 4 days was already 400 or 500 miles. My second roommate was a doctor named Bob Breedlove. He had ridden PAC Tour several times before and was an amazing cyclist (and sadly he died while riding PAC Tour in 2005). Bob roomed with me for 2 or 3 days before I got my third roommate, a brash Australian named Gerry Tatrai. Gerry went on to win RAAM in 1993. Between Bob and Gerry, I was a cycling rookie rooming with cycling royalty.
What I didn’t know at the time was that I was in way over my head. PAC Tour is an ultra-endurance event, something I had ZERO experience with. I had no idea what I was getting into and didn’t realize just how difficult this was going to be.
We started in Everett, Washington. The first day I rode up front with the fast guys. I vividly remember arriving in Wenatchee, Washington with a group of fast riders. We rode that 126 mile day so fast that Lon and the support team hadn’t even arrived at the hotel yet. Four or five of us waited in front of the hotel, smug looks on our faces because we were the first ones there.
Expecting a nice compliment about our speed, Lon instead read us the riot act, telling us we were riding like fools and that we would burn ourselves up within days. He was really angry! Yikes!
While having dinner there I met a Spaniard named Alberto Paquet. He and I became fast friends and started riding together. Alberto was a good cyclist, he and I riding in the upper half of the pack. But little did I know, I was pushing myself to disaster. I was a runner and had good cardio. But my cardio fitness disguised the fact that I wasn’t a seasoned cyclist. After four or five days my legs felt burned up, but I still had decent speed. I didn’t know it yet, but I was in serious trouble.
When making the ride from Cody to Sheridan, Wyoming the route took us on Route 14 Alternate. 14 Alternate took us over a mountain pass on our way to Sheridan. The day started out sunny and warm but quickly changed while Alberto and I were on the mountain. We got caught in a rain, hail, sleet, lightning storm so violent it made us get off our bikes and seek safety by lying in slush soaked ditches alongside the roadway. The lightning was so violent we stayed far away from our bikes, fearing they would act like lightning rods and electrocute us.
The storm passed after 20 or 30 minutes, Alberto and I soaked to the bone and shivering. Because the day started out sunny and warm we were wearing nothing more than cycling shorts and short sleeve jerseys. It seemed like we were the only ones on the mountain, just the two of us, all alone. Where the hell was everybody?! We had no choice but to ride on.
The road was covered in 2 or 3 inches of icy slush. We descended from the summit towards Sheridan. Alberto and I were shivering so badly we could barely control our bikes. Twice we stopped, unwinding our tensed up bodies, fearing we were going to get frostbite. Would we be better off to stay put and wait for help to arrive? Understand, this is the pre-cell phone era so we had zero communication with anyone else. We decided it was best to keep riding and get to lower altitudes where it would be warmer and closer to our destination.
Still riding in freezing slush a SAG van raced by and passed us, stopping sideways, blocking the road. Out jumped Susan Nortorangelo (Lon’s wife and a two time woman’s RAAM winner), screaming at us that we were going to die if we didn’t get into the van. The sliding door opened and inside we saw a half dozen cyclists looking at us in holy **** amazement at our bone chilling condition.
Alberto and I refused Susan’s demands to get into the van because we wanted to ride every single mile. Seeing the standoff, the riders in the van started peeling off their clothes and giving them to Alberto and me. Alberto and I triple and quadruple layered ourselves and continued down the mountain. Susan was in a screaming rage because of our disobedience.
Alberto and I eventually made it to Sheridan, and by the time we rolled into the hotel parking lot we were drenched in sweat because it was once again sunny and hot.
The next day we headed out for a 152 miler. At this point I knew my body was in trouble. It was a smoking hot day and we were riding on a road with a red surface. It felt and looked like the roadway was dull red lava. After about 50 or 60 miles I told Alberto I had to stop. Up ahead in the middle of this desolate two lane highway was an old gas station. As we pulled in I could tell I was on the verge of passing out. I rushed to the door and pushed it open. Once inside I passed out and fell to the floor.
The next thing I remember was laying on my back on the floor in this gas station, which I remember was air conditioned and quite cold inside. Alberto stood above me and was kicking my feet to wake me up. Beside him stood a husky, country women gas station employee. In my state of semi-consciousness I remember hearing the woman say to Alberto, “Well, I think we should call an ambulance.”
Instead, Alberto and I got on our bikes and continued on. We rode for another 20 or 30 miles until I couldn’t go any further. Alberto got a hotel room in Gillette. He led me inside and put me on the bed. While I lay there he filled up the bathtub with cold water. He got me and put me in the bathtub, fully clothed in my cycling clothes, trying to cool my dangerously overheated core and lactic acid poisoned legs. I remember laying there half conscious with my legs propped up over the end of the tub, oblivious to the fact that the water was cold.
After soaking in cold water for 30 to 45 minutes, Alberto pulled me out of the tub and walked me back to our bikes. We hopped on and rode to Moorcroft, our destination for the night. We were the last riders in that day. After 9 days and 1,316 miles I was physically and mentally destroyed, unable to continue.
While laying in bed, unable to do anything except talk softly, the PAC Tour team disassembled my bike and boxed it up for my flight home. There was a constant stream of fellow riders coming in to offer their best wishes, my ability to acknowledge their kindness limited to a soft “Thank you”.
The next morning Susan drove me to the airport in Gillette. My bike and I were loaded onto a small commuter plane that took me to Salt Lake City, and then home from there. It was a crushing defeat.
That said, within weeks I was already planning a second attempt.
