Dennis Howe

Post TransAm reunions galore....and then off to Maui for the 'Cycle to the Sun'

2010-09-02T21:49:00.000-07:00

After nearly 4,600 miles of epic adventure on the TransAm, when I reached Astoria I had very mixed feelings about whether or not I wanted it to end; in fact, I waited until the very last possible minute before Shaw and Lindsay started the car to drive back to Portland before I committed to actually getting in the car and going with them. I had thoughts of going further, up into Washington on the Olympic Peninsula, perhaps over to Seattle, and ultimately getting back to Portland approximately two weeks later, but I just decided that really the trip did have to end sometime and that if I rode another two weeks, I'd probably be feeling the same apprehension about ending then. It was the crappy, cold, drizzly weather that finally swayed me, and once I made the decision to stop, I headed back to Portland feeling emotionally finished.

The next week, however, would prove to be a really nice transition time at the end of the ride. People that I had ridden with off and on over the summer began trickling into Portland and getting in touch with me, desiring advice on how to get around Portland, as well as to hang out together and see the Portland sights or share a beer/meal/coffee. It was quite enjoyable to see these people again, not only because I had the opportunity to show off my hometown, but because it was a way to continue to share the experience of the TransAm with others who understood what it was all about even now that it was over.

Robin from PA and Zack from VA actually arrived in P-town a few hours before I did. The next day we were all reunited, along with Dennis, Ellen, and Marga, our friends from the Netherlands. Phyllis from Seattle and her riding partner Jerry, from Baltimore rolled in a few days later. The entire group of us, along with Tony (who's also from Portland) had several opportunities to gather again, either as one big group or in several smaller ones. Ellen and I went hiking in the Columbia Gorge up around the Multnomah and Wahkeena Falls area. Phyllis and I met up for coffee and a meal. The entire group of us met for a barbeque at Jerry's nephew's place in Portland's West Hills area.

On one sunny morning Robin, Zack, Tony and I had an amazing breakfast at the Hawthorne Cafe. I then hung with Robin and Zack as they were shopping at various secondhand clothing stores in the Hawthorne area (Portland is BIG into funky, secondhand clothing joints). We later found our Dutch friends as well and the group of us rolled into and ransacked Powell's City of Books, which encompasses an entire Portland city block, is multiple levels tall, and may, I believe, be the largest bookstore in the United States (possibly the world??) We even managed to time it right to get Nick Tempest and his mom (Nick I knew from hosteling together in Montana and I had randomly seen him and his mother when I ended the ride at the Astoria Column) together with most of the group at the Amnesia Brewing Company one evening.

Here is, from left to right, Ellen, Tony, me, Phyllis, Jerry, Dennis, and kneeling is Marga:

Ellen, at a small random waterfall in the Columbia River Gorge.

Bruce Moore, who I had ridden with for three days back in Virginia, (and who happened to be one of the very few people who rode with me when I had my little dog Buck accompanying me in my handlebar bag) had his wife fly into Portland to meet him; once here, they found me and Stefaan (a Belgian guy I rode with in Kentucky, who along with his wife Tara, had ridden across the U.S. in permanent move from Durham, NC to Portland) for a great patio dinner at sunset at a Mississippi German beer joint (Prost!)

Here we are at dinner, from the left is Bruce, Kristen, Stefaan, and me:

Not long afterward, two other Dutch friends named Klaas and Gosse (a couple of guys that I'd met over lunch back in CO and spoken to for 20 minutes before heading on solo down the road) contacted me and we met up two times over two days, taking in some local Portland sights and flavor, including Pittock Mansion, the St. John's Bridge, Mt. Tabor Park, and the International Rose Test Garden. I also took them to experience a one-of-a-kind taste sensation...a fresh-squeezed lemonade at Liquid Sunshine, of which my friend of 20+ years, Clint Bissell, is the proprietor. Though I'd only talked with them briefly on the road, meeting up with them in Portland was a fabulous experience; they were educated, interesting, generous, funny, down-to-earth, and positively interesting. They are pushing me to do a bike tour next year in The Netherlands, Germany, and perhaps a few other European countries and say they'll help me plan it and let me stay with them as long as I like when I roll through their medieval little town! I must say I am going to strongly consider this.

Here are Gosse, me, and Klaas standing behind my car and in front of the Portland Motel 6 (which they thought was the very best budget motel they stayed in on the entire TransAm!!):

After all my friends had passed through Portland on their way back to wherever they are from, I turned my attention back to the bicycle, wanting to both just keep riding, as well as to get a couple of final training rides in for Maui’s upcoming Cycle to the Sun race for which I had already registered. I once again loaded my clothing/camping gear/supplies up on my touring bike and headed up to Mossyrock, WA (where my sister Jennifer and her family have a lake home) for a little family reunion. Phyllis (yes, TransAm Phyllis) drove me in her SUV for the first 70 miles toward Mossyrock and I then rode the last 30 miles on my bike. I had a wonderful visit for two days with my sister Jennifer, her husband Ryan, my nieces Madison (age 16) and Molly (10), and my nephew Wyatt (5). My brother Kris and his partner Ron were also in town and all of us had a great time catching up on life, playing on the lake, drinking a few too many adult beverages, and simply relaxing. It was there on the gorgeous and warm Lake Mayfield that I tried wakesurfing for the first time, behind Ryan and Jen’s really nice Mastercraft boat. I am proud to say that I was able to get up out of the water and surfing on my first try, though I never did master the trick of letting go of the rope and finding that perfect sweet spot in the wake where you can surf without having to be pulled by the boat; though I got better and better, the longest I was able to surf without holding the rope in my hands was about 30 seconds.

Here is a pic taken before I let go of the rope:

Jen and Ryan also recently allowed my niece Molly to adopt a rescue dog from the Oakland, CA humane society. The newest addition to their family, Max, is the most adorable and well-behaved little Chihuahua. Sadly, he was abused by his previous owners and that abuse resulted in his little legs having gaping wounds on them at the time my family adopted him. It was so sad to see the wonderful little guy with bandages covering his legs, and later, because he was finding a way to lick under the edge of the bandages and prevent timely wound healing, a plastic “lampshade” cone around his neck. Each night Jen and the girls would get out the wound cleaning supplies, the Betadyne, and fresh bandages and lovingly tend to poor Max’s wounds. I haven’t heard how he’s doing in the three weeks since I was there, but I would imagine he’s only getting better and better, given how much care the girls were putting into his recovery.

Here is little Max, all bandaged, coned, and sweatered up:

After a couple of wonderfully relaxing days of family time, I hit the road and rode the entire 100 miles back home to Portland in one day. It took me about nine hours, including probably and hour and half or so of resting/eating along the way. It was nice to know that being off my bike for a week or so hadn’t adversely affected my fitness level. Also, wanting to get in one final hill ride at at least some kind of challenging altitude, I did a ride up as high as you can get on a paved road in Oregon, up to Mt. Hood’s Timberline Lodge which sits at 6000’ of elevation. The Timberline Lodge road’s grade is quite similar to that of the road up Haleakalá, the mountain which Cycle to the Sun ascends, so it was a very realistic training ride. Unfortunately, however, I couldn’t train at the altitude I would experience in the race because the elevation at the summit of Haleakalá where the race ends is 10,000’.

The view just before turning the corner to the parking lot at Timberline Lodge:

I was both encouraged and discouraged by the results of the Timberline training ride. Yes, I’d just ridden from 1500’ to 6000’ at a faster pace than I’d been able to ride at last year’s Cycle to the Sun, but I was also sucking wind when I got to the end of the road at Timberline Lodge...not a good sign for how I might perform when riding all the way to 10,000’ ten days later in Maui. Regardless, I took the results of the ride as a positive, knowing that I’d ridden all summer to develop a base fitness level, that I was feeling pretty strong, and that I’d probably feel better after the upcoming ten days of tapering for race day.

I rode only a couple of times, and only for short, easy spins, in the days after the Timberline ride. When I arrived on Maui two days before the race, I immediately loaded up my bike into my friend Karen’s Honda Pilot and headed up Haleakalá. My plan was to do a very short ride just to spin my legs for a few minutes but to do it at a high altitude so my body could experience the feeling of riding with less oxygen again. I drove to the 8000’ mark and from there I did an easy 10-12 minute climb, ensuring that I didn’t tire myself out or overdo it in any way. After that short ride up, I coasted back down to the truck, loaded up the bike again, and this time drove to the 10,000’ summit. I had a book and a picnic lunch with me and I spent the majority of the day up there, not only to enjoy the spectacular view afforded to those who make the effort to ascend the mountain, but also in hopes that even five hours at such a high elevation would somehow jumpstart my body’s red blood cell production and allow me to better acclimate to the altitude. Here are a variety of pics from my day chilling on the mountain.

The Haleakalá road's final push up to the 10,000' summit and race finish line:

The view backward from the finish line itself:

The view down into the extinct volcano's crater from just below the summit:

The road at 9,500' descending down toward the clouds (yes, you pass through them on the ascent):

Want proof? At about 6,700', they actually WARN you to turn on your headlights!!

Below the clouds, at around 5,500', here is the road descending toward the ocean and into the afternoon sun:

The Cycle to the Sun race is a grueling, fast-paced ascent up a relentless mountain. From a distance, Haleakalá appears to have a gentle grade, but looks are very deceiving as the grade actually averages approximately 6%, and has short, steep spikes up to 18%!! There are only two places on the entire ascent where a brief respite appears, and both are very flat downhills that only provide 15-30 seconds of temporary relief. Other than for those two brief moments, the road snakes upward, climbing constantly for 36 consecutive miles, from the sandy, palm tree-lined beach of Paia to the majestic summit of the mighty Haleakalá.

Race day rolled around and found me in a very excited, energetic state. I had trained all summer riding a loaded bike on the TransAm, I had wisely tapered for the last three weeks in an attempt to go into the race feeling strong, and I had eaten sensibly and slept soundly in the days leading up to the event. All indications were that I was as ready as I could possibly be for the ride. As expected, when the sound of the gun indicated the start of the race, I was feeling great. I had, the night before, visualized how I wanted the ride to play out and my goal was to avoid shooting so quickly out of the blocks that I wasted all my energy early on, leaving nothing for the end. I really tried hard to ride at a sensible pace, having experienced Haleakalá’s lung-sucking, leg-pounding, merciless onslought the year before, and knowing that the smart racer paces himself up the hill.

As I got past the initial lactic acid burn and settled into a rhythm requiring only moderate but constant effort, I was feeling really, really good. I noticed that not only was I pacing myself nicely, I was making good time. In fact, I realized that for the first time in any of the few events in which I have competed, I had begun to actually RACE. Typically am not particularly competitive with other people in these sorts of races and am really am only participating in an attempt to compete with and better MYSELF. On this day, however, I noticed that all my training and all the viewing of various stages of the Tour de France was beginning to change the way I rode. I was more alert, constantly scanning the race landscape to be aware of where others were and how they were riding. I was remembering all of last year’s training rides on this very road, as well as last year’s race day, and using that information to plot where I might find a good place to make up time and perhaps pass other participants. I was watching for others’ weaknesses and strengths, quickly assessing whether or not it was appropriate to work together in drafting to help each other save time and energy, if I should pass because they might hold me back, or if they were simply too strong for me to hold their wheel.

This alone was exciting enough because I was beginning to feel like a real cyclist, plotting, strategizing, and the like. However, what thrilled me even more was when I realized that I passed the 5000’ halfway point at one hour and fifty six minutes...faster than a four-hour pace!! Breaking the four-hour mark is considered a big milestone in this race and only about a third of the participants are able to make it. Though it was my stated goal to finish in 4:30 or less, I was thinking at that moment that I really did have a chance to break 4:00 because I thought I’d been pacing myself nicely for the first half of the race.

But, as I climbed from 5000’ to 6000’ feet, I noticed I was beginning to wear down a little; not a lot, but enough that some concern was beginning to creep in. As I passed by the 7000’ mark, I turned a switchback and immediately hit a fairly stiff headwind. Quickly my energy began to drain away and I found myself realizing that I could not maintain the same pace. I was struggling to get some calories into my body, my heavy breathing and strong effort making it difficult to chew and swallow bits of a Clif bar, and my liquid energy/electrolyte replacement drink rapidly disappearing. As I passed by the 8000’ sign, I was weak and relying on sheer willpower to carry me up that grade. There were long stretches of repeated switchbacks, and there was more mileage into the wind than there was with wind at our backs. Though I was wearing down, I was not giving up and I was not yet “bonking” (“bonking” in an endurance event is when you run of calories and hydration and your body literally just has to stop or slow way, way down because it is unable to go on any longer).

As I passed 9000’ feet, however, I started to feel better. The road began to follow a path with a less forceful headwind and the grade flattened slightly. The calories I’d forced down began to be utilized by my body. And my mood improved. I started to pass a few people that I’d let pass me over the previous two thousand feet of climbing. I started to pick up a bit more speed, my feet able to move a bit faster, my legs able to shift up to a slightly more challenging gear, and I found my second wind.

A little while later, I turned the corner and there it was, illuminated by bright sunlight, standing tall and suddenly within reach...Haleakalá’s summit. I had about 500’ of elevation gain left, and I knew that the final quarter to third of a mile was nearly straight up, approaching up to a 14% grade. I turned the corner where the road passes by the visitor center parking lot and I hit the final hill within the hill. I was unable to consistently sit as I pedaled, my strength too low and the hill too steep, so I frequently stood tall and hammered away with all I had, only sitting when my legs and lungs demanded it. I somehow summoned the energy to finish the race in a sprint, shooting past the only other competitor who was near me as I approached the finish line.

I’d done it! Thirty six straight miles up a 6% grade, without a rest, in four hours and fifteen minutes. 4:15!! Though I didn’t reach goal of breaking the 4:00 mark, I did handily surpass my original goal of 4:30, and I shattered my previous year’s time of 4:43. Slashing last year’s time by 28 minutes is a very significant improvement and left me smiling widely. I finished the race in the ideal fashion, I think: fully spent, feeling like I could not have poured even one more ounce of myself into that day’s ride; being completely exhausted but not in any way hurt or injured; and happy with my time but not fully satisfied because I know that I can do better.

I know that my summer of bicycle touring with a heavy load, all the way across America, over the Appalachian, Ozark, Rocky, and Cascade mountain ranges, left me well-prepared to summit Haleakalá. I cannot help but wonder, however, if I might have EASILY broken the 4:00 mark if the Cycle to the Sun race had been held about a month earlier. At THAT time, I’d just finished riding through Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana, and for several straight weeks I rode every day, every hill, fully loaded, between elevations of 7500’ to 11500’. If only the ride up Haleakalá had happened when I was not only strong, but strong at high altitude. I will always wonder about what could have been, but hey, there’s no reason why I can’t find out the answer to this question by training more at altitude closer to raceday before a future Cycle to the Sun experience, right?!

Ultimately, my time of 4:15 proved to be good for 77th place out of 175 people that began the race (and only 156 actually finished). That is a marked improvement from my 94th place finish in last year’s event. In my age group, the men’s 30-39 division, I finished 17th out of 27 people, versus last year ending up 16th out of 24; not a significant change. (And frighteningly, the 40-49 age group which I will enter next year, is MORE competitive and even faster.) It is very, very humbling to realize that after months and months of training, and giving everything I can possibly give in an event, that 44% of the ride’s entrants still beat me!! There are some AMAZING athletes out there who simply ride at a level that I never will. However, I did learn that of the 25 people that this year signed up to ONLY ride the first half of the race to the 5000’ mark, my time would have finished fourth overall.

Fortunately, after the Cycle to the Sun, I still had another nine days on Maui to relax and have a true vacation. All summer long on the TransAm, while technically on a vacation, I had been constantly working, whether it be riding the bike, hauling gear, moving to a new camp, or trying to find food, shelter, or services. All of that, logistically speaking, required a lot of energy and I was now ready for a relaxing vacation. After the race, Maui provided the perfect complement to the summer's working vacation. I spent nine straight days walking the beach, swimming, eating at my favorite local Maui haunts, playing with my friend Karen’s three adorable Golden Retrievers, sleeping, watching the Little League World Series on ESPN, reading, napping, sorting out (and deleting many of my) digital TransAm photos, and, of course, writing multiple blog posts to finalize my summer cycling experience for my ardent fans. I fattened myself on fresh mangoes, coconut/pineapple/banana smoothies, mango scones, and a lot of the freshest Ono fish tacos you can imagine!

Of course my Maui time was spent seeing great friends as well. Karen, from whom I’ve rented a room each time I’ve come to Maui for contract Physical Therapy work, has become a good friend of mine and she was generous enough to both let me stay with her during these 12 days and let me drive an extra car that she has. This allowed me to not only have a true place to call home, but to be able to get out and experience Maui on my own as well without having to rent a vehicle. I cannot thank her enough for her generosity. And, did I mention that I got to play, cuddle, and hang with her three sweet and loving Goldens?! (Karen, you’re lucky that I didn’t pack my loverboy Nemo in my suitcase bound for Portland!)

Here is a two-headed dog monster attacking me on the couch:

I was able to connect several times with my awesome local Hawaiian friends Brad and Shirley Falcon, whom I know from having run as a member of their Hana Relay team two years ago when I was living on Maui. (Some of you may know who Brad is, if you ever watched an episode of ‘Deal or No Deal’ and saw Howie Mandel playing the game with a guy he called “The Cryin’ Hawaiian”.) Brad and Shirley cooked a fabulous dinner one evening and also invited over another buddy Scott from our relay team. Brad and Shirley’s kids Christian (13) and Brendan Sky (15 months) were a real treat to spend time with, particularly when we all loaded up and went to Olawalu Beach, frolicking for a couple of hours in the calm, shallow, warm water under the spectacular Maui sun.

Here are the fabulous Shirley, Brad, and their niece Shantelle:

Something else really special was being invited to watch another local Hawaiian friend’s children dance a hula show one night in Paia town. Devin, the office manager for the clinic at which I worked when I was here last year, and I continue to communicate on Facebook and I dropped in to see her at the clinic one day early in my trip. She invited me to watch her lovely daughters’ hula show the following week, and I had the best time! They and the other dancers were really adorable, and they were really good at dancing the hula and other Polynesian dances as well. It was obvious that they’d spent hours and hours practicing! I was honored that the girls would share that experience with me, and even more touched when they came up and gave “Uncle Dennis” big hugs afterwards, even after not having seen me for nearly a year!

I got to hang with Angie Peters, my PT school classmate who originally orchestrated my introduction to Karen so that I had a place to live the first time I came to work on Maui. Meeting Angie’s precious, five-month-old daughter Hazel for the first time was really a special treat. Just like Angie, she is simply angelic, and just like Angie, everyone loves her! Perfectly behaved each of the three times I saw her, Hazel’s sweet innocence and calm demeanor embodies that of Angie and her most excellent husband Paul.

Angie and Paul run a lovely Maui beachfront inn (the Blue Tile Beach House), and I snapped this pic as I sat on the bench outside with a book and a drink one early afternoon:

Here are Karen and Angie, after Angie cooked us a scrumptious homemade pizza dinner:

My buddy Karl Kolbeck (the guy who, along with his wife Sasha, had taken time out of his day of Oregon surfing to meet me as I pedaled through the very last day of my TransAm trip) also happened to be on Maui during the last week of my trip; we were able to connect several times over food or smoothies or coffee and share travel or other life stories. Karl, incidentally, is the reason I ever ended up doing contract therapy work on Maui in the first place, so it was really cool to get to hang with him there. And, getting Karl and Karen together over a meal was even cooler...it was awesome introducing the two people most instrumental in the success of my Maui life!

I got a fabulous massage from the best massage therapist I have ever had....Rene Haynes, of Maui Body Works. Each time I come to Maui, I get at least one massage from this most amazing woman! She will lovingly work you over until you leave feeling like you have stumbled upon a secret, like you know something everyone else doesn’t, like you have found the way to make your body feel exactly the way it wants to and should.

Oh, speaking of massages...on the night of the Cycle to the Sun race, at the after-race dinner, there were several massage therapists that were contracted by the race promoter to give free massages to the riders. I got there early and Jessica called me over to her table for her first massage of the evening. Normally, these free post-race massages are fairly unremarkable, lasting only five or ten minutes because a) there is a long line of people waiting behind you, and b) the massage therapists are being paid very little (or nothing) so they want to see more people to increase their chance of making better money through tips. So that is what I expected when Jessica laid me down, but that is not what I got. No, Jessica just went on and on and on, working out every kink as if I were a paying client in her clinic. Furthermore, I learned that she is one of the TOUR DE FRANCE’S massage therapists, and has worked on the all the biggest names in the cycling world. If ever there were a person you’d want massaging you after a bike race, it’s her, the therapist to the most elite bike athletes in the world. She lives part of the year in Girona, Spain, which is where a large number of the Tour’s athletes live and train, and then she travels along with the Tour, massaging her team’s athletes nightly after their insanely difficult and long rides. She was chock full of interesting stories that bike geeks like me get off on, and her ex-boyfriend is Ryder Hesjedal, a former world mountain bike champion who finished something like sixth in this year’s Tour de France. She had nothing but good things to say about people, although she did admit that she thought a certain VERY famous cyclist is a real dick because he openly cheated on his famous celebrity girlfriend while at the Tour. Anyway, Jessica was just what the doctor ordered after such a grueling ride earlier in the day!

That’s about all I have to say for now. I am home in Portland, having just started work. I am contracted through May 31, 2011 and quite likely can have the summer off if I want it (and if I can afford it, of course). I wonder what’s next for me. Any comments, suggestions, thoughts from any of you? Thanks for being a part of my amazing summer, everyone!

Love,
Den

Random TransAm stuff.

2010-08-28T19:05:00.000-07:00

Some random statistics/observations:

Trip dates: May 9 - July 31
Route: Yorktown, VA to Astoria, OR
Total miles ridden: 4,550
Total trip days: 84
Days of actual riding: 75
Days of rest: 9
   Days of rest due to fatigue: 4
   Days of rest due to injury: 3
   Days of rest due to not wanting to leave a cool town: 2

Longest ride: 120 miles (Sonora, KY to Sebree, KY)

Shortest ride: 17.5 miles (Hayter's Gap, VA to Elk Garden, VA)

# of states visited: 10 Average miles ridden per day (overall trip): 60

# days in Virginia: 13 Average miles per day (Virginia): 46

# days in Kentucky: 8 Average miles per day (Kentucky): 64

# days in Illinois: 4 Average miles per day (Illinois): 66

# days in Missouri: 6 Average miles per day (Missouri): 61

# days in Kansas: 10 Average miles per day (Kansas): 59

# days in Colorado: 9 Average miles per day (Colorado): 65

# days in Wyoming: 9 Average miles per day (Wyoming): 52

# days in Montana: 9 Average miles per day (Montana): 60

# days in Idaho: 5 Average miles per day (Idaho): 63

# days in Oregon: 11 Average miles per day (Oregon): 66

State with the worst wind: Wyoming, and then Kansas

State with the most unfriendly, dangerous drivers: Missouri

State with the most unfriendly people: Kentucky

State with the nicest, most genuine people: Kansas

States with the most difficult mountains to ride: Virginia, Kentucky, Missouri (the Appalachians and Ozarks)

Highest altitude crossed: 11,542', Hoosier Pass, Colorado

State with the most rain: Virginia

State with the best food: Oregon

State with the worst food: Kentucky, Missouri

# nights spent camping: 41

# nights spent in someone's home: 10

# nights spent in motel: 19

# nights spent in hostels: 8

# nights spent in a church: 4

# nights spent at a fire department: 3

# of times I was stopped and interrogated by a police officer: 2

# of tickets I was issued by police officers: 0

# of "phantom" flat tires: 1 (On day 3, the front tire went flat while riding, but I couldn't find a leak. I pumped it back up and rode the final ~ 4,400 miles without a problem.)

# of actual flat tires: 1 (the rear tire, 40 miles outside Pueblo, CO in the desert)

# of times I had to replace a used tire: 0 (Yes, I now have ~ 5000 miles on the original set of tires!)

# lbs of body weight I lost in 84 days: 2.5 (Yes, that's all. I too was disappointed! Too much biscuits and gravy?)

# of times I got a ride in a school bus (with my bike) through where a river had flooded the road: 1

# of live rattlesnakes I almost ran over on the road: 1

# of dead rattlesnakes I saw on the road: probably more than hundred

# of dead rattlesnakes I ran over: 1 (I was zoning out...then THUMP THUMP...it scared the HELL out of me!!)

Some random photos:

Look closely: Pure.....USED.....oil??

Yes, in Kentucky, they really DO play a game, in public no less, called "Corn Hole":

This Kentucky dude not only drove a tractor on the road, but he'd attached a patio umbrella to it:

# of adorable puppies I found abandoned, then rescued and carried with me for three days in my handlebar bag: 1

You know you're in Amish country when you see this sign:

# blow up dolls I saw riding on Kentucky tractors: 1 (is that really all?)

# of times I slept in some Good Samaritan's garage because of a tornado warning: 1

# of Rubik's Cube masters doubling as touring cyclists that I met: 1 (Nice work, Zach! 1 min, 9 sec. flat!!)

Chicago dog!!!! (In the Chicago Amtrak terminal while I waited for the train to D.C.)

Really?! Ten and a half street?! Of course it's a dead end...it's half a street!!

I'm sure the locals thought they were being funny here...but I think steep uphill rides ARE fun!!!

Thank you, Captain Obvious.

You know, I'm really NOT craving a drink at the moment, thanks.

Actually, yes! Kansas WAS so flat, boring, and remote at times that I took a picture of an intersection:

Uh, who is that "manning" the hotel's front desk?

Yes, I know the flies are encased in plastic...but it still creeps me out to think about sitting there.

Yes, let's ALL give a round of applause for Mr. Johnson (without whom none of us would be sitting here today)!!!

This spot in the middle of NOWHERE really excited me because it was the first sign I saw for Portland (home):

I thought the bumper sticker alone was a funny photo. Then Shaw spontaneously made it funnier.

There are some CRAZY folk out there.

I would LOVE to drive this thing in the Yellowstone snow...check out those "wheels"!!

ALL these trails crossed right HERE in the boonies of Wyoming!! (The Pony Express, Oregon Trail, Mormon Pioneer Trail, & California Trail.)

Anyone feel like fishing?

Seeing this guy (Sky) riding the TransAm really humbled me. I had it easy.

This dude (Mike), on the patio outside a Kansas bar, was cool as hell. He even let me play his guitar.

A snowy train ride at dawn through Montana's Glacier National Park was a great way to begin my trip!

The best cookie of my LIFE, no question, in Kansas at Buhler's Mustard Seed Deli...a perfect pecan chocolate chip, covered with a caramel drizzle.

And thus ends the TransAm journey. More posts are coming soon, however, regarding TransAm reunions in Portland (because a number of us that had ridden together but finished at different times ended up seeing each other again in Portland), and Hawaii's Cycle to the Sun race.

Coffee, Ocean, Hills, Friends, and...The End of the TransAm??? Really?!

2010-08-23T13:55:00.000-07:00

True to form, the Dutch were up early and took off out of Florence just minutes after sunrise, leaving me, Tony, Robin, and Zack to linger somewhat over our packing and eating rituals. Everyone on the TransAm moves at their own speed when it comes to cooking, eating, packing, cleaning, riding, shopping, or whatever. It's understood that unless otherwise agreed upon, if you're not ready when someone else is, that person may leave you. Maybe you'll end up at the same town/camp as they do later that day and maybe you won't. And it's ok. No hurt feelings.

We didn't take too long to wrap things up and we warmed up gently for a few miles as we pedaled north, then west, on Florence's backroads looking for a street that would take us to U.S. Highway 101. When we did find a street that intersected with 101, we were pleased to discover that there was an espresso cart open for business on the corner, and even more pleased to see that there was a super-cute and smiley barista chick ready to serve us (why is it that all the espresso cart chicks are hot?!). She was a very good sport and handled the four probably-overly-flirtatious biker guys with aplomb...AND she made a MEAN mocha. She did agree to a photo, and while I'm sure she has a name, I never asked what it was.

The four of us turned left and headed north on 101 into a mild headwind. It didn't take long before Robin and Zack made it clear they wanted to ride much faster than Tony and I did, so we let them go on ahead and we chilled out on our own. Somewhere early on, Tony went ahead of me because I was wanting to stop for photo opportunities more frequently than he was. We were all heading toward the same place anyway (Newport, OR) because we'd heard there was an amazing bicycle shop there that had built a loft in their shop with couches, a TV, DVD's, and showers that touring cyclists were welcome to stop in and use. (The smallest such gestures of generosity and convenience are appreciated more than you can imagine, because most of us touring cyclists can't afford a hotel every night, we rarely get to lounge on any furniture other than a small sleeping pad, and often we skip a day or two between showers because we camp where there simply aren't any available.)

The morning ride out of Florence started out gentle enough passing inland through some forested flats and skirting some scattered, small, shallow lakes, but it fairly quickly turned into somewhat challenging coastal riding. Short, and then longer, moderately steep hills began to rise up under the asphalt, but at least the headwind was slight and the clouds and light mist kept the temperature nice and cool. There were stunning coastal views around every bend and there was very little traffic to deal with so all of this together (the challenge, the beauty, the weather, and the lack of traffic) added up to make this morning's pedal one of the most pleasant I experienced during my time on the TransAm. Here are some of the morning's photos:

Shortly before Newport, Tony had waited for me by the side of the road at another coffee shack. We then decided to get some fresh fish and chips...this little fish and crab joint at South Beach had the very BEST fresh halibut fish and chips I've ever had and Tony had a great bread bowl of clam chowder which was chock full of clams.

After lunch, we were ready to take a break and lounge out at the bike shop I mentioned above...after all, we'd already ridden 50 miles and it was only about noon. All we had to do was head up over the beautiful Newport bridge into town and find the bike shop. (In the photo below, we came over this bridge from the far right side, so it was a pretty slow and long climb.)

Riding over the bridge turned out to be a stressful and somewhat scary adventure. There is a button on a post by the side of the road just before the bridge that bicyclists are supposed to press before they start riding over the bridge, which we did. This button activates a blinking light that warns motorists of bicyclists' presence ahead on the bridge. Once on the bridge, however, the lanes are quite narrow and there is not a bike lane or a shoulder at all. Since the bridge is so long (about a mile?) and is primarily uphill when traveling north, cars do not wait fors slow cyclists; instead, one-by-one they (hopefully) hesitantly pass, trying to ensure they don't clip you or have a head-on collision with oncoming cars. Making things more freaky for the cyclist is the fact that not only is there no shoulder, there is a 2 foot high curb that is tall enough to catch a bike's panniers and cause a crash, which means it's not possible to get all the way to the right side of the lane and more safely out of the vehicles' path. It was a white-knuckled ride for sure, trying to both confidently hold my ground and make sure I was as far to the right as possible so the cars and trucks had enough room to safely pass me.

When I had nearly traversed the full length of the bridge, a small, blue, mid-1980's Toyota pickup truck pulled up alongside me. When it didn't pass, I looked over and the woman inside started screaming obscenities at me, dropping F-bombs with every second or third word as she, in no uncertain terms, let me know that she thought bicyclists were not allowed to ride on the bridge and were a danger to all the motorists trying to cross. I kept my cool and just let her spew her venom but it went on and on and on and on for about 30-40 seconds. She wouldn't pass me and she wouldn't leave me alone, and all the while I was continuing to focus on the ride, trying not to crash. I was just about to lose my cool and yell something back at her when I cast a glance toward the back of the pickup and saw a really sketchy-looking dude sitting there holding a pit bull by the collar and staring intently at me. I decided in that moment it was probably best I say nothing, lest I find them waiting for me at the other end of the bridge ready to throw down. Thankfully the moment ended innocuously enough as finally she moved on ahead; she probably felt better for unloading her hostility and I felt better for keeping my cool and for not having crashed.

Arriving in downtown Newport, we stopped at the Chamber of Commerce and got directions to the bike shop. When we arrived there, we found the three Dutch (Dennis, Marga, and their daughter Ellen), as well as Zack and Robin, all lounging around on couches, watching TV, taking naps, and reading books. Tony and I quickly joined right in and it was one big loungefest for several hours. Ultimately, several members of our group did end up going downstairs and buying various items from the bike shop and Robin had some bike repairs done so the shop did see some benefit from letting us hang out there all afternoon.

We only had six more cold and windy miles to ride to our campsite for the evening at Beverly Beach, OR. Beverly Beach was supercrowded and had space for thousands of campers; thankfully, the hiker/biker camping area is away from the rest of the RV's and vehicles. Therefore, our group of seven (along with another two cyclists we didn't know that showed up later) got to share a somewhat large area with four picnic tables and no other campers around. The campground also had some really great, clean, hot showers for us to use, which meant we didn't have to choose between staying sweatygross or submerging our sticky selves in a shallow, frigid, rocky creek.

The next day was a ride from Beverly Beach to Tillamook, OR. I got up early and left before everyone else because I planned to take a different route to Tillamook. I went inland instead of along the coast so that I could stop and visit my friend Cassie, her husband Jake, and their newborn baby girl Mackenzie in the tiny town of Beaver, OR. Beaver, OR was not on the route, but it was totally worth going out of my way to see them. I had a great afternoon catching up on things, meeting their new child, sitting in the hot tub, doing my laundry, and eating a wonderful lunch. It was really nice to spend some time with old friends and get out of touring mode for a few hours. Their new home is comfortable and very tastefully decorated, and they opened it right up to me, making me feel like family. Here is Cassie, her bernese mountain dog Dudley, and baby Mackenzie in front of their home:

Late in the afternoon I made my way into Tillamook and found our place of residence for the evening, my parents' RV. Recently my folks purchased a nice, used RV and rented a view lot from a friend of theirs right where the Tillamook River meets the Tillamook Bay; the RV has a beautiful view of the water and my parents gave permission for me and my friends to sleep there that night.

I left my cyclist friends at the RV for a while when my great friend Willow dropped by to visit me. She and I used to work together at the Tillamook Hospital and it was a real treat to get to see her for a few hours that night. She and I headed off in her car and went to see Cape Meares beach as well as walking out on the sandy spit that separates the Tillamook Bay from the open Pacific Ocean. Willow always brightens my day, and this one was no different; I was honored that she took time to come visit me as I rolled through town.

Back at the RV later that night, my friends Shaw and Lindsay from Portland showed up because Shaw planned to make the 75-mile final ride of the trip with me the next day, while Lindsay was going to drive a vehicle to Astoria and meet us at the end of the trail. That brought the total of people at the RV to eight: Shaw, Lindsay, me, the three Dutch folks, Robin, and Zack (Tony had other family he was staying with). Because we couldn't sleep eight people comfortably inside the RV, Robin chose to camp outside and Shaw and Lindsay slept in the back of their SUV.

We awoke once again to chilly Oregon coast temperatures in the low 50's, but this time the cold was accompanied by a constant drizzlemist that was lighter than rain but soaking nonetheless. Touring cyclists, though, are not deterred by a light rain and we all headed out around 7 a.m. with a nice egg and blueberry pancake breakfast in our bellies that Zack had whipped up in the RV. The entire group pitched in to clean up my parents' RV and considerately left it just as they had found it; what a great group of people I managed to hook up and ride with!

The gang split up just two miles down the road though when the Dutch went on ahead while the rest of us stopped at different places in Tillamook for coffee or snacks. Somehow though, Shaw and I ended up accidentally getting back on the road at exactly the same time and place as Robin and Zack, so we ended up forming a fast paceline together for the first 15 miles of the ride. We cruised, averaging about 20-22 mph, all the way to Rockaway Beach, OR; Robin and Zack pushed on ahead when Shaw and I stopped to wait there for some other Portland friends of mine, Michael and Emily, who were coming to meet me on the trip's final day, with Michael riding along with us on the Rockaway Beach to Cannon Beach portion of our journey.

Michael came cruising up on his superlight, sexy, 16-pound, carbon fiber road bike (compared to my loaded, 75-lb, steel touring bike) and met us curbside in Rockaway, while his wife Emily showed up in her car minutes later. After hugs all around and a 15-minute chat, Shaw, Michael and I all took off, the other Transammers all far ahead of us by this point. It was now just me with two great friends from Portland that I've known and cycled with for years who wanted to be able to share a portion of the TransAm experience with me. I can't tell you how much it meant to me to have some of my regular cycling buddies go out of their way and make a journey to the coast just to be, in some way, a part of my epic summer trip.

We stopped in a couple places along the way between Rockaway Beach and Cannon Beach. First we stopped at a little marina because it is owned by one of Cassie and Jake's friends. His name is Kelly and he was a real riot, with a quick, sharp wit and his head topped with a red fuzzy crab hat. This is me and Kelly, wearing crab hats and holding live crabs. I really want to title it "I caught crabs at Kelly's".

Outside the marina we saw some wild daisies growing alongside the road and couldn't resist this ridiculously manly pic:

As we rode up Neahkahnie Mountain, Michael blasted up ahead of Shaw and I. Steadily though, I was able to gain ground on Michael and not long before the summit I found a second wind and charged to catch him. I think he was surprised when he looked back to see that I was on his wheel again, given that the last time he'd looked back I was way, way behind...and because I was riding a loaded touring bike. He shifted and sped up and I went with him. He shifted again and sped up and I again went with him. A third shift that I matched brought us to the summit together. I've never been able to keep up with Michael before, even when on a light road bike, so I guess all the riding this summer finally paid off (well, that and the fact that he hardly trained this summer...hahaha...but I'll take what I can get because he's an animal)!! Here we all are at the Neahkahnie summit:

When we reached Oswald West State Park, we stopped to meet Karl and Sasha, some Physical Therapist friends of mine from Portland. They happened to be surfing that morning and really wanted to meet up with us as we passed by. We found Shaw's girlfriend Lindsay in the parking lot, locked up our bikes at the car, and then took off on foot down the trail down toward the ocean to look for Karl and Sasha. Before we ever reached the water, we met them coming up the trail in full wetsuits, surfboards tucked under their arms, wide smiles gracing their faces. After hugs and introductions on the trail, we walked back to the parking lot where we made a plan to meet in Cannon Beach for a pizza lunch. It took Shaw, Michael, and me about an hour to make the hilly ride to Cannon Beach which turned out to be perfect because Karl and Sasha had to return their rental surfboards on the way. We all arrived at approximately the same time and weaved our way through the incredibly busy little tourist town that Saturday afternoon, guided by the promise of pizza.

Because some of us were watching the bikes, some had to find a restroom, some were parking cars, and some were standing in the pizza line, we obviously weren't all together initially. Showing what an awesome group of friends I have (and maybe what a dirtbag I am), this is how lunch went down that day...

While I was standing there talking with Sasha, Shaw came up to me and asked if he could buy me a slice of pizza and a soda; I of course said yes and thanked him. Michael then walked up a few minutes later and asked if HE could buy me a slice of pizza; I glanced at Sasha and laughed but she didn't betray me when I answered in the affirmative to Michael. He then headed off to get in line to buy two slices. A few minutes later, after parking the car, Karl came up and the first thing he did was offer to buy me a slice of pizza. I'd already made Sasha promise to remain quiet if he offered anything because I thought it would be too funny if a third person offered to buy me lunch. Not only did Karl play right into my hand, but Sasha somehow kept a straight face and didn't utter a word, at least initially. After a few seconds though, we both bust out laughing and I had to tell Karl what I was up to. Karl laughed with us, but being the good sport he is, he said he'd still buy me a slice if I was hungry enough to eat three. I didn't want to be rude, of course, so clearly I accepted his offer. A hungry cross-country cyclist never turns down free food, right?! Ever.

So, when Shaw showed up with two slices, he and I sat down to eat. When Michael came up moments later with another slice for me, the joke was out and we all had a big laugh. After a few minutes, when Karl dropped off a THIRD slice in front of me, it was just classic and we all laughed so hard it was impossible to eat for a minute. Don't I have a great group of friends?!

After lunch, we all said goodbye to one another and went our separate ways. Michael started his solo ride back to where his wife Emily was waiting for him back in Cannon Beach. Karl and Sasha headed back to Portland. Lindsay left for Astoria in Shaw's SUV. Shaw and I mounted our beautiful black bikes for the final leg to Astoria and the end (no!!!!!!!!!) of the TransAmerica Trail.

The last 25 miles of the ride only took about an hour and a half because it was fairly flat, it didn't rain, and the wind was not too bad. We rode through Seaside, Gearhart, and the outskirts of Warrenton, OR and as we arrived in Astoria, the sun started showing through the clouds and the day became a nice one. All of a sudden we crossed the two short bridges that lead into Astoria proper, where we stopped for photos at the "Welcome to Astoria" signs to capture the moment of arrival.

The true end of the TransAmerica is at the Columbia Maritime Museum in downtown Astoria and it is only a half mile from where the last picture above was taken. Arriving at the museum, however, was a significant letdown! I don't know what I expected, but all of sudden we were there and it was......well....boring and anticlimactic! There was no ocean to dip my wheel into (Astoria is on the Columbia River, and the actual ocean is about 10 miles away), there was no finish line or fanfare, and it didn't end on a difficult climb. I was thinking to myself, "This can't really be it. No way." It was then that I looked up toward the hills and saw the Astoria Column looming large over the town and knew that my trip had to end there, with some kind of a challenge.

Shaw was game to ride up to the column, even after having already pedaled for 75 miles already that day. We told Lindsay what our plan was and then headed up. The road to the column leaves right out of downtown Astoria and is only a mile or two long but it's STEEP; in fact, it was right up there with the steepest grades I rode during the entire trip and that made it feel even better to end there since I like to end on a challenge. In fact, the challenge didn't end with the ride TO the Column because there are 164 steps in a spiral staircase that take you to the Column's viewing platform. We were rewarded at the top with spectacular 360-degree views which included the town of Astoria, the Pacific Ocean, and the Columbia, Youngs, and Lewis and Clark rivers.

Taken from the top of the Column, this is a view of the town of Astoria, the curvy road up to the Column, part of the bridge over the Columbia River, the Youngs River Bay, and, in the far distance, the Pacific Ocean.

Shaw and Lindsay at the top of the Astoria Column:

After we came back down the 164 steps from the top of the column to ground level, I very coincidentally bumped into Nick Tempest, another super-cool TransAm cyclist that I'd stayed an evening with in West Yellowstone, MT. He was on a much faster pace than I was so we never rode together, but we'd kept in touch and I was shocked to see him. He'd already ridden to the end of the TransAm and then continued north up to Vancouver, B.C. where he finished his trip. He then had taken a train back to Portland, met up with his mom who'd flown in from Virginia, and rented a car to drive to Astoria to show her the Oregon Coast. How crazy was it that he ended up at the Astoria Column at the same moment I did?!?! This is me and Nick:

After saying goodbye to Nick and his mom Joanne, we loaded up the bikes and drove down to dine in Astoria. Again, Shaw generously bought me a congratulatory dinner.

At this point, I honestly was still considering staying for a couple of days in Astoria to wait for and meet up with Phyllis and Jerry, some other TransAm friends I'd ridden with quite a bit over the summer but hadn't seen in a couple of weeks. I'd even considered continuing to tour for a while longer, perhaps heading north out of Astoria, into Washington up toward Seattle, and then making my way back down south to Portland. While waiting for our dinner, however, I called Phyllis and I found out they were three days behind me instead of two. I didn't want to stay three more days in Astoria and I didn't really feel like riding any longer on the Oregon coast with the current cold, windy, and drizzly weather. So ,after dinner, with the bikes and gear loaded up, Lindsay and Shaw began the drive home to Portland and I joined them.

I expected that we'd drive Highway 30 back to Portland, but unexpectedly the navigation system in their SUV routed us south along coastal Highway 101 for the first 20 miles, the same highway we'd ridden all day to GET to Astoria. Normally it wouldn't really matter which route we took to get back to Portland, but as we passed through Seaside, I realized that this was my opportunity to actually dip my wheel into the Pacific Ocean, something I hadn't done all along the Oregon coast because I'd mistakenly thought that I'd be able to do it in Astoria. Shaw and Lindsay graciously pulled over and Shaw helped me carry my bike down to the waterline, which was far away across the sand due to a very low tide. It was then that I was able to symbolically and officially end my trip with an ocean wheel dip.

And just like that it was over. I was mostly quiet on the ride back home because, though I felt very strong physically after months of bicycle travel, my emotions were really quite mixed. I wanted to continue, yet I wanted to go home. I wanted to reminisce, yet I didn't want to think about it being over. I was mentally tired, yet I was ready for and craving more. Walking into my house late that night, I didn't quite know what to do. I just sort of dropped everything on the floor and collapsed onto my own bed for the first time in nearly three months...psyched, sad, and thoroughly satisfied.

I did it.

Coming very soon will another post with random thoughts, memories, statistics, and photos from the TransAm ride....and, the summer's topper, Hawaii's Cycle to the Sun race from sea level up to the 10,000' summit of Haleakala volcano!!

Thanks, everyone, for taking the time to read my blog!
Dennis

Up and over the trip's last big mountains and down to the Pacific Ocean!!

2010-08-20T18:13:00.000-07:00

The cycling out of Sisters, OR is staggeringly scenic. Huge, snow-capped peaks ring a high-desert landscape littered with trees, farms, and lava flows. Not far out of town, a long, steady, and somewhat steep 14-mile climb greets cyclists bent on getting to the top of the McKenzie Pass. There I found the "eye of the tiger" and kicked butt up the hillside, loving the lactic burning in my lungs, giddy while gasping for a full breath.

We arrived one-by-one at an observation point about three miles shy of the summit and at this point the view opened up and rewarded our efforts with a HUGE, miles-wide lava flow hundreds, possibly even thousands of feet deep. There was a striking lack of vegetation, except for the lone, hardy tree that occasionally found a way to take root in the cooled lava.

We hung out there for a while and various people came up and asked us the same questions we get everywhere: "Where are you going?", "Where did you start?", "How long have you been riding?", etc. The person that we asked to take the group photo of us turned out to be from Kentucky. Since not one of us liked Kentucky, we didn't have much to say to them. It's like mama always said...if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. It went something like this:

"Hey thanks for taking our picture. So, where are you guys from?"

"Kentucky."

"Oh. Uh...what city?"

"Bowling Green."

"Oh. Uh...is that by Bardstown?"

"Kinda...it's about an hour and a half away."

"Ah. Well, thanks. Have a great trip. Bye."

The ride from the observation point up to the summit of McKenzie Pass was super beautiful, passing through fewer and fewer trees and more and more lava. The road, in fact, snaked right up through the old lava flows to the summit, a treeless and black, jagged landscape more reminiscent somehow of what I'd imagine the moon to be like than Earth. There was a really cool lava rock observation building carved into the barren landscape from which you could see 360° of beautiful, black, rocky, mountainous horizon. We ate lunch there and had a really nice break after a challenging climb.

Then came the 15-mile long, fast descent from 5300' to 1000', which took us through the lava fields, down through the high-desert, to the densely-treed McKenzie River highway. We did have to climb up and over the lava (as you can see in the photo immediately below) before hitting the descent.

The route looked much like that last photo above for quite a while, although the road began to gather more and more traffic. Robin, Tony, Nick, and I stopped at the general store in a little town called McKenzie Bridge and we each bought a portion of what would eventually be turkey sandwiches (one person bought a loaf of bread, one two packs of turkey, one cheese, and one mayonnaise). We voraciously downed all of it, along with some healthy cookies and some big cans of Razzleberry iced tea. Nick decided he wanted to keep riding and bolted on ahead to Eugene while the rest of us decided we were done for the day because wanted to stay for more time along the beautiful McKenzie River. We grabbed a campground for the night, and I topped off the awesome day with a delicious 22 oz. Ninkasi Total Domination IPA, which I cooled in the same VERY cold, two-foot deep river that I laid down in for a makeshift bath before bedtime. Oh my GOD, was that river cold; but if this trip has taught me anything at all, it is that I can tolerate immersing myself in water of nearly any temperature because freezing my testes off is better than going to bed stickyallover after a long day of cycling on my black baby.

The next morning the three of us awoke and began the nice, long, gentle downhill into Eugene along the McKenzie River highway. It was really pretty, but as we got closer to Eugene, it got busier and busier. In all actuality, it was probably one of the most dangerous and scary highway rides that I took throughout the entire country. When we arrived in Springfield, I was relieved that the white-knuckled day was nearly over.

I had arranged a homestay at the Eugene, OR home of a couple named Paul and Monica through an organization called Warmshowers.org. It is an organization for touring cyclists and is similar to couchsurfing.com. Touring cyclists sign up and offer up their homes and various amenities to other touring cyclists passing through their towns. Hosts can offer a bed, a yard to camp in, laundry, food, use of a vehicle, car rides to shopping centers, etc. Paul and Monica had a wonderful renovated apartment next to their home which had a bathroom and a double futon for our use. They also invited us to use their showers and laundry in the main house, as well as giving us directions/assistance in getting around town to eat and do errands. They had four very well-behaved kids, with the craziest, most unique names I've ever heard of: Rainy, Dare, Torrent, and Sanguine. Rainy, the oldest at nine years of age, was like a little adult, flawlessly switching between confidently interacting with adults, playing like a child, and watching over and teaching her little siblings. Little Rainy, in fact, could ride a unicycle! The family did not own a car and had completely shaped their lives around bicycle travel; they rode everywhere for everything, including shopping, visiting friends, going to the river, exercise, and fun. It was really an eye-opening experience to see a family be able to have such a fulfilling and productive life without a vehicle at their disposal because, for some reason, I find it quite a romantic notion to exist without dependence on a car. Unfortunately, I didn't get a photo of Paul and Monica's entire family, but here is a photo of Paul and daughter Rainy on their back deck, along with Robin and Tony in the background:

While in Eugene for that one afternoon and evening, it was a serious culture shock for all of us. Having been on the TransAm route for over two months and spending most of our time in either small, country towns or out in the middle of nowhere, a town the size of Eugene was really quite jarring to our senses. We did enjoy walking and riding around to places like REI, Papa Soul's restaurant, the Ninkasi Brewery, and El Pinche Taco (hilarious...do you KNOW what that means in Spanish?! - "The Fucking Taco"!!), but being around all those people was a little much. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that Paul and Monica live in a very hippie part of Eugene (and it seemed to be more 'dirty, steal-from-your-brother' hippies than 'peace, love, and nature' hippies), I don't know. Anyway, the next morning, it was nice to leave and hit the road again. At this point, I'm wondering if I have forgotten how to (or lost interest in) interacting with the rest of society and only wish to be with other bicycle tourists...

The next morning we all arose very early for our ride from Eugene to Florence, and our first sighting of the Pacific Ocean. We rode together on the bike path to get out of Eugene (thanks, Tony, for the guidance) but Robin and I quickly ended up taking off at a faster pace than Zack and Tony. Robin and I were riding at quite a nice pace through the beginning of the coastal range when all of sudden I felt a sharp pain the back of my right thigh. I immediately thought I'd severely strained a hamstring and I needed to stop. I rubbed and rubbed and stretched, and decided to let Robin go ahead because I needed to take a while to see if I could continue to ride. Right after he left, however, I realized that I'd not pulled a hammy, but instead some kind of bee/wasp/hornet/yellowjacket thing had flown up my shorts and stung me on the leg! I had a huge, painful welt on the back of my leg that didn't feel better or worse with stretching or contracting my hamstring. So, knowing it wasn't an injury, I just climbed back on the bike and rode the rest of the way up the moderately-graded and densely-forested Coast Range hills, through the mountain summit tunnel, down a short but steep descent, and along the length of the beautiful Siuslaw River, pulled to the Pacific coast by the magnet that is Florence, OR.

In cloudy, windy, and cool Florence, Zack, Robin, and I met up for some clam chowder, sandwiches, and pizza (yes, we cyclists will eat anything on the menu and in any combination). After lunch and a run to Safeway for some camping groceries, everyone rendezvoused at Harbor Vista City Park which is near the sand dunes that separate the town from the ocean. We had once again become a group of seven: Robin from PA; Zack from VA; Tony from Portland; me; and Ellen, Dennis, and Marga, the Dutch family of three. We all shared one tiny campsite and it was a bit crowded, but we bicycle tourists know how to travel in a pack and really have no problem cramming a bunch of people into a small campsite or motel room in an effort to both save money as well as socialize with new friends. Shortly after we arrived and set up camp, a few of us made the approximately one-mile trek down from the campsite, up over the dunes, to the chilly waters of the Pacific Ocean, the first time we'd seen salt water since we left the brackish waters of the Chesapeake Bay at Yorktown, Virginia over two and a half months prior!

How cool it would have been to be able to swim in the Pacific, but the coooooooooooooooollllddddd ocean is essentially unswimmable in the Pacific Northwest, save for days during which the air temperature is at least 90 degrees (and, as you can see by the jackets in the photos below, it was nowhere near that warm that day)! Here Marga, Dennis, Robin, and Ellen walk up and over the sand dune to reach the Pacific Ocean:

Dutch Ellen throws her dad Dennis a double-high-five after having dipped her toes in the Pacific for the first time:

That night we all had a great time camping together, as usual. Because it had been a long day, however, and because it was kind of chilly, we all ended up going to bed at dusk. It was no big deal and we'd done this occasionally throughout the trip, but this time we made a big error in forgetting to properly pack away our food. I, fortunately, had put everything into one of my panniers but I erred in leaving the pannier on the picnic table and not putting it back on my bike. In the morning, I found my pannier in the dirt about 20 feet away from the picnic table and covered in claw marks and footprints....RACCOONS! Because the pannier is made of durable Cordura, and because the top lid and the inner double drawstring on my pannier had been tightly closed, the raccoons couldn't open it and access all the food; however, the the little bastards did manage to thread one paw up under the lid and down through the ~ 1.5" diameter center hole into the bag's main compartment and pull out one pack of Skittles, which were left uneaten 20 feet away on the table, the package carefully sliced open by a delicate claw, the candy inside on display as if left behind for me as a gift! The resourceful raccoons did manage to get a lot more from Robin and Zack though. Those guys had absentmindedly left their food out overnight in plastic Safeway bags and the camp was literally littered with the remnants of the raccoons' late-night romp. Who knew that raccoons could open a box of Pop Tarts, pull out one of the two foil-wrapped packages inside, gracefully slice open the top of the foil, and remove and consume the contents within, without tearing the box or leaving behind a crumb? This artistic display of opening a package and eating what's inside, however, was limited to the Skittles and the Pop Tarts. Strewn hastily about in the night was an array of shredded plastic, crumbs from a loaf of bread, various trail mix pieces, and partially-eaten fruit. Zack even saw a raccoon deep in the bushes the next morning, continuing to snack on the results of the previous night's robbery (I think Zack said he swore the little varmint smiled at him and flipped him off when illuminated in Zack's flashlight beam.) Anyway, I learned a valuable camping lesson that day!

Only three more days remained then to ride from Florence to Astoria, OR, the final destination of the TransAmerica adventure. Yes, we'd reached the Pacific coast, but the true endpoint of the TransAm route is Astoria, so that is where we would go...

The next blog installment is coming soon, this time within a few days, honest!!
Dennis

Oregon's fine forests, flagger's finger, rocky canyons, and desolate deserts.

2010-08-06T16:41:00.000-07:00

The sleepy town of Richland, OR was where I was when I last left you. At that point, it hadn't really hit me that I'd entered Oregon because the terrain is so different from that which I am used to in the western part of the state where I live. Leaving Richland for Baker City made me feel even further from home because it was so incredibly desolate. Don't get me wrong...it WAS strangely beautiful as the road snaked along a small creek and through narrow canyons hemmed in by small mountains, but it also felt like I was removed from all evidence of civilization, flora, and fauna.

Can a road intersect with itself?! Shit, either I'm completely lost or I know EXACTLY where I am.

Riding from Richland to Baker City was actually a short day, only 48 miles, but it was a crappy one for me. Something felt wrong with the bike, I hadn't eaten well in Richland so I was running low on fuel, and it was really hot that day. I rode with Tony, sort of, but I lagged behind all damn day, unable to keep up consistently. Finally, we began to see green again, as well as mountains in the distance, and I knew we were getting close to Baker City. I limped on into town with Tony and we got money from the ATM, wolfed down a Heath Bar blizzard at Dairy Queen, and ate a delicious grilled chicken salad lunch at a local café, not necessarily in that order! Afterward, I left Tony and went on my own to the local library where I buried myself in my blog for about 3 hours (see what I give of myself for all of you?!). We ended up all getting hotel rooms that night in Baker City and Tony, Nick, and I shared a tiny room. I didn't get a picture for you, so just imagine three dirty, stinky, tired, lazy, hairy, ugly guys without any manners crammed into a teeny tiny room, with two double beds, three loaded bikes, and crap EVERYWHERE. That night I got a little space from when I headed out for a local microbrew with Phyllis, my kick-ass friend from Seattle who's riding the TransAm with Jerry...she and Jerry just happened to have arrived in Baker City that same day and were staying the hotel right across the street from us.

The next morning, Nick, Tony, and I rendesvoused with Robin and the four of us headed out on a beautiful, progressively more wooded ride toward the booming metropolis of Prairie City, OR.

Other than stopping at one point for a group pee (we were well-spaced apart, thank you) a few feet off the road, we rode hard and cut a sleek line through the light wind for an hour or so before Robin and Nick decided to pull away and ride ahead when Tony and I stopped for a snack. Tony and I knew there were three big climbs coming, one after the other, and we decided to be the well-rested and well-fueled tortoises to their hares. I rode strongly through the climbs and Tony stayed along pretty well, never falling too far behind. The two of us pulled into Austin Junction, literally a crossroads in the middle of nowhere after the second of the three climbs, and caught Nick and Robin hungrily fueling up at the one food stop at the junction. When it came time to leave, we let them go ahead again because we were enjoying the slow pace of the day and just wanted to take a chill break before the last hot, steep climb.

When we left, we immediately hit the base of the last big climb of the day and up in the distance we saw a flagger and the orange evidence of a road construction site. As we approached, the bad-ass, bearded flagger sporting mirrored "cop" shades waved his stop sign for us and, as we slowed to a stop, he started walking toward the back of a nearby car. A few seconds later he emerged with two ice-cold bottles of water for us, his generous contribution to us getting over the upcoming hill in the 100 degree heat. We chatted with him for a few minutes and I asked him to pose for a picture, to which he readily agreed. After the shutter clicked, he said he was surprised I hadn't asked him to flip off the camera, which apparently other bicyclists have asked him to do. I didn't want to disappoint him, so:

Me, topping the final climb of the day, still smiling:

When we arrived in Prairie City, Tony and I were feeling great and it was still relatively early in the day so, after a delicious lunch at the Oxbow Saloon and Cafe, we pushed on. Before I go on, check out this sweet photo (that was on the wall at the cafe) of a cattle drive run right through the middle of town a few years back:

We knew there was a great bicyclists' hostel in Mt Vernon, OR and we didn't really want to deal with the chaos of camping with 8 other cyclists in the city park that night. The rest of the day's ride was blissful...a long, steep descent (shown here),

followed by a very slight downhill for miles and miles and miles and miles with a slight tailwind assist. By the time we passed through John Day (stopping at the grocery store for some supplies) and ended up in the tiny town of Mt. Vernon, we were at 88.5 miles and felt like we could easily go another 20. The only reason we actually stopped was because a) there wasn't a town 20 miles away, and b) we knew the Bike Inn in Mt Vernon would be awesome.

The Bike Inn WAS awesome. Christy and her daughter run it, and it's just a small, remodeled building next to their home that they open for cyclists passing through. It's all done very informally, with the door left unlocked so cyclists can come and go at any time, and there is no set charge because they only ask cyclists to leave whatever donation they feel is appropriate. There were chickens and goats out behind the house, and inside the refrigerator held fresh eggs as well as free cheese, salsa, and other items left behind by other cyclists who'd recently stayed there. The place was spotless and there was a full queen-sized bed and a pullout double futon on which we could sleep. It was a nice little oasis in the middle of the dry accommodation desert! Christy and her daughter were gone for the weekend so we had the entire place to ourselves for the night!

Tony and I arose early in the a.m. for the ride to Mitchell, OR, the only real town that was anywhere near the appropriate amount of riding miles away (62) from the Bike Inn. It was quite a lovely day of riding, initially downhill, with little to no wind, winding early in the morning through rolling hills of green and brown farmland, and in the afternoon the monotony broken up by a 25-mile climb through the steep, tight canyons of the John Day fossil beds.

(Wanna go for a swim?)

Tony found this sign randomly on the road...a bad omen, perhaps? I guess not, because nothing bad ever happened!

We arrived at Mitchell City Park in the early day. Mitchell is, you guessed it, another tiny little nowhere town...population 137. I have grown so tired of dying (or dead) little towns in nowhere America, yet there was something kind of cool about Mitchell. The park had a great shaded pavilion for hanging out, no bugs, great green grass to lounge on, and fresh water to drink. About 50 yards away was the Little Pine Cafe which served up a sweet chicken salad and basket of fries and had a friendly bartender/waitress who encouraged us to come back after hours to hang out. See, there is literally NOTHING going on in Mitchell. The cafe is the only place that was open that afternoon and the bartender clearly enjoyed the fact that there were strangers in town that were going to actually stay the night! Nick/Robin/Tony and I all headed back at eight o'clock when the cafe closed and the bartender and her boss locked us inside, where we drank free beer and played free pool and darts for several hours! Dawanna and Marie were excellent hostesses for the town of Mitchell.

The group took off shortly after sunrise the next morning, surprisingly not hungover at all and ready to ride. It was cool, dry, and downhill, a delicious way to start what would prove to be quite a long, hot 89-mile ride to Sisters, OR. We passed through a number of microclimates over the course of the long day: flat and deserty-type terrain, rocky hills, lusciously-treed mountains, and ultimately into a sparsely-treed, high-desert landscape with as many as NINE snow-capped peaks looming large in the distance. At one point, I could see Mt Hood, the Three Sisters, Mt Jefferson, Mt Bachelor, Three-Fingered Jack, Black Butte, and Broken Top at the same time (unfortunately it was too dark/cloudy to get a good photo, so the last shot below is of just the Three Sisters and Broken Top, taken the next morning as we left)!!

We all rendesvoused in the stupid Sisters City Park that night...me, Nick, Zack, Robin, and Tony. We were directed to camp on a patch of super dry dirt when there was beautiful, luscious, green grass all around because the campground host said the grass was only for looking at, not for camping on. "Camping ruins the grass", we were told. What?! It's an effin' campground, dude, not the botanical gardens. I was pissed, but since I was already covered in dirt and sweat so I suppose it didn't really matter too much. Anyway, they did have showers.

Coming soon to a blog near you....the rest of the trip.

Mountains, wilderness, 3 more states, and two bear-y interesting encounters!

2010-07-27T21:51:00.000-07:00

The next morning our oft-together traveling gang hit the road for 78 miles from Jackson to Darby, MT. Climbing about 2500' vertical feet up and over Chief Joseph Pass was the highlight of the morning. The Dutch (and the rest of the boys, who'd camped in a different park the night before) ended up taking an alternate (dirt) road over a different pass, thinking they were saving time and effort because it was 3 miles shorter and 300' less elevation at the pass. Boy were they wrong, however, as they all limped into Darby several hours after I did, having endured a very rocky, treacherous, white-knuckled descent. Robin, Zack, and Tony actually took a wrong turn and climbed up over the 8000' mark on an even worse road and had to turn around and backtrack several miles once they figured it out. Robin had 2 crashes and two tire blowouts on the rocky terrain, and from what they said, they were very lucky to have made it back in as good of shape as they did. I, on the other hand, rode the regular road up over Chief Joseph Pass, not the alternate, and was blessed with the smoothest new pavement ever, with nearly zero traffic, on both the long, challenging climb and the long, delicious descent. Here is the pass and part of the descent:

Darby was a cool, little town and time there involved using the internet at the public library, hitting the local laundromat, camping at an RV park, grocery shopping, and sleeping with the Dutch folks. Wait...that came out wrong. I camped with them! And, I had a random conversation with Dan the Motorcycle Man on the streets of Darby for about half an hour. He had driven across the country as an 18-year old kid and was really interested in hearing about my experiences on this bike journey. He was a super cool and super interesting guy. Here is a shot of Dan and me:

And here is a ridiculously named Darby Physical Therapy clinic/gym:

The ride from Darby to Missoula, MT was a solo one because I slept in longer than the Dutch but left before all the other guys. It was an easy day of mostly downhill and little wind, with a perfect temperture of around 80 degrees. I cruised and headed straight to the ACA when I got into town.

The headquarters for the Adventure Cycling Association (whose maps we're following) is in Missoula and they offer free ice cream, internet, and soda to touring cyclists passing through town. They took my photo and put it up on the wall along with everyone else that has toured through town in 2010. It was interesting to look up on the board and see faces of people that I've met throughout the country. After an hour or so, RobinNickZackTony arrived and we spent some time just talking to the ACA staff about our trips. We had our photo taken as a group and tacked up on the wall. Then one of the original founders of the ACA thought it was interesting how we all had started as solo tourists but somewhere along the line had become a group of five, so he took some more photos of us and asked us a lot of questions about our trip. Apparently our story may end up in either one of the monthly ACA magazines or in some kind of photo exhibit at some time in the future. I'm not sure why the five of us starting solo and riding together would be all that interesting - I imagine people meet and ride together all the time on the TransAm trail. Maybe it was a slow day and the guy needed something to do....hahahaha.

In Missoula, the Dutch went to the Motel 6, the boys and I went to a bike hostel, and Jerry and Phyllis were at the Red Lion. We boys decided to take a full rest day in Missoula which we spent using the internet, sending things home from the post office, lounging around, walking around town, eating, napping, getting bike supplies, and listening to live music in the park. The others decided to also take a rest day in Missoula; it is a cool little town and you should definitely go there if you haven't been. It's got a good vibe and a lot of things to do.
Well-rested after a day off in Missoula, everyone hit the road in various groups toward the next destination, Lochsa Lodge, about 60 miles away. The morning portion of the ride was a long, gradual climb and we had a nice paceline going for much of it. True to form, Robin blasted ahead and none of us wanted to try to hang with him; then, true to form, a while later I blasted ahead and no one tried to hang with me. We crossed the border from Montana into Idaho at Lolo Pass (5300'), in the same area where the men of the Lewis and Clark expedition nearly died of starvation just over 200 years ago. The terrain in that area is really densely wooded and is comprised mostly of really steep hillsides; though I was just pedaling up and down hill on US Highway 12, I really gained an appreciation for what those men endured in their quest to find the West. This is the climb up toward Lolo Pass:

The pass itself:

It was a nice, gradual, and yes, winding downhill to Lochsa Lodge in Powell, ID. There were some very tall cedar trees as well:

I ended up sharing a cabin at Lochsa Lodge with the three Dutch folks and Phyllis and Jerry. They all had beds, but they offered to let me roll out my sleeping pad on the floor so that I didn't have to set up my tent that night - for that I was grateful because on a trip like this it's always nice to have a dry, covered place to sleep that doesn't involve getting your tent wet! The cabin:

I rode alone the next morning because I got out of Lochsa late for two reasons. First, I lost my camera (luckily the owner found it wedged in the slats between the seat and the backrest of a log chair I'd sat in in the lodge), and second, I met and talked to two really nice (and cute) touring cyclists. These girls were on their way from Portland, OR to somewhere in Maine and we had all kinds of things to talk about. Here are the store (see the chair that tried to swallow my camera) and Jess/Alexa/me having a great time getting to know each other at roadside before leaving Lochsa:

Once I got on the road, it turned out that it was good that I'd left late because the weather had gotten quite hot and I was passing some REALLY GOOD swimming holes on the Lochsa River. In one very private hole, I skinny-dipped and ate lunch on the riverbank boulders. Another hole was right alongside the road at a spot where most of the current funneled between two very large boulders into a strong but very narrow center current only about 10' wide, while the water at the river's edges was nearly slack and quite deep. So, you could swim around lazily on the either side of the river and then to get to the other side you only had to brave a swift current for a very short time. I did just that, and was rewarded at the other side of the river with a white sand beach with a couple of really big, beautiful evergreen trees growing straight up out of the sand. Best of all, I was alone in this magnificent place. I swam and swam, back and forth from one side to the other, cooling down from a hot day of cycling. I just kept waiting for some other cyclists to pass by, to show them what a sweet spot I'd found, but I had the place to myself for almost an hour before I decided to leave.

At the end of that 68-mile day was the town of Lowell, ID, and Phyllis and Jerry were in the town's one restaurant when I got there. Fortuitously, I walked in a mere few seconds after a group of guys they'd been talking to had invited them to stay at their REALLY nice home just up the road rather than camping or getting a hotel. Phyllis and Jerry were thoughtful enough to ask the guys if I would be welcome to come up to the house as well and they said "the more the merrier".

The man that owns the place is a contractor from near Seattle, WA named Rick Sutter and he built the home as a getaway cabin where he and his friends could stay when coming up to hunt in the Idaho wilderness. When we rode across the beautiful bridge and up the steep driveway to the hillside home, we were all taken by how nice the place was. We were further taken aback when Rick invited us inside and showed us around. Rick, it turns out, is not just any ordinary hunter - he is a very dedicated, very accomplished hunter. There were game "trophies" literally THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE HOUSE. There were autographed photos of famous hunter dudes from the Outdoor Channel. Some the animals I can remember him having in the house were a large brown bear/grizzly, mountain lion, bull moose, elk, beaver, wild turkey, bobcat, raccoon, fox, pronghorn, and deer. There had to have been a hundred different animals mounted and on display. This guy definitely keeps the local taxidermist in business and, while I'm not a hunter at all, it was really quite interesting to listen to Rick tell stories of Idaho life and hunting life in general. When he showed us to where we would sleep, we were all giddy as he gave us the full run of a gorgeous and fully furnished apartment above the garage next to the house; it had two bedrooms, 5 beds, a kitchen, satellite television, and a full bathroom. After spending so much time in tents, crappy hotels, and under pavilions in city parks swarming with mosquitos, this place seemed like paradise. The rushing river which was only 50 yards away was audible even with all the windows closed. Then, in a move that REALLY did seem too good to be true, Rick invited all three of us down for a steak dinner, complete with garlic bread, salad, and beer, as well as pie for dessert. What generosity!!! Here are some photos of where Rick's house sits near the river, as well as of some of the animals he has inside the house.

The next morning, Phyllis and Jerry left really early but I stayed to watch the Tour de France on the satellite TV. When Rick and his buddies left that morning to go back to Seattle, they left me in the house, saying to stay as long as I wanted and to just lock the door when I left. Amazing. Oh, and when I left, I had gotten about 2 miles down the road when Rick and his buddies drove by in their big, white Dodge diesel pickup truck, swinging wide into the other lane to give me plenty of room, and yelling words of encouragement at me to spur me on. And, to top it off, when I got literally around the next bend in the highway, what did I see on the "Adopt-A-Highway" sign? This two-mile stretch of highway had been adopted by none other than.......the Rick Sutter family.

The ride from Lowell to Grangeville, ID continued downhill along the Clearwater River. This stretch of riding after Lolo Pass has proven to be the easiest of the entire country, with little wind and a consistent downhill grade.

Ultimately I had to climb hard, then moderately, again to get into Grangeville and I had traded the dense forest for some high-plain farmland with severely rolling hills, the kind that look easy to ride but in fact are more challenging than one would think.

In Grangeville...voila...I met up again with all 8 other people and we camped free in the city park. The public pool in town lets cyclists come in and use the pool and take a shower for just $3, so several of us enjoyed the lovely sunny day by cooling down in the pool after a really hot, shadeless ride. And, as I've seen in various states throughout the country (Kentucky, Kansas, and Idaho in particular), there were more signs warning of the dangers of methamphetmine usage. It must be boredom that drives meth usage.

The boys and I got up at sunrise and quickly packed to hit the road, both to avoid the heat and to get a head start on the big climb that presented itself first thing that morning. The climb was average...5-7%...and about 8 miles long...but the best part was the incredibly delicious descent from the summit. It was far and away the best riding of the entire trip. There was very little traffic, the roads were smooth, the views of the White Bird valley were huge and panoramic, and it was an Energizer Bunny descent - it just went on, and on, and on, and on...... Honestly, it was the most exhilarating bike ride I've ever taken, even better than the descent of Haleakala, because I never had to apply the brakes during a 10-mile descent and I maintained a consistent speed of 35-45 mph!!! This is the bridge at the bottom of the glorious descent, taken from the deck at the White Bird coffeehouse (I wasn't willing to pull out my camera while riding that fast!):

After an extended coffee and scenery break at the White Bird, MT coffeehouse, the group of us hit the road and immediately formed a five-man peloton, a fast paceline that enabled us to cut the wind and travel at a much higher speed. For several hours and close to 50 miles we raced on Highway 12 along the beautiful Salmon River, gracefully slicing our way to Pollack, ID. At one point we stopped at a white sandy beach along the way for some river swimming and a rock skipping contest (I won because no one can hang with me when it comes to rock skipping...boo ya!!).

That afternoon, after a really crappy lunch with really crappy service from a snarky waitress in Riggins, ID, we rolled into Pollack. There is nothing in this little village save for a few homes and a small lodge/rafting company. We stopped at the lodge for some shelter from the late mid-day 95-degree sun and the nice kid at the front desk gave the five of us two huge pitchers of ice water and a big bowl of grapes. He also let us hang around in the lounge on the couches to watch a movie, take a nap, read a book, or use the lodge's WiFi connection. While we were chilling out there, a man who we later learned is Jimmy Smith came and introduced himself, saying he is a cyclist as well and wanting to know more about our trip. A couple of hours and many bike stories later, Jimmy told us he was the lodge's cook and caretaker and he invited us to camp out in his yard at the end of the lodge and eat a home-cooked meal. Not long thereafter we were pitching our tents on the grass near the loudly tumbling Rapid River; eating appetizers of chips and salsa, Clementine oranges, and cherries from the tree across the street brought out by Jimmy's sweetheart Julianne; drinking cans (yes, cans) of a really hoppy microbrewed IPA; hungrily devouring piled-high plates of Jimmy's pasta with bison meat and spicy tomato sauce ; and finally, very contentedly, savoring a delicious pineapple upside down cake freshly-baked by the lodge's intern, Joy. That night I slept as well as I have in a very long time. Some pics from Jimmy's place:

Rising early again, this time at 6 a.m., Tony and I took off alone before the other guys, this time on our way to Cambridge, ID. It was another fairly easy day, with some moderate climbing and a lot of long, gradual descending. We stopped a couple of times for coffee or food, and rolled into Cambridge 75 miles later the very very hot late afternoon. Arriving in the city park where we planned to camp, we happened upon our Dutch friends, as well as Zach and Robin who'd passed us earlier. Nick, Jerry, and Phyllis arrived later and we once again had our 9-person group intact. Zach and Robin decided to, instead of waiting for the next morning's light, leave the city park at 10:00 pm and ride through the night to the next day's destination in order to avoid heat, wind, and camp boredom. They invited me, but I chose not to go because, while I thought it would be really fun, the ride was going through Hell's Canyon (on the Oregon/Idaho border) and I really had been wanting to see that country by the light of day. I can see riding through some ugly, desolate country at night (say Kansas, or parts of Wyoming or Colorado), but there was no way I was going to give up seeing some really beautiful mountains and canyons just to get to the next destination a little quicker.

That night, I made a terrible decision to sleep without my tent. The mosquitos were not so bad initially but they got worse as the night went along so I had to wrap up tighter and tighter in my sleeping bag; the problem was that it was 70 degrees outside and I had a 30-degree bag so I spent the night sweating, sleeping, awakening to apply bug spray or swat bugs away from my face, and basically just being miserable. The Dutch had set their alarms for 3:00 a.m. so they could get an early start on the climb and then arrive in Hell's Canyon by daylight, and while I had previously thought I'd never get up at 3:00 to ride, this morning I couldn't get up quickly enough and get the hell out of there. It turned out to be TOTALLY worth it because the climbing in darkness while gazing at a cloudless sky full of stars was epic, and we arrived in the canyon at the perfect time. The descent was dimly lit and cool, and the shadows on the mountains as the sun rose was quite spectacular. It was one of the coolest and most beautiful scenes I've seen on this entire trip and the pictures don't do it justice. Tony and I rode on and off with the Dutch in the early morning darkness and light before splitting off on our own and taking our time to begin the trek through rural eastern Oregon. Here are photos from that early morning ride:

Finally....after 2.5 months....I'm back in Oregon again, and it feels weird!

Riding through Hell's Canyon on the way toward Richland, OR was a not all that difficult and it was quite pretty. In fact, ironically, when my camera memory card filled up and we stopped for me to swap it out for an empty one, that was the exact moment that a bear, (the only bear I've seen on this trip, even including throughout all of Yellowstone National Park) walked right in front of us, only about 150 feet away! It stopped, put its nose in the air, licked it, and turned to stare right at us. We didn't want to hang around because it could have caught us in an instant, so we slowly backed away and only took one quick photo...sorry it's blurry.

Throughout Hell's Canyon, the heat just kept climbing somewhat mercilessly. By the time we caught up with the Dutch on a big climb near the end of our riding day at around 1:00 pm, it was already over 100 degrees. Here's Tony and I topping the last mountain of the day:

We all dropped down the other side of the climb, a steep 7% descent, into the fertile oasis of Richland, OR together ready for some cool air-conditioning and some food.

After some delicious lunch and some lazy library time, Tony and I decided to grab a hotel room and that is where I currently sit, while the Dutch decided to camp. (Tony and I could think of nothing less pleasant at that moment than sitting outside in the 100+ degree heat with minimal shade in a crappy city park without bathrooms.) We had some really crappy dinner at a local crappy restaurant, we met up with Nick (who arrived and happened to rent the motel room next door), and we just generally have been lazy, lazy, lazy after our pretty leisurely 69-mile jaunt today.

It's kind of surprising and amazing that I can now call any 69-mile ride a leisurely jaunt, but things have really changed after all this time and effort expended on my bike recently. I have a much greater sense of ability, as well as my limits, and I have a much different concept of endurance, which I have begun to measure now in hours rather than in minutes and seconds.

Oh, and by the way, I kind of lied earlier. We HAVE, in fact, seen another bear on this trip. We saw a bear in the mountains in Idaho that had just been hit by an RV or car; it was writing in pain in the ditch and wasn't dead yet. We all stopped because we couldn't believe what we were seeing, and then we realized that stopping right next to an injured bear might not be the best idea. This dying bear was small and we didn't know if it was Mama Bear or a cub, and we didn't stick around to find out or to even take a photo. One thing we DID discuss was how difficult it was to watch that bear dying painfully and writhing around in a pool of its own blood, and that we wished we had some kind of weapon that we could use to kill it and quickly put it out of its misery. However, since the only thing any of us had was a small knife, AND since none of us were willing to step close enough to try to accurately plunge a knife into a pissed off bear, we solemnly left and continued pedaling down the hill.

I can't believe it's only going to be a couple of weeks or less until I arrive home. Whatever will I do then, when I don't have to ride a bike for 5-7 hours every single day? Get a job? Now that's a scary proposition. :)

Fun people, amazing scenery, and stupid cops in Montana.

2010-07-22T16:06:00.000-07:00

West Yellowstone, MT was a pretty cool little town, despite it's obvious attempt at capitalizing on tourism. If you look past the cheesiness, there's a cool Westernness to the town and there are a lot of old, historical log buildings. The Madison Hostel I stayed at was one of those places; included on the National Register of Historical Places, the log construction and mounted head of game animals made it feel like I was staying in the Wild West. It was $30 for a bed in a 3-person dorm room. The sink was in the room but the shower was down the hall. I got lucky and didn't have to share with anyone so I had the room to myself. Here's a view of the hostel hallway:

The next morning I decided to sleep in a bit instead of meeting the Dutch group at their leaving time of 6:30 a.m. I got up, watched some of the Tour de France on the hostel TV, and then packed and hit the road. It was a gorgeous ride past Hebgen and Earthquake Lakes. Earthquake Lake, in fact, WAS created when a massive 7.3 magnitude quake rocked the Montana hillside at midnight one night, causing the hillside to collapse and immediately form a natural, earthen dam on the Madison River. Most people made it to safety because it was in a remote area, but there were something like 27 people killed when their nearby campground was submerged under hundreds of feet of water within only minutes. The first picture below is Hebgen and the second is Earthquake (you can see where the hillside slid down and created a huge dam).

A really crazy thing happened while I was riding past Hebgen Lake. In the distance I saw a pickup truck stopped at the side of the road and a man and a woman standing alongside it. As I approached, the man put up his hand to flag me down and yelled out, asking if I could stop. I did. He pointed to my panniers (the four bags that carry my stuff and are attached to my bike's racks) and asked where I'd gotten them. At that second, I recognized the guy's voice...I'd bought them from HIM! It turns out that in the middle of nowhere in Montana, I had run into Wayne, the owner of TheTouringStore.com and the seller of all types of bicycle luggage. He said he'd driven by me, noticed my yellow Ortlieb brand bags, and known immediately that he'd likely sold them to me. Apparently, he is the only significant seller of the yellow-colored bags in the WORLD. Anyway, he took a bunch of photos of me with my bike and we swapped bike touring stories for a while by the side of the road. Then, as I was about to leave, he asked if I'd eaten breakfast. Upon hearing that I hadn't eaten much yet, he whipped out a $20 bill and said he was buying my breakfast. I argued, but he wouldn't hear me, and I graciously took the money. He said that there was an excellent breakfast place just about 2 miles up the road; he was RIGHT. The Campfire Lodge was a sweet little place, situated right on a river with flyfishermen fishing it...and while the food didn't come quickly, it was delicious. I had a HUGE cinnamon roll, and a raspberry pancake with 4 strips of thick, peppered bacon that I couldn't even finish. This is Wayne and his wife:

In Ennis, MT later that day, I met up with the Dutch again when we ended up in the same library doing blog/email stuff. We decided to camp together and there was a little fishing access area down by the river that had camping for $12 for a site that would fit all four of us. We headed down and were immediately swarmed by clouds of mosquitos (it is quickly becoming apparent that any Wyoming or Montana camping will involve the little bastards in huge quantities), but we tricked them by going swimming in the cool river for about 45 minutes. Of course they found us when we got out of the river, but with a little bug spray, a lot of handwaving, and a big, smoky campfire, we ended up being ok for the evening.

Nick and Robin later rolled into the camp, and had hooked up with two new dudes...Zack and Tony. Nick and Tony couldn't handle the mosquitos and headed into nearby Ennis to get a motel room. Robin and Zack ended up sharing our campsite. We all got up at the crack of dawn to leave...the boys and I headed to the coffee shop and then began the morning's big mountain climb (the Dutch folks were riding behind us after a long grocery store stop). I was feeling pretty powerful that morning, and I love to climb, so I stomped on it. Only Robin beat me up the hill, and he's just an animal (with a MUCH lighter bike and MUCH bigger quads than me) so I never figured to be able to keep up with him anyway. At the top, Robin and I waited for Zack and Tony and then we rolled down the 4-mile long and very steep and windy hill into Virginia City, MT for a nice, fat breakfast burrito at the tiny Outlaw Cafe.

So, let me start this next part by saying this: I ride with a rearview mirror, I am constantly looking behind me and am always aware of traffic, I obey traffic rules, and I always make sure to get out of the way of passing vehicles and give them as much room to pass as possible. Ok, so while we were in the cafe eating, someone noticed that there was a police car parked outside with its lights flashing. I walked outside to check it out and unknowingly walked into a lovely encounter with Sheriff's Deputy Chris T. He said he'd had a motorist complain of a group of bicyclists riding two abreast all the way down the four-mile hill from the summit and preventing four vehicles from passing. Then he said that there was further complaint specifically about ME, the guy in the khaki shorts with the black bike. Knowing that I had only ridden single file, except when passing another cyclist at 42-44 mph, and was constantly looking back behind me to make sure I wasn't in anyone's way, I politely and calmly tried to tell him my recollection of the descent - but he wasn't hearing it at all. He immediately shut me down, interrupted me in a raised voice, and stuck out his chest and somewhat threateningly said "oh, so you wanna argue, do you?! You wanna go to court here over this, do you?! You really want to do this, huh?" I was surprised at his immediately intimidating response to my calm words, so I again tried to explain my version of how we had descended the hill, this time using different words. He again wasn't having it, and he seemed intent on making the discussion a confrontation so I felt that the best thing to do so I didn't end up with a citation or a ride to jail was just to kiss his ass and let him get the submission he was demanding, saying things like: "wow, I never intended to block traffic or ride two abreast any longer than to pass", and "no sir, I didn't know that it is a crime to have four vehicles waiting behind you at any time", and "yes, I absolutely should have slowed down to a complete stop on the side of the road so that those vehicles could pass." Of course, it really wasn't practical to stop on the middle of a steep downhill on a road that had only about three inches of shoulder while riding at 44 mph, but I was smart enough to not say that. Officer Chris took down my name and address, went to the car to do what cops do in their cars with peoples' names and addresses, and then came back and let me go after making me kiss his ass one more time.

Earlier I had noticed there had been a woman standing nearby the whole time, about 5-6 feet away from Officer Chris and I. She had been nervously twiddling her thumbs and jangling her keys, standing with her legs crossed and her eyes glued to the ground. When I walked away from Chris, I had to walk past the woman so I addressed her and politely said "if it was you we were bothering, I apologize. It wasn't our intent to get in your way." All of a sudden she came to life and went OFF about how ALL the bicyclists always are going so slow and getting in everyone's way, and how finally THIS time she decided to call the police about it, and how our riding caused her trip from Bozeman to take an extra FIFTEEN minutes, yadda yadda yadda. I just smiled, apologized again, letting her have her rant, and then shook her hand and walked away. As I left, I heard her saying to the Officer "thank you so much for coming down, Chris....." Then it hit me that Officer Chris had probably just been trying to impress the girl. To rescue the damsel in distress. Whatever, dude.

After we left the cafe, I half expected Officer Chris to be waiting a few miles outside town to check up on us to make sure we weren't out being bad bike lawbreakers. To my surprise I didn't see him so I forgot about him. Then, about 2 hours later, after splitting off from the other guys, Tony and I had stopped off for a rest and something to drink in a different town, we saw Officer Chris again. He was sitting in his car on the other side of the road on the outskirts of town...and he gave us a friendly wave as we rolled by. Instinctively I waved back, but I immediately wished I hadn't. Jerk.

That night, we all rendezvoused after an easy 40 mile day in Twin Bridges, MT. That was a really cool little town; the people were hospitable, there were a couple of good restaurants, and best of all, there was a FREE cyclists' camp that consisted of a screened in shelter with picnic tables, a clean shower, a clean bathroom, a sink, and filtered drinking water. We had a great time in Twin Bridges, both at the camp and in town. The people that ran the restaurant and the grocery store were really friendly to us; in fact, the grocery store owner gave me some salsa for free because the expiration date was two days past, and I later found out that he will keep the store open past normal business hours if someone reports to him that there are cyclists coming into town at a late hour!

Someone in Twin Bridges had gone to a lot of trouble to make sure that passing cyclists felt welcome and cared for, and I soon found out who that person was. The next morning, after Nick and I went to breakfast, we came back to the shelter and found the boys talking to some guy we'd never seen. The boys turned to me and said, "hey, tell this guy the story about the cop." I was now talking to Bill White, the man who had singlehandedly convinced the county powers-that-be that cycling tourism is quite valuable to the small towns in this remote MT county. Not only had he been able to get funds appropriated to build the cyclists' shelter (and had built it himself), but he has the ear of the county commissioner and other people that make important county decisions. He really wanted to hear my version of what had happened with Officer Chris the day before. When I told him, he just kept shaking his head in disgust and he actually got a little angry. Apparently, there have been multiple complaints from tourists and locals alike about this particular officer using intimidating and threatening behavior in situations that don't call for it. Mr. White strongly encouraged me to write him a letter, which he plans to hand-deliver to the county commissioner, and which he feels will carry a lot of weight in what is shaping up to be a decision on the future employment of the officer.

The next day's even shorter 30 mile ride to Dillon, MT was for a specific reason - Dillon is the only town of any size out in this area, and the only town that would have a sports bar. That day, The Netherlands was playing Spain for the soccer World Cup championship and we all wanted to watch the game. We did find a bar showing the soccer match (not an easy feat in MT, let me assure you), but sadly our Dutch friends were bitterly disappointed when the Spanish team scored a goal with two minutes left in overtime to break a 0-0 tie and win the title. Here's a pic taken on the ride to Dillon and a pic of the Dillon sky at sunset taken from my tent as I went to bed:

The next day's ride from Dillon to Jackson, MT was 50 miles, but it felt like a hundred. There was a nearly constant 15-25 mph headwind to battle, as well as two big climbs. I love to climb, as you know, but it's demoralizing to climb AND face such a strong wind. On the second climb of the day, I literally was riding at 3-4 mph for much of the climb, and standing up on the pedals much more than I normally do. Here's a pic of one climb, as well as of the wind blowing so hard that the weedtops were horizontal!

The reward came that afternoon/evening at Jackson Lodge, which pipes in 140 degree water from the local Jackson Hot Springs, cools it to 102 degrees, and pumps it into a nearly Olympic-sized swimming pool. At first it was weird swimming in such a large pool of HOT water...I'd just never experienced SWIMMING in hot water. But it quickly became a really neat thing and it really helped soothe the sore muscles after a long day. The Jackson Lodge was made of logs and had animal heads mounted all over the inside...bison, bear, pronghorn, elk, moose, and even various animals from other countries that don't live here. But, for all the animals, the most prominent living creature was again the mosquito. We'd paid $10 to camp on the lawn at the lodge (that included swimming in the pool) and felt very fortunate that they let us hang out inside the lodge away from the mozzies...in fact, we even got to have a beer and watch the Tour de France. That day I'd ridden with Tony (who happens to be from Portland as well), though the rest of the same gang of eight of us was also riding to Jackson and we all met there that night so everyone got to enjoy the pool, the lodge, and dinner together.

The descent toward Jackson, the last rolling hill before dropping into Jackson, and the Jackson Lodge:

See you soon!
Dennis

Wyoming, through Grand Teton National Park.

2010-07-09T14:19:00.000-07:00

Camping (rest day) in the Lander, Wyoming city park...Nick, Robin, and I are sporting the starry-eyed glasses left behind after a kid's birthday party.

This is Dennis, Marga, and Ellen, my new friends from The Netherlands that I met camping in the Lander city park as well. They are husband, wife, and daughter and are also traveling the TransAm trail from east to west. We rode together and cut a line through the stiff Wyoming wind for a couple of days.

Random Wyomingness:

And then, all of a sudden, it looks like Arizona or Utah?!

And then starting the climb to the 9,600' Togwatee Pass:

This is Wind River Lake, the reward for climbing to the top of Togwatee Pass.

Me with the beautiful Ellen on the dock at Wind River Lake (yes, it WAS really cold there).

Lunch break on the descent from the pass. It was a great group of folks: Phyllis from Seattle; Jerry from Baltimore; Fred and Barbara (the 77-yr olds from Australia on the tandem bike); Dennis, Marga, and Ellen from Holland; Dirk and Marcus from Florida; and me.

It was the 4th of July on the day we climbed/descended the pass. The first convenience store on the descent was closed but there was a coke machine. Marcus bought a coke and said it was a bargain at just 50 cents. I went over and put in my 50 cents, pushed the Coke button, and out came a Dasani water. I was pissed because I really wanted a Coke. So, I put in 50 more cents and decided to go for a Barq's Root Beer...and out came a DIET Coke!! The group was laughing hysterically at this misfortune when Dirk jokingly said he bet that he could get a Coke. I challenged him, knowing he'd waste his 50 cents, but when he did it, he DID get a Coke. So, this pic shows me frustrated with my water and Diet Coke, and Marcus and Dirk gloating with their actual Cokes.

The first view of the Grand Tetons on the descent:

Tried to take a picture over my shoulder of the riders behind me as we were descending at about 25 mph. This was the result of my poor aim, but I think the picture is pretty cool:

The next morning everyone else took off for Jackson but I went to the Tetons to camp. And there it is, the wall of Tetons, in all their 'Grandness':

A pretty cool place to hit 3000 miles on the odometer, somehow more rewarding than it would have been if I were in the middle of some barren Wyoming nothingness:

Sweet place to have a picnic lunch, yeah??!!

My next door neighbors (next campsite over)...John and Jenna, a father/daughter touring combo from Maryland. Jenna had a gorgeous voice and sang us some sweet songs in the chilly evening Teton air! (Note the sweet, welded aluminum guitar carrier on the back of Jenna's bike.)

July 6 was Dennis' birthday, my friend from The Netherlands. Even though I was riding alone in the Tetons toward Yellowstone, I made a sign for the back of my bike in hopes he'd see it as the Yellowstone tour bus their family had signed up for passed me in the early morning light. I have no idea if he saw it, but I rode with it all day. The funny thing is that everyone was wishing ME a happy birthday, either shouting it out their car windows, or telling me when I pulled over for a rest or picture break!

Nearing Yellowstone:

I made it!

This is Joel, a biker and metalworker that I talked to at a Yellowstone pullout for about 45 mins. He's a cool dude from Spokane, WA, who was on a 5-day journey during the free time he had when his daughter was with her mother (he has full custody). We had a great conversation about all kinds of things - economy, parenting (like I could contribute anything to that!), traveling, work, women, food, etc. I wish he were on a bicycle so we'd have had more time to hang.

Yellowstone's Lewis River valley:

I took a nap and ate a snack on this log at Lewis Lake:

This is called the "Black Hole", one of Yellowstone's geothermal features. Yes, I know it's not black. There's some geologic explanation for that. I don't know it. Deal with it. :)

Another geothermal feature empties into the GIGANTIC Yellowstone Lake:

I actually got into a picture. That's not too common when riding solo, for some reason. And here we go again, yet another crossing of the Continental Divide. Crossing the Divide is getting kind of passe now!!

This was the best place to stop and pee, EVER!

Am I the only one that thinks Old Faithful is lame? I've been twice and have been super-disappointed both times at the build-up to fairly unimpressive geyser action. Have I just been when it didn't 'go off' like it sometimes does?

The Firehole River is warm, because of the 180-degree water flowing into it from the geothermal pools above. Awesome!

Finally an animal sighting! You'd think that going through Yellowstone on a bike would allow one to see much MORE wildlife than by car...think again. I saw exactly two bison (these), two elk, and one bald eagle in two full days and about 70 miles in the park! Three years ago when I visited in a car, I saw many bears, bison, and elk.

There's the eagle:

Saying goodbye to Yellowstone:

And hello Montana!!

In the town of West Yellowstone, I met up again with the Dutch folks (Ellen, Dennis, Marga) and stayed in a hostel that is on the National Register of Historic Places. More to come, next time I have more library time...

Love to all.
D

More of Colorado, and on into Wyoming...

2010-07-02T14:08:00.000-07:00

Over the last several days, I've gone from Kremmling, CO to Walden, CO to Saratoga, WY to Rawlins, WY to Sweetwater Station, WY to (now) Lander, WY. The scenery has been quite variable, the route having taken me through beautiful canyons, along rushing rivers, amidst vast desert valleys, over huge mesas, into absolute swarms of relentless mosquitos, and with or against SERIOUS winds.

Distances have been variable: 79, 67, 45, 85, and 47 miles. The short days have felt much longer due to the insanity of the winds I've been battling, and the long days have been just an all-out march against Mother Nature all day long. Fortunately I've either missed or been able to wait out all thunderstorms lately and I haven't gotten wet at all.

After leaving my friend Diana in Kremmling, I headed out alone, up and over the Continental Divide for the second time, to Walden, CO. It was super pretty:

That night, camping in the city park in Walden, I finally met the unicyclist I've been chasing since Virginia. Shockingly, it's literally taken me nearly two months to catch up to a guy pedaling on just one wheel. His name is Skye and he's an interesting dude. He has to travel so light it's almost unfathomable how he can manage this huge journey; he has no tent, a tiny sleepsack and tarp, very little clothing, no real toiletries, and a whole lot of courage! I rode with him off and on from Walden to Saratoga and the way he has to ride is fascinating. See, his unicycle doesn't have multiple gears like a regular bicycle does - he only has one; therefore he cannot ever stop pedaling and coast. In reality, what that results in is him BLASTING past regular touring cyclists up the hills (we're going about 6-8 mph and he comes by at 10-12 mph). On the downhills, though, we can make up some ground because we can hit speeds anywhere from 15-45 mph while Skye is forced to use his pedaling stroke to slow his unicycle down and he can only reach 12-15 mph. On the flats he is able to cruise at the same or greater speeds as a regular bicycle and I have to say that I was surprised at how humbling it was to try to ride with him. We couldn't really ride together for much time unless it was completely flat, which is rare out here. On the long, long uphill grades in the Rockies he left me far, far behind and he'd be gone by the time I got to the top of a hill; it was only after many minutes or a few hours that I'd finally catch up to him when some real downhills came. Here is Skye:

That day after leaving Walden, CO, I crossed into southern Wyoming. Southern Wyoming has proven to be really desolate and really, really windy, with a lot of flats, rolling hills, and broad mesas. There isn't much out here and the distance between towns with any food/water available in some places is quite astounding.

I started riding with a guy named Robin (from Philly) on the same day I rode some with Skye. I've been riding off and on with Robin for several days now. We camped out at Saratoga Lake, WY. There was a delicious dock out in the lake that we could dive off of and the lake was the perfect cool temperature after a long, hot day of riding in the relentless Wyoming sun and wind.

In one of the funniest, most fun, and most ridiculous moments of the trip, Robin and I were enduring the first (and hopefully only) experiences of riding on a large interstate (I-80) when we discovered that when riding conditions are tough we will sometimes both turn gangsta rap on on our iPods and rap out loud along with it. (This is usually only done when very much ALONE.) Anyway, the ride that day from Saratoga to Rawlins, WY was a windy one and riding on the interstate sucked...so we synced up our iPods and rode along together busting out nasty raps along with N.W.A.. How ridiculous...but a unique and hilarious moment to remember from this trip, for sure.

Somehow a storm never materialized out of this, though I was riding into a stout headwind:

In some parts of Wyoming, there are a lot of pronghorn loping in the large, empty expanses I pass through:

And there are more than a few of these fabulous friends on the road on hot, sunny days, though unlike this one, most are dead (run over):

Don't believe he's a rattlesnake? (And this is why I pee from the pavement instead of getting off my bike and walking out into the weeds.)

Here is Fred and Barb, 77-year old Aussies riding the TransAm on a tandem bicycle. Very cool folks!

I am no longer surprised to see elk (or deer or moose) heads on walls in random places like gas station convenience stores:

This dude Terry I met by the side of the road one afternoon in the middle-of-nowhere, WY. He last year sold his house, quit his well-paying corporate job, and hit the road to tour the U.S. by bicycle and also teach kite-surfing in various places around the world. You go, Terry! (And I love the camouflage paint job on your Surly Long Haul Trucker bike...wish I'd've gotten a picture of the back trucker's mudflap with the chick on it!!)

Thank GOD for the Mormons. (Did I really just say that?!) There was literally nowhere to get any food or water out here on one windy, hot, long, 85-mile day of riding. Then, the "Sweetwater Station" Mormon Handcart site appeared. Historically, this is the site where a large group of Mormons migrating and pulling handcarts from either Missouri or Illinois on their way to Salt Lake City back in the mid-1800's were stranded for the winter, and many died of starvation. (And, just like the movie "Alive", where the jetliner crashed in the Andes, many of the Mormon survivors ate their dead brethren to survive longer themselves - though the Mormons themselves didn't tell me that - I learned it elsewhere.)

Anyway, the uber-nice Sister and Elder Jorgenson welcomed me with open arms, took my five bucks for a campsite, and in an unexpected and thoroughly generous move, brought a road-weary cyclist a much-needed dinner consisting of a frozen pizza, sliced oranges and strawberries, and a bag of caramel corn. Also on site, there was a camping group of about 200 Mormons from Utah who were there recreating the original Mormon migration (not the death part, I assume). They were pulling handcarts for miles in the desert and fording the Sweetwater River, all while wearing the hot and heavy, long-sleeved period clothing, in an effort to better understand what their ancestors had had to endure on their march to the promised land.

Also super generously, the next morning the leader of that group of 200 came over to where Robin and I were camping and insisted we come over and get a plate of french toast, ham, oranges, and bananas for breakfast so that we'd be properly nourished on the road. As we were finishing our plates, Sister Jorgenson arrived again with plates of pancakes and homemade peach syrup. We of course had no problem putting down all that food, given all the calories we're burning out here on this crazy march to the Pacific Ocean.

After leaving the Mormon site, Robin and I rode to Lander, WY. It was a very short day of only 40 miles, but again we battled a headwind for many miles. Even with some serious downhills, we were only able to manage 10 mph over the four-hour ride. On a non-windy day, that ride would have taken 2:00 to 2:15, tops. We started to get into some more mountainous and beautiful Wyoming territory, with the Wind River Mountains appearing in the distance, alerting us that we are getting closer and closer to the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone National Parks, which are just a few days away to the northwest.

So, now having entered Lander WY, it is time for a rest day. Lander is a GREAT little town of about 7000 people, has a thriving little downtown with a lot of activity for its size, and is a really friendly place. Robin, Nick (he caught back up), and I are camping in the Lander City Park which is refreshingly mosquito-free (due to regular chemical spraying, but at this point I don't care). Here we are (blurry) at the coffee shop:

We got our bikes worked on yesterday at the one bike shop in town and the guys there were amazing, taking time to show us how to do what they were doing and just generally being very accommodating and customer service-based. A really sweet girl that worked there even said we could camp out in her backyard if there were any problems camping up at the park. We've met a bunch of local folks at the bike shop, the mountain shop, the coffee shop, and the pub, all willing to share advice/tips about how to make the most out of a stay in Lander. We hear that the 4th of July celebration here (and even the local doctor's personal 3rd of July fireworks show) is an insanely big party and many folks are encouraging us to stay for that, but it would require 2-3 rest days here rather than the planned one so I am not sure what we'll do. There are other great places to be just up the road (Jackson, Grand Teton, and Yellowstone) so it's a no-lose proposition.

Skye, the unicyclist just rolled on into town, as did Zack, some dude Nick's cycled with for a few days recently. Combined with several cool rock climbers we've met who're also camped out in the city park, I'd imagine tonight will be a fun little gathering. It's nice to get these random groups coming together now and then...it really balances out all the alone time/work out on the road.

So, I'm off to enjoy more of Lander for today. Maybe I will leave tomorrow, maybe I'll stay for the 3rd of July fireworks show. Whatever. I can do whatever I like. Life is good. :)

Local Frisco Love and Riding to Kremmling

2010-06-26T11:42:00.000-07:00

After leaving the pub in Breckenridge, I headed north toward Frisco and Silverthorne, CO on the bike path along the river. This is some of the most beautiful country I have ever seen, with tall, rugged, snow-capped mountains and clear, fast-moving streams bounding downhill with reckless abandon.

Frisco is a mere 9 downhill miles away from Breckenridge, and Silverthorne is about another five downhill past that. I was unsure of whether I wanted to stay the night near/in Frisco or Silverthorne, given that I know nothing about either town; but, as I was riding the beautiful bike path toward Frisco, just before I got there a nice woman on a bicycle pulled up next to me, introduced herself, and asked where I was going. She was really friendly and we chatted for a few minutes as we rode; she said that Frisco is a really great little town and that I should stay there, so as she peeled off onto a different path, I thanked her and I rolled on down the 10% grade into Frisco.

The lady on the bike path had given me a couple of recommendations for a good place for dinner/beer, so I pulled into the very small (and lovely) town and slowly rode along the sidewalk scoping things out. As I perused the town, I was stopped by an older gentleman who wanted to know where I was traveling. When I told him I am going to Astoria, OR and that I live in Portland, he told me he owns a home in Aurora, OR, just 20 minutes outside of Portland. He said he and his wife spend part of the year in their condo in Frisco and part in their home in Aurora. He introduced himself as Frank Berger and we continued chatting for 15 minutes or so, realizing that we are both avid cyclists, and that we've both ridden in Cycle Oregon (although he's ridden in about 15 of them and I've ridden in one). He gave me directions to a great campsite on a nearby lake on the outskirts of Frisco and had several suggestions for good places to eat dinner. Then, quite abruptly, he said he had to make a phone call and he stepped away for a minute. When he returned, he said, "you're coming to my house for dinner tonight. My wife is a great cook." Far be it from me to turn down a dinner invitation from a nice local fellow so I took down the address and directions to his house, which just happened to be only a few minutes ride from the campsite he'd suggested as well. He said to show up for dinner at 6:00 pm.

It was only 4:30 at that time and I had some time to kill. I rode around the quaint town a little bit, noting where the good bakery/breakfast place was, as well as a pub that was having karaoke starting at 10:00 that night.

Frisco downtown:

I found a Safeway grocery store that had a WiFi seating area where I could relax, charge my phone, and make a phone call; and, it was just minutes from Frank's place. While sitting in Safeway, I made a phone call to my dad and was telling him about recent touring experiences, particularly about meeting Frank and being invited over for dinner. After I got off the phone, I turned to a woman sitting a few chairs away from me who was wearing a Safeway hat. I asked her if she lived in town and she said yes. I asked her if the karaoke place was any good and she said she'd never been but had been wanting to check it out. I told her that I might check it out later and that she ought to meet me there if she was interested. She told me that she'd overheard my conversation about the guy inviting me over for dinner at his house, and then went on to offer me the couch at her house if I needed a place to sleep for the evening. I couldn't believe it...two totally generous offers from local folks in one little town! Sheila and I exchanged phone numbers and I told her I'd call her after dinner.

I then rode to Frank's condo where he greeted me and introduced me to his wife Carol and their sweet, shy boxer named Ginger. We had the most wonderful dinner and conversation for the next three hours or so; Carol made some delicious meat pies (the recipe for which she had learned from a chef in New Zealand) as well as a large plate of fresh pineapple, watermelon, and cantaloupe. Ice cream and cookies followed for dessert. By the end of the meal, I was so stuffed I was afraid I wouldn't be able to ride my bike back to town to meet up with Sheila!

Frank and Carol had very interesting stories to share about their lives. Frank worked in the insurance business and at least half of his business was in Alaska. He therefore frequently piloted a Cessna airplane to Alaska from Oregon/Colorado to conduct business. Carol owned a B & B in Breckenridge for years. Both are avid cyclists, hikers, and fisherpeople. I also learned that Frank is EIGHTY years old (while he really only looks about 65 to me) and he still rides his road bike every single day for many miles around these crazy, 10000'-high Colorado hills. (I can only hope I'm as good of shape as Frank is when I turn 80!) Frank gave me his contact information in Oregon and we agreed that when I get home from my tour, we will go out for a ride in Oregon together! What interesting and generous people Frank and Carol Berger are and I am honored that they invited me into their home.

I hopped on my bike for the several minutes' ride to Sheila's condo. Frisco is so small that everything is really only a mile or two apart, and it's really beautiful with the huge, snow-capped peaks looming closely as the town's backdrop. I arrived and was introduced to her roommate Jesse and her two children, Jordan and Roman. Sheila had baked a shortcake and had fresh raspberries and half-and-half as a topping; I was absolutely stuffed from eating with Frank and Carol, but there's always room for a homemade raspberry shortcake, right?!

We all chatted for a while and then Sheila offered me a shower (which any stinky touring cyclist will readily accept at any time) before karaoke night started. After showering we rode our bikes down to the bar and we had a few beers, I sang a few songs, and we just hung out and chatted for a couple of hours. She is such a sweet and genuine woman and she told me stories about all of the careers she's had (law enforcement, mortgage broker, meat cutter, and a couple more that I can't remember). She's got three grown kids from a first marriage and the two younger ones that I met from a second marriage.

Jordan, the 12-year old son I met, is autistic but you'd never know it by hanging out with him. Sheila told me that when he was a child, doctors told her that Jordan would never be functional and that he would need to be placed in some kind of institution to live. Sheila said "no way" to that and has obviously done the most amazing job of raising her autistic child, working tirelessly with Jordan herself as well as getting him into excellent schools where he could get the best help possible. When I was with Jordan, he was engaging, sweet, intelligent, and thoughtful and had no problem interacting with any of us in a normal way. I'd have honestly never known of his autism had Sheila not told me.

Sheila mentioned that she and her kids have lived in Hillsboro, OR; Port Townsend, WA; Liberty Lake, WA, Coeur D'Alene, ID; Denver, CO; and now Frisco, CO. Additionally, she had checked out cities in Arizona to live in as well. I wondered what had made her move her family around so much, but I didn't ask because I didn't really want to pry into private matters. Later, however, I learned that Sheila's 7-year old son, Roman, apparently has some serious and somewhat rare asthma issues. Sheila has uprooted her family multiple times in search of better places to live for her children, places that had the right schools/facilities for the autistic Jordan and places that had the right dry climate for the asthmatic Roman. She's done this with little regard for herself, and that explains a lot about why she's had so many careers. It seems that each time she's chosen to move for her childrens' sake, there hasn't always been a job available in her current field so she's had to accept a job doing something different to make ends meet. She's a real renaissance woman now, I guess, and a hell of a mother to boot!!

The next a.m. when Sheila got up for work, she said that I could go upstairs and continue to sleep for a few more hours on her bed (the couch downstairs was in the middle of the house where it would soon be loud with the kids and her roommate getting ready to leave). She sweetly told me to stay as long as I liked, and that when I awoke, everyone would be gone. She told me I could fix myself some breakfast and do some laundry if I liked and that I could leave whenever I wanted. I'm still shocked and touched my the trust Sheila showed in me leaving me alone in her home.

On my way out of town, I stopped off at the bakery/breakfast place. It was delicious!!!!!! I picked up fresh-baked ginger snap, chocolate chip, and peanut butter cookies and headed over to Safeway as I left town. Sheila took a break from cutting up Frisco's meat (yes, she's the Safeway meat cutter) and came out to share a break and a cookie with me. While I unfortunately never got a photograph of Sheila's family and her roommate Jesse, I was able to get this awesome photo of her hard at work in the meat department (and yes, she knows how to wield that knife):

After a hug from Sheila, I was on my way out of town. I had a leisurely ride because a) it was downhill all the way, and b) it was the most gorgeous country I've ridden through thus far on my trip. The ride from Frisco to Silverthorne took me on a bike path, not a highway, and right along the gorgeous Dillon Reservoir.

After waiting out a brief rainstorm under the awning at a Target store in Silverthorne, I hit Highway 9 North with a goal of camping about 30 miles away at the Green Mountain Reservoir.

When I got there the mosquitos were so fierce and swarming that I didn't even want to stop. At one point, however, I did have to stop on the road to talk to a local motorist about a road closure that I wasn't sure if I could get through or not. In only three or four minutes' time of standing there while he tried to call a few people for road information, if I didn't keep my hands continuously swatting (literally) at all parts of my legs/face/torso/arms/back/head, within a millisecond I would have 86 mosquitos having landed on me and looking for a convenient place to eat my blood. The guy couldn't get a hold of anyone with info, but by that point I didn't care anymore. I knew I didn't want to camp in mosquito hell and that I was getting back on the road, riding away from that reservoir an extra 19 miles to the high-desert town of Kremmling. The mosquitos in Kremmling are moderately better, but camping is limited here and I need a day off after having ridden for about 12-13 straight days...so here I sit at the Allington Inn, having arrived last night and ponied up the cash for a nice motel room and a much-needed relaxation day. Here's the view from the motel in Kremmling:

My longtime, fabulous friend Diana from Denver is arriving later this afternoon and we'll spend today together in Kremmling before I hit the road again early tomorrow morning for a long, 78-mile day with a 2000' climb in the middle of the ride.

I am having such a good time on this trip!! I have seen wonderful places that I would love to return to and a bunch of places that I'd never go back to if you paid me. But, the adventure of it all is exhilarating and I always love a challenge and taking that new road that I've never been down before. Still, I do get homesick and I definitely miss my friends and family back home.

The strength in my hand is returning, though it is not back to normal by any means, and I'm just trying to do the best I can to avoid compressing the ulnar nerve in my wrist, as well as starting to do some hand/wrist strengthening exercises now that the nerve function is returning. I was a bit scared a couple of weeks ago and thought then that I may have to cancel the trip because of the hand issues, but the self-treatment seems to be working so I'm encouraged. I don't know what the future holds, but I do know that I am still excited to finish the trip, and am excited on most days to be on the bike. Some days feel like a chore, but I persevere...

Oh, and here's another random photo that really requires no caption, one of those "am I really seeing this?" pictures:

PS: I didn't go there. See, I don't fish.

Pueblo to Canon City to Fairplay to Frisco, CO

2010-06-25T14:08:00.000-07:00

Riding from Pueblo, CO to Canon City, CO was when the scenery started to really change. There were better-sized hills for the first time in hundreds of miles:

Then, after cresting a hill outside Pueblo Lake, I caught my first good glimpse of the Rockies out in the distance:

I was a bit sluggish riding that day and eventually Nick and his group of boys caught up with me. We ended up riding for a while but parted when they went 3 miles off-route to a convenience store and I just kept going toward Canon City. By the time they caught up with me again, I'd made it to just outside Canon City and stopped at a laundromat. There was a liquor store next door to the laundromat so I went over and bought a 22 oz. beer (New Belgium's 1554 Black Ale...delicious, by the way); I was half-drunk and my clothes were already in the dryer by the time the boys arrived. While waiting for my clothes to dry, Zach showed off his Rubik's Cube skills; literally, it was astonishing how this boy could solve the thing. I messed it up as best I could and then gave it to him. He took 15 seconds to just look at it, and then I started a timer...he solved the cube in one minute and nine seconds flat!!!

We then rode into town and secured permission with the police to camp at the City Park (it's not legal here like it was further east, but because of the fire nearby, many campgrounds were closed so they begrudgingly let us stay). We had to wait a few hours to pitch our tents while a pretty bad folk duo played an evening concert in the park. The wait was a bit boring but relaxing. Here's a picture of the boys on the last night we were all together before Nick and I split off on a different trail for the rest of the trip:

After the torture was over, we made camp. Three of the five of us chose to pitch our tents on the concrete under the covered pavilion so our tents didn't get wet with dew or ground moisture (thus allowing us to take off earlier without having to wait for a tent to dry before packing up), but Will and Nick didn't. That really strange sound I kept hearing in the middle of the night didn't wake me up for a while, but when it finally did, I realized it was the park's sprinklers...and Nick and Will's tents were getting completely DOUSED. I tried to get a decent photo in the dark, but this is all I could get of Nick's tent with a few droplets of water scattered about:

In the morning I took off after saying goodbye to all the boys (they're continuing to California on a different route). I found a delicious breakfast at a small Canon City cafe, finally getting real wheat bread, real cheddar cheese, and an omelette filled with really good meat and veggies. It seems I may finally be getting away from the land of white bread, pasteurized process cheese, and Miracle Whip. Thank god!!

The long 78 mile ride from Canon City to Fairplay, CO was essentially one long climb, rising about 4300' vertical feet over that distance. The scenery changed significantly with the elevation change and it was a day of significant physical effort. Various pics from the ride are below (I turned onto a different road before the fire became an issue):

I'd ridden a long way and climbed a lot so I was starving...therefore a pitstop in Hartsel at Dorothy's Homemade Tamales was in order. The tamales were spicy and amazing!!

Hartsel's jail looks like an old gas station, doesn't it??

Nick and I had earlier made arrangements to share a motel room in Fairplay when he caught up to me that evening; this was the view of the sunset in Fairplay that night!

Leaving Fairplay (elev 9800') together the next morning, Nick and I had to climb through the town of Alma (North America's highest incorporated town at 10500') before hitting the short but steep four-mile climb up to Hoosier Pass (elev 11572'). Hoosier Pass is the highest point on the TransAmerica trail and the point at which we cross the Continental Divide. Nick got a flat tire on the way out of Fairplay so we stopped at a coffee shop (for me) while he changed the tire. He couldn't find the leak so he just put the tube back in the tire and pumped it up again. Well, that was a bad move because the tire was flat again another mile or two up the road. Fortunately, stopping in this absolutely gorgeous country is not really a bad thing, so it was a minor annoyance at worst.

Flat tire #1:

A further up the hill we saw a fox hanging out in the grass:

Fox up close with the camera zoom:

Flat tire #2:

Me, in Alma, as we get closer to the top of the hill:

The view heading up to the summit:

MADE IT!!! (and beat 20 y/o Nick by 3-4 minutes...not bad for the old guy!! Sorry, Nick!)

When I arrived at the top, there was this Dutch guy (Walter) there waiting to greet me. Seriously. He actually ran across the road to shake my hand!! Turns out that he had done the TransAmerica route way back in 1979, three years after its conception, and this was the first time he'd been back to the U.S. since that ride. He was thrilled to coincidentally meet another Transammer after driving there to relive his accomplishment of 31 years ago.

After Nick arrived, we're tired yet excited and energized after reaching the top:

After hanging out for a bit and enjoying the summit, Nick actually left in a car because his uncle came to pick him up and take him to Denver to visit the family for a day (he'll get driven back up to the top of the summit in two days so he can continue the ride from the same place). I rode the 11 miles down to Breckenridge...really, really fast too, averaging around 30-35 mph. I had a beer in a pub in Breckenridge but didn't feel like sticking around there because the people didn't seem too friendly. I headed down the road about 9 miles to Frisco, CO and it was there that I had several great experiences with super friendly and generous local folks. Unfortunately I am out of library computer time so I will have to save the Frisco tales for the next blog post...sorry!!

Love, D

2010-06-22T09:42:00.000-07:00

They were right. I entered some REALLY remote country after leaving Larned, KS. It seems that it just keeps getting more and more remote, flatter and flatter (though always with an uphill grade since we're heading toward the Rockies), and hotter and hotter (between 95 and 100 degrees Fahrenheit, though fortunately the humidity has been steadily disappearing and the heat is now closer to 'bone dry'). The riding has been fairly difficult also because of the nearly constant head/crosswinds we're facing, the fact that there aren't really shade trees anywhere, as well as because there is a lot of distance between towns that have any services available. Because of the heat and the lack of civilization out here, I've been forced to carry much more weight on the bike in the form of a lot of extra food and water.

I was still with the ACA group group when leaving Larned, KS. Many of us stopped off at Fort Larned, which is said to be the best preserved military fort from the Civil War era; we had a one-hour tour led by a guide and we got to wander through all of the buildings and see how life was like at the fort 150 years ago. They let us touch and hold the uniforms (wool: hot, thick, and heavy) and guns (about 12 lbs in weight and able to shoot 2-3 shots per minute by a very skilled user). It really was a great insight into old military life and very educational regarding the relationship between the Kansan Native Americans and the white settlers back in the day. It really sort of looked like an ordinary old small town, with a bakery, a hotel, a blacksmith/gunsmith, a store, a restaurant, some houses, etc., but only with a military emphasis.

Riding into a very, very stiff (~ 30 mph) head/crosswind before and after Fort Larned, I noted on my bike computer that I'd traveled only 12.7 miles in 1.5 hours. Then, following the map, I had to turn right and go north for 19 miles, which made that head/crosswind become nearly a direct tailwind. Over that 19 miles, that 30 mph tailwind pushed me along like nothing I've ever experienced before! I really pushed hard in my biggest gears and was able to cover 19 miles in only 47 minutes. I've never averaged such a fast speed for so long (nearly 24 mph average), even on my road bike which weighs about 20% of what my fully-loaded touring bike does. In fact, the wind was so strong and I was pedaling so hard that for a short while I topped out at 41 mph...on a FLAT ROAD!!

Ness City, KS was the next night's stay after a long, hot, remote day of riding. I got a motel room at the same place the ACA group did and 23-year-old Paul from Washington D.C. and I got a pizza and watched game seven of the NBA finals together (the Lakers eked out a close come-from-behind win to take the series). That night, while I was walking down the road alone, a local guy named JD pulled over in his pickup truck (he seemed totally wasted, incidentally) and said "heykiddo, where'ya goin'?" I told him I was just walking back to the hotel after taking a few photos. He told me, "Igottapresentforyabutitain'tevenclosetoyoursize." He whipped out, from a bag of grey t-shirts, a shirt that said "RIDE in on the Kansas winds" and "There is no place like home." He pointed out very specifically that the drawing on the shirt shirt depicted the big bank building in town (very historical), the JD Spirits liquor store (he owns it), the tree next to his liquor store (there are FEW trees around, but it still makes me laugh that he included the tree on the shirt), a tornado (they happen occasionally in Ness City), and of course, a pretty girl!! He was very excited about the shirt because it was made for his class reunion which happened last month...actually, it was for ALL Ness City class reunions because, literally, all classes of the high school that have EVER graduated, were invited back for one reunion. (That's how tiny this town was!) Anyway, the shirt was a size 2XL which was absolutely laughable on me because I'm between a medium and a large. I didn't want to turn down the shirt though because he was being so generous to a complete stranger (as well as because the shirt was pretty cool and unique) so I thanked him profusely and took it. And, since it really didn't fit at all, I cut out the design part of it and have been carrying it with me on my bike, using it as a rag or hanging it from my back panniers for people to see. It makes for a great story, anyway!

The next day, I rode mostly with Joe and a little bit with Bryn and Amber to Scott City, KS. Again, it was hours and hours into a stiff headwind, through a hot head/crosswind, and with a very gradual, almost imperceptible uphill grade. We stopped at some tiny town in the middle of nowhere and found an ice cream shack with a shaded pavilion outside, which of course required us to take an hour break from riding to relax and fatten up. I had a delicious chocolate malt, chocolate-dipped ice cream cone, and catnap on a shaded bench. Oh, and a banana, and some graham crackers with peanut butter, and a plum. :)

Refreshed, we hopped back on the road and discovered that the head/crosswind had shifted to a gentle tailwind! Not wanting to waste this generous gift from the wind gods, I took off and got to Scott City a while before anyone else did. Sleeping accommodations that night were at an athletic club that allowed us to roll out our sleeping bags inside as well as use their swimming pool and showers, all for only $13. I also went to the laundromat, ate a crappy chicken sandwich with some delicious mashed potatoes for dinner, and went to bed early with a plan to get up early and leave at sunrise...6 a.m.

The next morning, to my surprise, Joe was up early with me and wanted to leave so we hit the road just before sunrise, way before anyone else.

The tailwind from the day before was still blowing in our favor, and the early morning riding provided not only cool temperatures but some delicious cloud cover; we even rode THROUGH a cloud for about 10 miles, which was really, really weird given that the terrain is FLAT.

We really were able to make some great time and we first stopped about 25 miles into the ride at the first town we came to. Joe stayed with a cup of coffee and waited for the ACA group, while I went on ahead.

The tailwind continued, as did the cloud cover, and I realized when I hit the town that we were planning to camp in (at the 47-mile mark), it was still only 8:45 a.m. and cool. I had flirted with riding a 'century' that day and at that point, I decided that I was going to go for it and really ride hard throughout the afternoon to see how far I could go. At the 73-mile mark I saw the next town so I stopped at the only business in town, the convenience store, for lunch. There I met Brett, a graphic design (I think?) professor at the University of the Pacific in Stockton, CA. We shared a booth and trail stories over delicious 12" turkey subs made with loving care by the girl running the store. Brett was really cool and laid back, and I found myself wishing we were going the same direction because I would've liked to have ridden with him for a while.

It did get hot, and it did start to get a little hillier, but I still easily hit a trifecta that day. A sign welcomed me to "Colorful Colorado", which was neither particular colorful nor welcoming, given the bland and flat landscape as well as the horribly bumpy road that would've been the worst of the trip thus far if not for having ridden long ago through that 4th-world country known as eastern Kentucky. But, by day's end, not only did I hit a new state (Colorado) and a new timezone (Mountain), but I rode 103 miles total and still arrived at my destination (Eads, CO) at 3:00 p.m. I felt I could have ridden another 30 miles or so, but the next town with lodging was 50 miles away and I didn't feel like pushing as hard as it would've taken to get there so I camped in the city park in Eads, alone for the first time in nearly a week as I'd left the ACA group behind.

In Eads, I ran into Nick and his three buddies again; they'd ridden the same 'century' I had, but they'd done it the NIGHT before. Yes, they rode 103 miles at NIGHT. They had left Scott City, KS at 9:30 p.m. the night before and had arrived at around 6:30 a.m. Apparently, some driver had called the cops on them because they felt that the bikers were not visible enough at night (I guess two of them had no lights on the bike). So, the sheriff came out and talked to all the guys individually, telling them to a) not ride so close to the center line, b) to put the riders without any lights in the middle of the group, and c) to stop at the convenience store/truck stop at the next town and buy some lights to attach to their bikes. Apparently the cop was really nice and didn't really chastise them at all. When they arrived in Eads, CO shortly after dawn, they pitched their tents, expecting to sleep for 8 hours and recover from the night ride. It proved, however, that they were not so fortunate because they all woke after about 2 hours when they were baking in direct sunlight inside their tents. Somewhat grouchy after riding all night and then not getting a good sleep afterwards, they went and got hotel rooms at that point and spent a full day recovering from their epic ride.

I left Eads very early in the a.m., around 5:55, just a little while after sunrise.

It was not an easy ride like I expected, however, because the grade was getting slightly steeper, there was more of a headwind than I'd anticipated, and I was sluggish after riding so many miles the day before. After a couple of hours, however, my energy started to kick in and the rest of the 66 mile ride proved to be alright. I was passing through Colorado country now, with more scrubby trees/bushes, a steeper grade, and more hilly areas. At one point, there were about 30 straight miles of unused boxcars on old train tracks, lining the highway. It was as if they were begging to be pulled somewhere, but to no avail. It actually made my ride both interesting and psychologically more difficult, as I was thinking "am I EVER going to pass the end of this damn train?!".

At one point, I pulled over in a map town that wasn't really a town at all and I took a quick nap on a picnic table under the tree. Yes, THE tree. Out here, when you see a shade tree, you get under it because it'll surely be miles before you see another one! After about 15 minutes of getting eaten by mosquitos and paved with flies, however, I ventured on in the heat...

In Sugar City, CO I finally met up with the older Australian couple that I've been chasing since Virginia. They're ~ 77 years old and riding a tandem bicycle. They were such a friendly pair and we had a great chat over a terrible lunch in Sugar City's only open cafe.

In Ordway, CO, the place I planned to sleep for the night, I ran into Will (from Nick's group) as well as Phyllis and Jerry (from Seattle and Baltimore, respectively). We all, as well as Fred and Barb (the 77-year-old Aussies) ended up staying in the Hotel Ordway.

For $25, there was a great clean room, a great clean (shared) bathroom, and a really receptive and helpful owner (Tom). Will and I made our way to the grocery store and shared some grapes and soymilk, while also buying some individual food items as well. I was STOKED to finally start seeing some Mexican food items in the store again because there's been a serious lack of it ever since I left Virginia. I bought some Arroz con Leche, basically a sweet rice pudding, for dessert and it was a tasty, tasty treat. Jerry and Phyllis shared their Fat Tire beer with Will and I, and then I was off to bed early (around 8:30) because I planned to get up at 5 a.m. and be on the road by 5:45 when the sun rose. I am really loving this early riding!!

I was super thankful I got up for an early ride that morning because I got the first true flat tire of the trip (recall older blog post about a 'phantom' flat in Virginia that wasn't really flat) while riding in the middle of the nowhere between Ordway and Pueblo, CO. I was happy it was early because I still had some cloud cover and wonderful 70 degree temperatures for the time when I was stuck at the side of that remote and shadeless road.

The tube had a slow leak so I had a few minutes of riding on a really soft tire while I looked for an appropriate place to pull over and change the tire where I'd be safely out of the traffic; this stretch of road had absolutely NO shoulder and only the occasional tiny pullout. I quickly found the flat - a 1/4" tiny piece of metal from a truck tire embedded in my tire and puncturing the tube. I pulled it out and since the flat was so obvious, I patched it rather than putting a new tube in. That saved me a few minutes of time and effort, as well as letting me keep my two spare tubes intact. During the 15-20 minutes I was on the side of the road working, both Phyllis and Jerry as well as Fred and Barb came upon me and stopped to make sure I was alright and to offer help if I needed it (Jerry did help me seat the tire/wheel a bit better so it didn't wobble).

The rest of the ride to Pueblo was uneventful, with nice temperatures, gentle hills, slowly-changing terrain with more trees and population, and even a bit of a tailwind now and then. I caught up with Phyllis and Jerry and we stopped at a tiny convenience/hardware store for a snack and to shoot the breeze while sitting outside in the gentle breeze.

Will passed us while we were sitting there; I eventually caught up with him down the road and the two of us rolled into Pueblo together, had some REAL Mexican food for lunch, found a bike shop (where I had a safety check done on my bike and I was pleasantly surprised to see they didn't have to do anything and didn't charge me anything), and then decided to share a motel room. Here's a view of over Pueblo's Arkansas River, as well as the train yards, with the trip's first glimpse of the Rocky Mountains way out yonder in the distance (which I'll start heading into tomorrow, most likely).

The bike shop became our hangout for the day since it was just down the street from the motel and Rojas' Mexican restaurant. We ended up catching up with Nick/Zach/Christopher, Phyllis, Jerry, and even two Transammin' girls (Lulu and Sue?) who had just arrived in Pueblo from the west. It's funny how all the cyclists always end up in the same places: bike shops, restaurants, motels, campgrounds, convenience stores, swimming pools, showers, laundromats. It's a really different way of life out here on the road because in our normal daily lives we sleep, eat, wash our clothes, and shower alone and in the privacy of our own homes; out here, we are all searching for these basic services and inevitably bump into each other over and over again.

This morning I am leaving Pueblo for Canon City, CO...after I go to the post office to mail some stuff home that I haven't been using and that I don't want to carry over all the mountains between here and Oregon. Nick, Christopher, Will, and Zach are all riding to Canon City today as well so I may meet up with them later. There's a fire buring near Canon City that's caused some local evacuations and unfortunately the Royal Gorge area that I really want to see is closed because of the fire. Apparently the fire is mostly or nearly completely under control though, and from the people I've talked to, it will likely reopen tomorrow. That will be good as I'll ride the 55 miles to Canon City today (Canon City is safe, and has had no evacuations) and then, tomorrow morning, take off and ride ~ 10 miles further to the entrance to the Royal Gorge.

I'm off to do some laundry now. I wonder who I'll see there that I know.

Catching up on over a week of TransAm trail life...

2010-06-16T15:10:00.000-07:00

So, when I woke up in the morning at the old Farmington jail (which is now a cyclists' hostel), I decided to have a lazy morning doing some laundry there and munching on some breakfast. I really was in no hurry to leave, a) because the place was so nice and b) because I had the entire hostel to myself with no one else in the building!! Therefore, I was surprised when, five feet from where I was standing, the door suddenly opened and this great big, hulking dude walked in. It was no big deal...he was just there to change the sheets on the beds, do the laundry, and clean the bathrooms, but he did scare the crap out of me. Here's the catch, though: he was a PRISONER from the REAL jail. It turns out that the old jail I was staying in really was in use just a few years ago and that once they built the new jail and turned the old one into a hostel, they decided to use currently incarcerated people to do the cleaning work at the hostel. Gerald was my prisoner's name, and he was actually a really nice guy. We chatted about sports, girls, family, bicycling, how he can't wait to get out of jail, how I can't wait to get back home...basically everything EXCEPT what he was in prison for. Even though I was dying to know, out of respect I chose not to ask him that question. He did tell me that he has 10 months left on a 5.5 year sentence and that he's just toeing the line as best he can so he can get out and get on with his life again. What really shocked me though wasn't that he was allowed Monday through Friday work duty cleaning the hostel, but that they just let him walk right out of the new jail to come clean the old one without any supervision. He really did just walk down the streets of Farmington unsupervised on his way to do the cleaning. Really, he must be a MODEL prisoner, or else they've just got really bad cops in Farmington. Here's the inside of the jail/hostel (unfortunately Gerald wouldn't let me take a photo of him):

Later that day, as I entered the Ozark mountain range and the hills started getting bigger and coming more rapidly, I began to really get hot. I had plenty of water, but the difficulty of the ride and the 90 degree humid weather was really making riding a bicycle difficult. I kept looking at the bottom of each descent for a potential reward: a creek or river with a great swimming hole. I was continually disappointed, passing muddy, gross creeks one after the other. Actually it'd been that way since Virginia; we are REALLY spoiled in the Pacific Northwest with all the clean water we've got. Then, there it was....finally! I rode across the bridge at the bottom of a big hill and at 25 mph I looked over the edge and saw a group of people enjoying a swim in a really nice river! We waved at each other and one of them yelled "hey, where you going?!" "Swimming", I screamed back, and then I heard "well turn around then!"

I did just that and ended up having about an hour and a half of the most blissful swim. The river was the perfect temperature, the current was not too weak or too strong, the people were really friendly, it was the perfect depth for either swimming or just standing around, and the both the water and the bottom of the river were ultra clean. I have no idea how this wonderful river planted itself in the middle of all the crappy muddy Midwest rivers, but I don't care. Jake, Barb, Drew, Tori, and Michael were on a week's vacation but lived abotu 60 miles away. They'd gone to a different place initially, but because it was so crowded they'd come down to this place where we were the only people around. They were so generous and when they offered me a beer from the cooler, I didn't care that it would be a Budweiser because an ice cold beer sounded amazing at that moment. I was shocked when they tossed me a GUINNESS!! Oh the irony, drinking a good beer and swimming in a clean river in Missouri. When they offered me a turkey sandwich with pepper jack cheese, I just about lost it.

When I hit the road, I had a couple of hours and a bunch of fairly big hills to climb before arriving in Ellington, MO, that night's destination. Right before I got there, there were three cars/trucks that passed way closer to me than necessary while the people inside yelled obscenities at me out the window. I kept my cool, though, and just either waved or ignored them. There's no point in making them any angrier at my existence than they already seem to be, and also I have a goal of riding the whole trip without flipping anybody off or cussing them out.

When I got into the tiny town of Ellington (just about EVERY town I get into is tiny on this journey), I pulled off the side of the road to study my map when I couldn't find the city park. As I was figuring everything out, a truck pulled up to me and a couple inside asked if I was looking for the park. I told them I was and they said they suspected as much because many cyclists camp there; they indicated it was just up the road another half mile or so, but that they lived just before the park and that I was welcome to stop and pitch my tent at their house if I liked. They continued on and told me to look for their truck, which I saw as I later rode up toward their house. They were standing outside waiting for me. I introduced myself and met Billy and his wife Barb, and their grandchildren Jesse (age 12) and Terry (age 6). They also had a little Daschund dog, whose name I cannot recall, but that they all called "Weiner" anyway.

They were all super friendly and in no time all, they had invited me to stay for dinner (homemade lasagna, garlic bread, sweet tea) as well as have a shower and sleep inside the house! In fact, Jesse offered me his bed and they changed the sheets for me too. It was awesome sleeping underneath SpongeBob, Scooby Doo, and SpiderMan for a night!!

We all hung around eating dinner, playing and cuddling with "Weiner", and watching Will Smith movies (Men In Black and Bad Boys). They brought my bike in the house so that it would be safe overnight and Billy even offered me two sets of bicycle brake pads he had in the garage because he knew I was going to be riding through some even hillier country soon (unfortunately the pads didn't fit my bike).

In the morning, with a bowl of raisin bran in my belly, I was off again, but not before I got a photograph of all of us in front of their home. Then, as I was about to leave, Jesse and Terry gave me presents! Jesse had made me a bracelet of hematite (silver stones) on an elastic string and he also gave me a handful of starlight mints (hs favorite) so I would have tasty energy on the road. Not to be outdone, the little 6-year old Terry ran out and gave me a lollipop and a bag of Pop Rocks. What an amazing group of people these folks turned out to be, opening their home to a complete (and dirty) stranger and sharing everything they had without reservation.

Heading out from Ellington, I ended up taking a lunch break after 28 really hilly miles in a nice little town called Eminence. While having a mediocre lunch at a little cafe, I met a group of four other cyclists and ate with them. While inside the cafe, I saw someone I recognized ride by and realized that I had once again caught up to the Adventure Cycling group (of 14 people) who had been staying at the same Carbondale, IL motel days earlier. I took off alone again, through more hot, hilly, and humid Ozark awesomeness and it wasn't long before I failed one of my trip goals. On the beginning of a long uphill with no shoulder for me to ride on, a big, yellow school-bus-cum-river-shuttle-bus carrying a bunch of inner tubes and other floaty thing for river trips almost ran me over, completely intentionally. There wasn't another car on the road and the bus had plenty of room to go around me, but instead, I could hear him accelerate behind me and then pass me with literally 2-3 inches to spare while shaking his fist out the window at me. Not only did it scare the shit out of me, but the wind almost pushed me off onto the gravel shoulder which certainly would have resulted in a crash. I was really pissed off and had a lot of adrenaline in me after such a close call, but I kept my cool and just ignored it. However, about 15 minutes later on the same road, I saw the same school bus up ahead turning from a dirt side road onto the highway I was riding on, this time coming towards me. Long before he reached me, he was shaking his fist out the window at me and this time I couldn't resist...I totally fell down to this kid's level and I flipped him off and yelled some very recognizeable obscenities at him right as he passed me by. I half expected him to turn the school bus around and confront me, but he didn't. I have avoided acting like an asshole for so long, but this time I couldn't stop myself.

Eventually I made Houston, MO, where I camped alone in the city park for the night without any incident. The next morning, after a quick breakfast of cereal, milk, and banana at a local convenience store, I was off. Unfortunately, about 20 minutes into my ride, I tweaked a muscle in the back of my knee (strangely enough, while going downhill, at only 6 mph, pedaling as hard as I could in my easiest gear, into about a 30 mph headwind that came out of nowhere). Throughout the morning, the muscle pain just kept getting worse and worse and I knew I had to take a break. I stopped in Marshfield, MO, the first town I came to, after only about 35 miles of riding that day. I knew I needed to take a rest day or two to see if my knee would stop hurting, and while I found a nice place to stay, it was a bummer getting stuck in a $90/night motel (that didn't even have a fridge!!) after having stayed in fairly nice motels for only $40-60/night previously. There were only 2 motels in Marshfield, and the other one was a real fleabag joint; in fact, when I called that one to talk rates and availability, the woman hung up on me and told me to go just go to the Holiday Inn after I asked if they had wireless internet available.

I spent the rest of that day and the entire next day at the Holiday Inn in Marshfield, religiously icing my knee, stretching a bit, walking around, and resting. I also found a health food store (wow, in Missouri?!) where I got some Arnica gel which is supposed to be somehow good for muscle strains (can't hurt, right?!). Then, while at the health food store, I saw a dentist's office right next door which was offering an examination along with a complete set of x-rays and a full cleaning for only $59! Who gets excited to go to the dentist? ME, that's who! It'd been too long, and since I no longer have dental insurance, I obviously have to pay cash. Before I left Portland, I'd been looking around and the cheapest I could find was $130 so I'd bagged it then. It was awesome at this dentist's office because the hygienist was really into cycling and was very supportive of me, asking all kinds of questions and telling me all about what it's like to live in her part of the world.

The knee got completely better after that day and a half of rest, relaxation, ice, and stretching. What did not get better was an ulnar nerve compression (wrist/hand) injury that I was only beginning to realize I had. About the same time the knee pain started, I began getting some tingling in my right ring and pinky fingers and I noticed that my grip strength in my right hand was significantly weaker. I couldn't turn the key in my bike lock or clip the fingernails on my left hand....scary stuff. While trying to get my knee better, I also began icing my hand and even bought a wrist brace to see if a) sleeping with it on and b) riding with it on would relieve the nerve compression and allow the strength to return.

I rode to Golden City, MO (85 miles) the next day (yes, with wrist brace on) and rode straight into a tornado warning!! Not a tornado, mind you, just a warning. But, the whole town was talking about it and of course, the town had ZERO motels for me to find shelter in. My only option was camping in the city park; I don't know about you, but camping during a lightning storm that may be throwing out tornados doesn't sound like the smartest thing to me. I spoke to the sheriff in this little town of about 1,000 people and he said that what I should do when camping out was listen for the tornado sirens - that if they started sounding, to get on my bike and ride wherever all the other cars were going (because they were going to someone's house that had a basement) and just get off my bike and run straight down into the basement with them. That was my only option...until I ran into a dude named Paul at Cooky's Cafe while I was eating the most amazing blueberry crisp pie ever. (Cooky's is famous on the TransAm trail for its particularly delicious pies.)

Paul is a local guy who lives near the city park and said he has a neighbor with a storm shelter under his house that he opens up to anyone that needs it when the sirens go off. Later that evening, Paul and his friend Mark walked over to where I was camped in the park and invited me over to Mark's house to see where the shelter was, just in case I had to use it. I was relieved to see it was only about 200 feet from my tent. Mark also offered his garage for me to sleep in if the storm got a little too much for me in the tent. They said that even if there wasn't a tornado rolling through that the lightning and rainstorm would likely be quite violent. Later that night, when the lightning began cracking waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too close, I made a run for it and slept in relative comfort inside Mark's sweltering hot garage, thankful to not have become a lightning rod, and having timed it just perfectly as the rain started POUNDING down the second after I set foot in the garage.

When I left the next morning, I had breakfast at Cooky's (all their food was great). This snapshot of an overcast Main Street of Golden City the morning after the storm does not reveal the viciousness of Mother Nature seen just hours earlier, when the driving rain and lightning strikes continued for hours on end.

Knowing Pittsburg, KS was only 36 miles away and that it was the biggest town (at 19,000) I'd seen since Charlottesville, VA (seriously, this was the largest town I'd seen in the last four states), I knew I'd stop there for both rest and because it had a bike shop. Even though my knee was now fine and my body otherwise was doing just fine, I knew I had to do something about this hand problem. As a Physical Therapist, I know that the numbness and tingling of a nerve problem, while of concern, are of much less concern than muscle weakness and atrophy. The longer a nerve compression problem remains, and the longer one goes with muscle weakness and atrophy, the less likely that strength is to ever come back once the nerve compression resolves. Given that I work with my hands, I don't want to mess with muscle atrophy/nerve compression in my hands. This presents a bit of a dilemma, given that I am in the middle of trip where I ride a bike for hours every day. I don't want to quit, but I do want to be smart.

I spent 3 nights in Pittsburg, which is loooooooong for a normal rest during a TransAm bike trip, but is a very short rest for a nerve compression syndrome. I did everything I could in Pittsburg to take care of my hand: I installed a shorter and more upright stem for my bike so that I sit more upright with more weight on my butt and less on my hands; I put some extra foam padding and handlebar tape on my handlebars with a bit of relief at the area where the ulnar nerve runs through the heel of the hand; I started taking 2400 mg of Ibuprofen daily as the doctor would suggest for anti-inflammatory purposes (I have no pain); I iced my hand/wrist 3-4 times/day; I avoided riding my bike almost entirely during those three days; I started doing some light hand/finger exercises at a level appropriate to my weakness/atrophy; oh, and I went to a Chinese restaurant where I got (and kept) the fortune that said "Serious trouble will bypass you".

The first night in Pittsburg, I found the "Tornado Lounge", a bar with some really crappy karaoke and really cheap beer. It was interesting people-watching to say the least; perhaps the most intriguing was some dude who was all "country'd up" with the hat, boots, belt buckle, Wranglers, and shirt with snaps and crazy pattern on it who was claiming to be a big star. He'd given the bar an autographed photo of himself, he gave me his card that said "singer/actor/model", and he told anyone who'd listen that he'd been invited to sing at the Texas Country Music Hall of Fame next month. He did look the part and, given my instinct to trust people until I get burned, I believed him. But then I heard him sing. There is no way that this guy would be invited to sing at the Texas Hall of Fame...I mean, he was not even good at karaoke! I think he may have been just using the whole facade to try to pick up chicks. Hey, wait a minute. I can buy a hat and sing like crap. Maybe I should do a little research project here...

The second night in Pittsburg was like a big party - the Adventure Cycling group had made it to town (I've started to see them more and more so I know most of them now) and Nick and his group of four 20-year olds were also around. There was a lot of resting and socializing going on during those two days, and it couldn't have come at a better time as I was getting pretty depressed about my hand problem and struggling with the injury, the lack of healing, and the possibility of cancelling my trip because of it. Will, the tall kid in the red shirt who is riding with Nick now had had a particularly long, difficult day at the bike shop and was planning to camp, so I let him take a shower in my room and sleep that night on the extra bed so he didn't have to set up a tent.

After Nick and the Adventure Cycling (ACA) group left, I stayed an extra day by myself and rested. I had thought I may stay up to a week and really give my hand a break, but it seemed I may be getting a bit of strength back. I also decided that I needed to try the new bicycle setup to see if it really made a difference in my symptoms. The next morning, therefore, I packed up and left, heading 60 miles for Chanute, KS.

Chanute was uneventful, except for the dinner I had at the sports bar in town where I sat outside on the patio with a local kid named Mike, a kid who was playing guitar and singing while hanging out having a few beers. He was a talented guy and interesting to talk to, having pretty much lived in every town in Kansas without ever having left. He could play any style of music and even wrote a few songs of his own. He let me play his guitar and sing a couple songs too...I was unimpressive on the guitar because of the fact that a) I haven't played in the last 6 months so my finger calluses are gone, and b) my right hand weakness limited my ability to pick and strum the strings either accurately or for any length of time. Or maybe I just suck. That could be part of it. :)

I camped in the Chanute city park for free (which was fine except the bathrooms were gross because a baseball tournament had just concluded and there was urine everywhere and no TP...but it DID have a shower!!) and ran into Tom and Alice, a couple of other cyclists who are touring with friends who follow them in an RV, carry their gear, and give them a place to sleep every night).

After leaving Chanute, it was 68 miles to Eureka, KS. Again, the city park beckoned, but when a flash flood warning was issued for the town, I hightailed it to a motel because the park is by the river. Before I left the park, I picked up Shay, a cyclist who is traveling EASTbound on the TransAm trail to share the motel room. He was a cool guy, from Flagstaff AZ, and was interesting to talk to. We cyclists are all about sharing the cost of a motel room so it was great timing for both of us to end up at the park at the same time. The lightning storm that night was once again vicious and incredible, and looked even more fantastic because of our safe and sheltered location in a room at the Blue Stem Motel. Shay travels with a bike trailer instead of panniers (the bags that hang from bike racks, as you can see on my bike in the photo background) but he says that, having used both, he still doesn't know which he prefers. I know I like having my panniers, but I've never ridden with a trailer...

I rode into Kansas' hills the next morning - the Flint Hills. They were entirely different from any other hills we've seen on this trip. They had very long but not steep grades and there are no trees anywhere! It's a good thing the day was shaded for the first few hours because it could've been miserable out there. The weather actually was really interesting....varying from super, super dark black skies with threats of rain/hail/lightning to beautiful blue cloudy temperate skies to unrelentingly clear and hot skies. There were cows everywhere; apparently the Flint Hills have millions of cattle trucked in every spring to get fattened up before they are taken back to wherever they came from and slaughtered to feed America.

I ended up in Newton, KS that night, after a very remote day with no services whatsoever for 38 straight miles. Loading up on water and food is imperative out here because there's often nothing to eat or drink for long stretches of road. I caught up with the ACA group again and they were staying at the Days' Inn. I've made friends with most of the group, and actually have spent a fair amount of time now with Joe (Pennsylvania), Bryn (NYC), Amber (Richmond, VA), Will (Eugene, OR), and Paul (Washington DC). That night, Joe, Bryn, and Amber told me how to get to a good Mexican restaurant so I went for a big burrito; then when I returned, Bryn and Amber offered to let me sleep on their hotel floor so I didn't have to set up my tent. What goes around comes around...you give to others on the road and it comes back to you eventually for sure. We had a great time hanging out watching random TV, talking cycling, and being totally lazy.

We all got up and left together the next day and it was nice to ride with a group for a while. After about 12 miles, Joe and I went ahead of the girls and we stopped for lunch in a town called Buhler about 33 miles into the ride. Buhler was just like many other Kansas towns: small, friendly, with blue skies and with a huge grain silo looming over the town. As I snapped a photo of the silo looming large above us, seconds later a farmer drove by on a big bulldozer and I couldn't resist snapping a shot of him too.

It was there that I had the VERY BEST cookie I have ever eaten in my entire life. They called it a "turtle" cookie at the restaurant, which I did not catch the name of. It was a wonderfully moist, perfectly soft yet hard, perfectly sugary yet salty chocolate chip coookie, with pecans and a caramel drizzle on top. It was truly heavenly. I have a photo but on my phone and can't post it here now, but you have to see this cookie so I'll show it in a later post.

I left Buhler alone and Joe stayed with the ACA group when they arrived a while after us. All these rain and lightning storms have produced quite a bit of flooding around the area, none of which have really affected us until the road out of Buhler. There was water across the road out of Buhler and I wasn't sure how deep it was or if I could ride or walk through it safely. As I was nearing the flooded area, a school bus driver yelled out at me that she'd take me across; she helped pull the front end of my bike up into the bus, but it was too big to fit and close the door. So, as she drove me across, I stood on the lowest step and held the rear end of my bike so it didn't fall out of the bus into the water. I think the water ended up only being a foot deep and I later heard that all the ACA folks rode through it with no problem, but I think getting chauferred across by a friendly Kansas school bus driver is a much better (and drier) story. (Yes, it is a short bus, people. Insert joke here.)

Kansas has flattened out nearly completely now, and the days are getting easier. There does seem to be a frequent wind in the face, though fortunately it's more often than not a bit of a crosswind as well and not a pure headwind. Last night brought me to Sterling, KS where I once again met up with the ACA group; this time we all camped together and Joe, Bryn, Amber, and I all went swimming at the public pool in the park. They even had a diving board! The campground was in an area completely unshaded, though, so we couldn't lounge around our tents until after dark because the sun was scorching. That was kind of annoying, but hey, you can't beat being allowed to camp and swim for free either.

Today was a relatively easy 52 mile ride to Larned, KS and actually I had a tailwind for part of the way. I got thoroughly soaked during a really heavy, but brief, rainstorm in the a.m. which actually served to cool me down nicely for the hotter afternoon. I was able to make the 52 mile ride in about 4.5 hours, which is pretty dang fast for a really heavy and loaded touring bike. Because I left early, I was able to get into the library to make this loooooooooooong blog post, which I haven't been able to do recently because of being in towns without libraries, not wanting to type because of my hand problem, not getting to town until after the library has closed, and not having a consistent data connection on my phone. I will try to get to a computer more consistently if possible so I don't keep making such annoyingly long blog posts in the future for y'all.

I am off now to go grab some dinner. It seems I'm getting some of the strength back in my hand and that the handlebar/bike setup is helping so my spirits are lifting as a result. I will be camping in the Larned, KS city park with the ACA group again tonight, and from what I hear, tomorrow we enter the REALLY remote territory. Wow, I can hardly imagine this, given how remote the country I have been rolling through has seemed recently...

A few pics and a quick update from Eureka, KS

2010-06-13T19:06:00.001-07:00

Hey everyone!

I am alive....just have had some phone problems and also have not been around a computer or a town with a library much recently. The ride has flattened out considerably as I have passed through the Ozarks in Missouri and am now into Kansas, although the thunderstorm activity has picked up and I am in a motel tonight so i don't get caught in another one.

Here are a few photos of random things...

** A Mexican restaurant waiter with seriously mad skills for carrying multiple plates at once.
**The General Lee car, for you Dukes of Hazzard fans....spotted in Pittsburg, KS.
**A road sign with a message so obvious that I couldn't believe they felt compelled to post it.
**The bike shop I rode for 200 miles to get to, only to find it completely deserted....grrrrrrrrrr.
**Allen, a guy with Friedrich's ataxia who is amazingly riding from St Louis to D.C. on a HAND CYCLE because his legs don't work (check his website: www.fromheretothere2010.com).
**Someone's idea of fun in the Ozarks....spraypainting "Have Fun!" on the road at the beginning of a really steep hill.

Ciao for now....
D

"Hey, ya wanna cold beeeeeeeeeeeeer???"

2010-06-03T18:18:00.000-07:00

I was a lazy sloth in Carbondale, IL. It was my first true rest day in 2 weeks so I took full advantage of it...I swam, I watched TV, I took naps, I ate ice cream, and I only got out of my motel bed when I needed to go to the bike shop or out for food. I even found Rogue beers in the 22 oz. bottles at the liquor store next door to the EconoLodge where I was staying. I was also able to get, between the THREE bike shops on the SAME block, all of the supplies and bike maintenance that I needed...finally! It had been over 650 miles on my route since I'd been in a town with a bike shop; you'd think that with all the TransAm cyclists coming along this route there'd be bike shops in more towns, regardless of how remote they are. C'est la vie.

It took a while for my legs to get used to pedaling a bike again when I left Carbondale after the rest day. Fortunately it was moderately flat for the first 15 miles or so I got back into the groove fairly quickly. When the ride started to get a little hot, humid, and hilly (as it ALWAYS seems to do out here in the east and midwest U.S.), I took it easy because I know the Ozark mountains are lurking in Missouri and I'll be in them in a couple of days and I'll want my legs to be as fresh as possible.

After climbing what seemed to be the longest hill ever, I began careening down the other side with glee because the road construction crew had just laid the smoothest asphalt ever. As any cyclist knows, going downhill really fast on smooth, new asphalt is the best feeling ever and not a place that one would ever willingly stop. But, as my speedometer hit about 30 mph, I passed a pickup truck stopped on the other side of the road at a mailbox and the guy yelled out at me as I whizzed by "hey, ya wanna cold beeeeeeeeeeeer??!!" As I continued downhill, I turned my head and yelled back "what?! are you serious?!?!?!?!" When he yelled "yes!!", I applied the brakes in the middle of the delicious downhill and rode back up to find out what this good samaritan had in mind. He said that he lived about 1/4 mile down the gravel road right there and that he had some cold beer in his garage if I wanted one. Not being one to turn down such a generous offer by a total stranger, I rode my bike down the driveway and was welcomed onto the property of Kenny and Jan Bell.

Jan was out in her garden pulling weeds and tending to her flowers and waved as I came by. By the time I had unclipped from my pedals, Kenny was ready with beers in cozies (sp?) and some lawn chairs. We sat outside under a shade tree, Jan and I in chairs and Kenny in the swing, drinking our 'Stag' beers and getting to know each other. Ironically, it turns out that they have a son who lives just outside of Vancouver, WA, not far from where I live. And, like me, Kenny and Jan have been bitten by the travel bug; they've been to EVERY U.S. state with the exception of Alaska, which they plan to visit next year! They've been married for over 50 years and it was quite fun to watch them interact. Both were obviously intelligent, and Kenny seemed to be a jokester who always had a smart line, while Jan seemed to be more quiet and serious, until she needed to shut Kenny up, at which time she would deliver a smart line of her own that stopped him in his tracks. I did decline a second 'Stag' but accepted an A&W Root Beer. They were going to town to buy a new dishwasher and invited me along for dinner but I needed to get going as it was getting fairly late in the day and I still had some miles to ride to get to my next destination.

Kenny filled my water bottles from his well, while I asked if there was a restroom I could use. "Number one or number two?" he inquired. Laughing, I managed to get out "number one". He pointed me in the direction of an outhouse with a crescent moon on it next to the garage and as I headed across the grass, he yelled out to me to "watch out for them black snakes. 'S liable to be one curled up right there on the floor inside. I'm serious now." Great...how am I supposed to pee when I'm worried about snakes in the outhouse? Somehow I managed, and I saw no long, scary snakes. We shook hands and I left, my thirst quenched and my soul satisfied after a great one-hour experience shared with generous total strangers.

After b.s.'ing with the Bells, the ride to Chester, IL only took me a couple of hours. As many of the towns I have passed through along way have had, Chester had a place where cyclists can sleep for free; the Fraternal Order of the Eagles has built a cyclists' bunkhouse behind their building that has nine simple bunks. You have to use your own sleeping bag and sleeping pad, but the tiny building is covered, has air conditioning, has a light, and is free! Come to think of it, that's a great moneymaking idea on the Eagles' part because once a cyclist is camped there, it's really easy to go inside and buy their food and beer, which I of course did. A generous Eagle by the name of Val bought me a beer and he and I talked for quite a while about random things. The sweet and cute bartender Sarah treated me very kindly and loved hearing stories about and seeing photos of little Buck the Light Fantastic.

Chester, IL was the birthplace of E.C. Sager, the creator of Popeye the Sailor Man and Chester has latched onto that with all it has. Everywhere you go in that tiny town is a Popeye statue, mural, sign, or something else indicating that you have arrived in Popeyeland.

After doing a load of laundry at the local laundromat and having dinner and a beer at the Eagles' place, it was time for bed. But, as I was heading across the parking lot to where the bunkhouse is, I was warmly greeted again by a carney guy that had been friendly several times earlier that night when we'd passed each other. (The carnival had come to Chester for the Eagles' annual party/fundraiser and were setting up to open the carnival the following day.) This time the guy was extra wasted because he'd been drinking all night, but he said he'd love to talk to me about bicycling and invited me over to have a beer and hang with his group of carnival people. He was really nice so I took him up on it; the hanging out didn't last long though because a) he was wasted and couldn't really hold much of a conversation, b) his group of carney friends were really not social with me in any way and were generally quite abrasive, and c) I was tired and not in the mood to try to force good conversation with people that no interest in talking to me. I have heard the carney stereotypes before, such as being unhealthy, socially inept, and generally not well-behaved; now, from this small sample size, I can say that I understand why these stereotypes have come about. Many of these folks were missing multiple teeth; most were either really fat and eating a lot, or really skinny and smoking a lot; most were very drunk; all were peppering their sentences with multiple and repeated cusswords; and really most didn't seem to be able to relate to someone that wasn't part of their group. I tried for a while, but it was pointless and I just went to bed about 15 minutes after I sat down with them. Sadly or intelligently (I am not sure which), I didn't really trust the carnival group and I pulled my bike into the bunkhouse with me and locked myself in for the night.

In the morning, I woke early and was out on the road before the heat found its way to the air. Chester is the place on the TransAm trail where we cross the Mississippi River, so before I knew it, I was at the bridge (which was all torn up with construction) and ready to cross into Missouri.

Today's ride after crossing the Missippi has been a difficult one for some reason. The heat and humidity have been no worse than other days on the trip; and the hills, while challenging, haven't been any steeper or longer than those I've already done. I don't have a reason, but I just felt I had to listen to my body and kind of take it easy today. So, at one point in the mid-day sun, I pulled over and took a 1.5 hour nap on a picnic table under a church shelter. Then, in my post-nap grogginess, about 1/3 of a mile up the road, I could've sworn I was passing a MICROBREWERY. "There's no way that this could be real", I thought, but it was. So, only 1/3 mile after a long nap, I stopped for another hour and drank a sample platter of the locally microbrewed beer and a delicious microbrewed root beer. Hey...gotta listen to your body, right?

After that second pit stop, it took me a good five miles to get feeling good again, but then I started to cruise and right when I hit my stride 15 miles later, I arrived at my destination for the night...Al's Place, the TransAm Trail Inn. The old Farmington, IL jail has been converted into cyclists' hostel.

The place is incredibly nice compared to everything else I've seen on the road. There are actual beds with actual mattresses, clean linens, laundry, showers, soda/water, cable TV, a computer with internet access (at which I sit right now), couches, and all of this is in a really cool old renovated brick building. All you have to do is arrive, call the police station, get the lock code to the front door, and come in and make yourself at home. There is a suggested $20/night donation per person and a metal box on the wall will accept your money. The city manager let himself in a little while ago and generously gave me a tour, the history of the building (as I said, it was a jail), the history of the name (Al was a beloved local cyclist who died of cancer a few years ago), and a good Midwest welcome with tips about local roads to ride/avoid.

Now, though I've been snacking on watermelon and microwave popcorn, it's time to go get a proper dinner to fuel up for tomorrow's supposedly grueling beginning to the Ozark mountain range...so, goodnight!

Adios Kentucky, Hola Illinois!!

2010-05-31T19:49:00.000-07:00

Before I forget, yes Lloyd, I toured the Heaven Hill Bourbon Distillery in Bardstown, KY. You know I did it because I knew you'd kill me if I was camping 1/4 mile away from a bourbon distillery and didn't go check it out. No, I didn't like the bourbon tasters they gave me, but it was very interesting to learn about the history of bourbon and how bourbon is made. So, bottom line, your Ten High is still safe when I'm in the house...

Ok...to catch up on recent hot TransAm happenings:

I neglected to take a rest day after the epic 120 mile ride, even though I was in a relatively good place for it. The Sebree, Kentucky First Baptist church hostel was comfortable, clean, and generously run by Bob and Violet, the pastor and his wife. However, I already had it in my head that I needed to get to Carbondale, IL as quickly as possible in order to catch up with Nick for a day, as well as to be able to have my rest day in a proper motel with actual civilization nearby (including a bike shop), rather than a church basement in the middle of nowhere. And, surprisingly, my legs still felt somewhat peppy the next morning.

So, I rolled on. The ride from Sebree, KY to Elizabethtown, IL was about 70 miles and the heat and humidity once again proved to be somewhat relentless.

I stopped for a little lunch in Marion, KY and to cool off and rest. After a McDonald's ice cream cone and a club sandwich at the Main Street corner cafe, I took a little snooze in the town gazebo.

After Marion, the road decended over 12 miles down to the Ohio River, passing through a lot of Amish farmland along the way. I passed about 5-6 Amish horse-drawn buggies and all of the folks in the carts I passed were extremely friendly and waved as I zoomed quickly by. Unfortunately, because it was a Sunday, none of their farms/stores were open for me to check out.

There is no bridge from Kentucky to Illinois at the place where the TransAm trail reaches the the Ohio River so I hopped on the free ferry. It's a 3 minute ride and one arrives in Cave-in-Rock, IL. There literally is a large cave which over the years has sheltered stranded travelers, killers, robbers, tax evaders, and those trying to get out of the merciless heat and humidity. Lewis and Clark even crossed the river there.

When I arrived in Elizabethtown, IL, I was blindsided by the beauty of the place. It's a tiny, tiny town of about 300 people, and is situated about 10 miles downstream from Cave-In-Rock. I was immediately drawn to an area on the river with a hotel and gazebo and a gorgeous view. I actually felt homesick at that moment; the view reminded me of what one sees when first entering the Columbia River Gorge from the west on Interstate 84 in Oregon.

I walked up onto the porch at the Rose Hotel and was greeted by Sandy, the owner (actually, she leases the hotel from the State of Illinois because it is a historical property that cannot be purchased). Although I was not a guest with a reservation, she immediately proved to be a sweet and generous soul, telling me that I could sleep either in my tent on the grass or under the gazebo, without charge. And, she said, she'd leave the side door open for the night so if it stormed, I was welcome to come inside and sleep in the dining room!

As it turns out, Sandy is a member of the Vinyard family who were having their 200 year family reunion in Elizabethtown over the Memorial Day weekend. As Sandy and I were talking, several other family members joined us on the porch and they all seemed to be quite interested in my journey. We chatted for about a half hour and then I said needed to get going down to the river for dinner at the floating dock restaurant (it was only a 30 second walk away). As it turns out, all of the Vinyards except for Sandy were also going to dinner and they asked if they could join me. I said "of course", and they showed up a few minutes later; we had the waitstaff push a couple of tables together for us.

What a wonderful group of people the Vinyards turned out to be. Seated next to me in the photo below there's Uncle Jay from Amarillo TX, the patriarchal figure of the family, who is 87 years old but doesn't look a day over 70. He generously insisted on buying everyone's dinner, including mine. Jay's sister Jenny is next to him and lives in Nebraska. Across from me are Jim and Jenny, husband and wife, from Mobile AL; Jenny is the older Jenny's daughter. Finally, the young guy in the front of the picture is Paul Vinyard, a 23 year old reserve Marine from Albuquerque NM. Paul is learning all he can from the Marine reserve school classes and is hoping to return to full-time Marine duty at anytime. We had a great conversation over about an hour and a half and they brought me into their fold just like I was one of their own. (To the Vinyards: thank you so much for all of your generosity, time, and conversation. Traveling alone can be difficult and it was very special to be included as a part of a great group, even if for a short time.)

After dinner, I headed back up to the Rose Hotel's gazebo area; it was just after sunset. It had stormed in the distance during dinner and there was a beautiful partial rainbow right over the gazebo which seemed to be beckoning me to sleep under it after a long, hot day in the saddle. I wheeled my bike into the gazebo with me, blew up my sleeping pad, and laid down in my silk sleeping sack, the river breeze gently cooling me and and whispering in my ear as I fell into a deep slumber.

Starting fairly early in the a.m. is becoming crucial if the ride is to be a) somewhat comfortable, and b) of any real distance. It's easy to get bored out there and riding sometimes seems like work. Riding earlier in the morning is not only cooler, but the light hits the earth at a shallower angle and makes for more beautiful contrasts. I liked seeing my shadow on the grass embankment next to the road this morning:

And, this photo at Little Grassy Lake, just outside of Carbondale, made me laugh because of the reference to "sunshine", given that it was about 5 minutes before I got soaked in a thundershower. (If you look closely above the top tube of my bike, you'll see that not everyone agrees with such sunny sentiments.)

Tonight, I sit in the Carbondale EconoLodge reunited with Nick. We just walked over to Applebees and had a fairly lame dinner of buffalo chicken wings, three-cheese pasta, and raspberry lemonade. While inside, however, a HUGE thunderstorm hit and we ate very slooooooooooooowly so that we wouldn't get drenched on the 1/2 mile walk back to the hotel. We definitely picked the perfect amount of time to wait, though, because upon exiting the restaurant we were greeted with the most perfect and gorgeous rainbow that EITHER of us had EVER seen..and wouldn't you know that neither one of us had brought a camera or even a cell phone with which to capture such perfection? You'll just have to trust me.

I'm now off for another beer and to watch hockey with Nick. And then a cinnamon/sugar bagel with raspberry cream cheese. Tomorrow is my rest day and Nick is leaving, but Tara (the other cyclist gal, the one with the back problems) has arrived in Carbondale by car, a few days earlier than her husband Stefaan, and she and I will meet up tomorrow and share in the laziness of a non-ride day.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh...a soft, warm bed is MINE tonight. Small pleasures, after > 1250 miles on a bike.

Finally, I couldn't resist this shot as I rode along one solitary morning:

It's a shame I'll miss "Sin D"...

2010-05-30T12:17:00.001-07:00

Hehe, I love Kentucky. (Actually, central and western Kentucky have been beautiful and the people generally quite friendly.) But then there are signs like this to remind you where you are...

PS...I am 12 miles from the Ohio River ferry which will take me into Illinois. While I am excited to see a new state, I am sad I probably won't be seeing anymore dune buggys on the street painted witb confederate flags like the 'General Lee' and piloted by devil-may-care dudes who look like they're straight outta the woods.

Today's EPIC ride: 119.9 miles!!!

2010-05-29T21:23:00.001-07:00

I had no idea when I started out early this morning that today's ride would end up being so crazy long.

Total miles: 119.9
Avg speed: 13.1 mph
Max speed: 36.5 mph
Total time on bike: 9:08:44
Estimated weight of bike + gear (without me): 85-90 lbs
Low temp while riding: 71 degrees
High temp.while riding: 92 degrees
Humidity while riding: nasty wet
Breakfast break: 15 mins
Breakfast: 3 biscuits and sausage gravy - homemade
Lunch break: 55 mins
Lunch: chef salad, 2 large cokes, side of fried apples
Snack breaks: 30 mins and 35 mins
Snacks: 1 Clif bar, large turkey/cheddar Lunchables pack, 2 donuts, 1 bag donut holes, orange juice bottle, RC cola can, bottle of Coke, peanut butter crackers 8 pack, 1 banana, 1 apple.
After ride dinner: several helpings of what I detailed below.

What on earth possessed me to ride so far today? Multiple things. I woke up early to ride before it got hot. Then it got hot and there was no good stopping point. The ride was flatter than other days have been thus far (not actually FLAT, mind you...see the elevation profile from Sonora to just past Beech Grove, reading from right to left). There was a great church hostel to stay at with showers, food, and a real bed, IF I could ride that far. I was feeling strong and wanted to see how far I could push my limits today. I changed to the Central time zone and therefore gained an extra hour of daylight. I want to get to Illinois. There was no wind. And finally, the ride through central Kentucky was really pretty and the heat and hills waned a little bit in the late afternoon.

After all that, I arrived to a large home-cooked meal of breaded chicken with bearnaise sauce, potatoes with cheese, cornbread, fried cabbage/onions/bacon with soy sauce, lima beans, watermelon, and lemon pie with graham cracker crust...all cooked by Pastor Bob's wife, Violet.

Pastor Bob then took me to The Purple Opry to see some local musicians get down - that was a hoot! I was the youngest person there by 30 years and I sat with an animated 84 year old dude who was 3 days removed from 2 carotid artery stent placements. It was a stompin' and clappin' good time!

What an amazing day. Also today I blasted past the 1000 mile mark for the trip...

Now: sleep! G'night. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

2010-05-27T16:50:00.000-07:00

Well, it's five days 'post-Buck'. The ride away from Rosedale, VA was straight up a steep mountain for about 4-5 miles and, given the fact that I was already overly emotional and pissed off, the onset of a heavy rainfall while climbing didn't help my mood at all. I had to pull over and put on my waterproof gear (which I hate to have to use because it's HOT, and using it while climbing a mountain is much worse). At least I was able to use that negative energy for good and I powered up the hill with much more force than I normally do.

Fortunately, not long after reaching the top of the hill, I saw a laundromat...something I hadn't seen in 4 days. I needed to do all my washing so it was a great excuse to get out of the rain. The rain stopped during the hour and a half I was there, but as I was sitting there watching loud, jacked-up, hillbilly trucks go by, a half-mile long funeral procession passed (with a real hearse and everything) which kind of seemed like a bad omen. The really nice woman cleaning the laundromat engaged in some mildly awkward but nice conversation with me for a while, and then, because she learned I was riding cross-country, she gave me my drying time for free. I kind of felt bad taking the free dry time because she had just finished telling me about how the laundromat had recently closed after a theft of the change machine and the $60 in it, and then had nearly not reopened because it really makes no money and because the $2,000 cost for a new change machine was quite prohibitive. But her gesture was very much appreciated and I just smiled and thanked her nicely. It was nice to have someone be nice to me when I was in such a foul mood.

I still have very mixed feelings about giving Buck away, but ultimately I still feel that he's got to be much more comfortable where he is. The weather for the last five days has been generally really hot and humid (it kind of freaks me out because it's been decent in the mornings but moderately miserable in the afternoons and this isn't even truly HOT like it soon will get). If I'm that hot, sticky, thirsty, and pissy now, I can only imagine how little Buck would have felt, given that he's BLACK and would be trapped inside some kind of carrying container! And, with all the hills I have to climb, the bike is constantly swaying side-to-side and the little guy would be getting jostled around repeatedly.

After leaving Buck, I entered eastern Kentucky that same day; what a depressing place that turned out to be! That is deep Appalachia, my friends, replete with poverty like none I've seen in the U.S. before. The local folks vary from apathetic to suspicious to openly hostile and they don't generally take too kindly to outsiders. The countryside is very rugged, dominated by canyon after steep canyon (called 'hollows' and pronounced 'hollers'). These hollows are very hard to ride through not only because they're very steep but because of the dangers from cars and dogs as well. There are no leash laws (in fact, as I think about it, I'm not sure there are ANY laws) in eastern Kentucky; therefore, around literally almost every bend there's a snarling, vicious dog waiting in the yard or street to chase (and quite likely bite) you, while thoughtless owners who couldn't care less about their dogs' behavior sit on their porches or inside their trailers and do absolutely nothing about it. Combine this with the big trucks and clearly non-street-legal four-wheelers zooming far too closely by, as well as the generally poor state of roads with broken up asphalt, random holes, and no guardrails as you ride over creek drainages, and it becomes quite a scary place to be on a bike.

I have befriended a couple named Tara and Stefaan who are riding from Durham, NC to Portland, OR, where they are going to live. One day as Tara and Stefaan were riding through one of these areas, Stefaan passed through first and startled two dogs. One dog chased him but didn't have the right angle to attack; however, the second dog had the time to get the perfect chase angle on Tara and the snarling bastard bit her on the calf. She had to stop her bike trip, find a community health clinic (where they refused to treat the wound, and said she needed to go to an E.R.), and ultimately deal with this huge hassle of getting cared for so her leg didn't get infected. The dog's owner was a real jerk, didn't return phone calls or accept any responsibility, and only recently has begrudgingly agreed to pay for Tara's medical bills as long as Tara and Stefaan don't sue. (Wonder if THAT check will ever arrive in the mail...)

So, I am carring "Halt", which is a pepper spray specifically for fending off attacking dogs and doesn't hurt them but irritates their eyes for 5-10 minutes. I really do hate the thought of using it, though, because deep down I just don't want to hurt a dog. I'd rather spray the dog's OWNER in the eyes. I've only sprayed it once, and kind of half-heartedly. So far my approaches of either screaming at the dog or talking sweetly to it ("good boy, that's a good puppy, hi puppy dog, good boy") seem to be working well enough. I also take one foot out of the pedals and am ready to kick the little effer in the face if it comes to that. Fortunately I haven't been flanked by multiple dogs yet, though I hear stories from other cyclists who have.

One night, I was put up in a church's gymnasium (a regular cyclists' sleep spot on this route). The place was filthy (I wiped the sleeping mat down with a bleach solution before putting my sleeping bag on it), but the generosity of the owners was wonderful. They provided a safe place to stay for cyclist and cycle, and had available a lot of free food, towels, soap, showers, toothbrushes, etc. It did kind of creep me out when they locked me in, though, and said not to open the door for anyone for any reason, and to make sure to bring my bike inside because it would surely get stolen if left out overnight. It creeped me out even more when the guy running the place said not to go out at night because the local boys would probably attack and rob a cyclist if given an opportunity (even though his wife disagreed). It was also kind of creepy being locked in that big, dirty gym all alone for a night, with birds chirping in the walls and some kind of animals (mice?) scurrying around amongst the 15-foot-deep clutter pushed against the back wall, though at least I had a safe, dry place to be overnight. (Sure makes me appreciate home!)

One funny thing about eastern KY is the local signs for election candidates. While in every other place, you see "John Smith for Treasurer", or "Sally Jackson for Sheriff", here you literally see "Fuzzy (Buddy Boy) Johnson for Jailer" and Wendell (Bubba) Martin for Coroner". It was hilarious to see all these people using their down-home nicknames as they try to get elected for public office. I guess if they've been "Buddy Boy" or "Bubba" their entire lives in the local community, that's how they'd have to have their names on signs and ballots.

It was about three days worth of riding in eastern Kentucky (also known as Kensucky or Kenbodia) and I couldn't wait to leave. I have now reached a more central part of Kentucky, and it's completely different. It is almost like I crossed a line and it was just a different country. The people are nicer, they drive more respectfully, there are fewer dogs, the land is more rolling hills than tight hollows, and there's less trash. I'm starting to see signs of nicer homes, some beautiful horses, some beautiful lawns and gardens - the things I was anticipating seeing in Kentucky.

I've been with Tara and Stefaan for 3 days now, but we may part soon. Tara is having some back problems and may take a week off and take a bus somewhere for some treatment and a professional bike fitting. I do know I'll see them back in Portland, however, if not again later in the trip.

Don't get me wrong...I've had a few nice conversations with people in eastern KY. I learned from one guy that the ways locals make their money in Bevinsville are "coal, drugs, and welfare". I learned that the Eighty Motel I was seeking was closed due to "alotta drug stuff goin' on and they was makin' pornos in there too".

One generous soul did stop me and have a chat...and said that had he known I was camping a few miles away the night before, he'd have had me over for a barbecue. Thanks, Lee!!

"The best 3 days of my ride", or "The worst 2 miles of my ride", or "Buck, The Light Fantastic"

2010-05-25T14:04:00.000-07:00

So Nick and I were riding along late one afternoon, having just ascended and descended Mt. Rogers in rural western Virginia, and beginning the ascent of another hill, the name of which I cannot remember. It was getting late in the day as we passed a horse camp and we decided that we may not make it to the next small town before dark so we'd be better off getting a campsite at the horse camp and finishing the hill the next morning. We paid our $5 site fee and claimed our space. I saw there were three other people camping in this fairly large campground, all with large trucks, horse trailers, and at least a couple of horses. Two of the groups had several dogs as well.

I ambled over to our nearest neighbor, wanting to just be friendly and have a quick chat. The guy was a real woodsman, dressed in full camouflage from head to toe. We started chatting and within about a minute, I heard a rustle in the weeds to my left and saw a little puppy running straight for me. The adorable little pup came right up to my leg and was rubbing up all over me. I told the guy that his dog was really cute and asked how old it was. He said "that ain't MY dog. I don't want nuttin' to do with that thing. 'S been runnin' 'round here for a day or so and I jus' keep tryin' to 'gnore the damn thing." We continued to talk about other things for the next five minutes or so, and all the while I thought the guy had been just kidding around about the dog. When I was about to walk back to my campsite, I said "well, thanks for letting me pet your dog. He's really cute." The guy repeated his denials about owning the dog so I scooped the puppy up and took him with me, telling the guy that I was going to go over to the other campers to see if one of them had lost the poor little thing. I figured for sure someone had to be going crazy looking for their missing little puppy.

How wrong I was. The first other group of people were friendly enough but said it wasn't their dog, even though they did pet him and say he was a "cute little bugger". They had two dogs of their own with them and they didn't want to take another puppy. They simply said "I guess he's yours now. Good luck riding across the country with him." The next group of people I approached didn't even let me get within 20 feet of their camper; they saw me coming and yelled out loudly and rudely "don't bring that thing over here! We don't want that dog anywheres near ours!! That thing's been runnin' around here for a day or two now and we don't want it!" I was shocked. That second group was actually the campground HOSTS; you'd think that at least if the hosts saw a stray puppy, they'd call someone or protect the little guy until someone came to get him.

So, I walked with Nick back to our site, holding the puppy and wondering what to do. He sure was a sweet and adorable little thing and there was no way I was going leave him out in the remote wilderness to die like all those other people seemed perfectly content doing. "But, I'm on a cross-country bike trip", I said to myself. "I can't take a dog with me!"

I decided to see if the little guy was hungry. I tossed some bits of my energy bar onto the ground and he voraciously attacked it, as if he were starving to death. I made up some peaches and cream oatmeal from my foodbag and he chowed that down too. He didn't like the nut and dried fruit bar I tried to give him, but he mowed down on a cheese and peanut butter cracker I tossed him. I then made my dinner and and set up my tent. Under the rain fly, in the tent vestibule, I set up a little bed for him consisting of a plastic groundcloth to keep him dry, a small dirty laundry bag for some cushion, and, to keep him warm, the 'Sweet Treats: Lick It Up' t-shirt that the nice ice cream shop folks had given me in Lexington, VA. I put some water in the lid of my camping pot and set it nearby. Before I was done getting ready for bed myself, the little pup was sound asleep on the makeshift bed I'd created for him.

That night, as I expected, he tried to get into my tent several times, his little claws shredding but not puncturing the netting. He was determined, but after I firmly told him "no" a few times he'd just curl up against the black laundry bag and go back to sleep, right next to my head. Every so often, I'd wake up and unzip the tent and reach out and pet him a little bit for reassurance. In the morning, I discovered to my surprise that not only was he still curled up right next to my head, but he had also gotten up from his bed and left the tent vestibule to go potty. Smart little guy doesn't poop where he sleeps.

In the morning, I fed him some milk and some puppy food that the camp host (who must've been feeling guilty) had dropped off for me. He attacked it like he'd never seen a real meal before. The pup wouldn't leave my side for long, and if he did, he was hovering around Nick. I decided that the only way to deal with him would be to take him into the nearest town and see if I could find him a vet to check him out, and perhaps find someone to take him. I cleared out my handlebar bag and put his new bedding, the Sweet Treats t-shirt, inside for cushioning. After I packed up camp and was ready to leave, the moment of truth came. I picked the puppy up and put him into the handlebar bag. I was surprised that he fit, as well as that he didn't try to jump out. I partially zipped the top of the bag shut so that he could move around a little, but couldn't really jump out. He was trapped, but as comfortable as possible, I supposed.

For the first couple of miles, he struggled to get out and I had to keep petting him to reassure him that it was ok, but after a while, as you can see in the picture (yes, it was taken when I was going 15 mph), he just settled right in and went for the ride. I got into the next town of size, which was about 20 miles away, around lunch time. I went and got a sandwich, which I shared bits of with him, and we parked under a shade tree. By this time, I swear he was becoming my dog. He'd hang out in the handlebar bag contently when I walked away, and then when I'd come back to the bike and take him out, he'd run around in the grass and explore but he'd always return to me. I noticed he'd even come to me when I called him. People at the restaurant fawned all over him and were amazed at how well-behaved he was and how he came to me when I called him. They wanted to know how old he was and what breed he was; each time I had to respond with "I don't know. I just found him abandoned in the wilderness and picked him up last night." Someone asked me what his name was and, at that moment, he became known as 'Buck'.

After lunch, I inquired and learned that there was a veterinary clinic about 3 miles off my route, out of town, in a little white house by the side of the road. At that point, I said goodbye to Nick because I didn't know how things would turn out with Buck and I didn't want to hold Nick up from a day of riding. Buck and I found the clinic right where I'd been told it was and inside we found Heather, the vet's assistant, ready and willing to help. Heather was Angel #1 for Buck. She took one look at him and said his little potbelly indicated that he had roundworms and she then gave him some medicine for free. She gave me a second dose, also for free, in a little syringe that I was to squirt into his mouth two weeks later. The vet wasn't in, but figuring that the deworming was the initial step anyway, I didn't wait around until he came back. Heather gave me a lot of helpful suggestions and after posing for a photo with Buck, Buck and I hit the road.

Buck, by this time, had become quite familiar with the routine of handlebar bag bicycle travel, with occasional pit stops for food and drink. He was requiring less reassurance and less frequent petting to stay calm inside the handlebar bag so I began to give him a little more room - meaning that I was not zipping up the bag all the way and trapping him inside because he was being such good boy staying inside on his own. So, you can imagine my surprise when all of a sudden, when I was going 23 miles per hour down a steep hill, Buck suddenly and without warning literally LAUNCHED himself out of the bag, straight forward over the front wheel. To this day, I have no idea how I, a) caught him, b) didn't crash, and c) didn't hurt him. I kid you not - as he flew out of the bag and toward the ground in front of the bike, I instinctively let go of the handlebars with my right hand, reached forward and down, and somehow caught him by his back right leg before he hit the ground and/or I ran over him. I was scared to death, and even more concerned hearing him yelping and screaming out in pain as I held him dangling by one leg while trying to stop the bike one handed on a steep descent. When I managed to stop safely, I laid the bike down and set him on a small patch of grass on the side of the road. He scampered away, apparently not hurt, and immediately pooped....and (sorry for the gross detail here) it was full of big roundworms.

It dawned on me then that it was about 50 minutes before that Heather had given Buck the deworming medication. I just never expected that it would work so quickly! Of course Buck had leapt out of the bag...he didn't know it was unsafe, and he had to GO!! Fortunately, I didn't injure his leg when I grabbed him, and fortunately he forgave me for hurting him. In fact, I think that moment was a bonding moment, strangely enough.

Buck and I ended up that night in Hayter's Gap, VA....literally the middle of nowhere as there wasn't a soul in sight. I found a deserted church where someone had mowed a little grassy area down by the river and I set up our camp for the night. (See the tent in the lower right corner of the picture.)

I cooked dinner on the church steps, pasta and sauce for me, and dog food softened with warm water for Buck. He scarfed it down; in fact, he even got both feet in the food dish when he couldn't reach the other side!

I set up Buck's bed the same way, and he performed flawlessly. Sensing this time that he was not in danger of being abandoned, he didn't even try to get inside the tent this time. He just curled up on his bed and fell asleep, his little body resting only about 6 inches from my head. A couple of times during the night, I awakened to the sound of little Buck trotting outside of the tent vestibule and coming back a minute later and getting comfortable in his bed once again. In the morning, I saw that, again, he had been leaving the tent to make sure that he went potty away from where we were sleeping.

Buck was definitely teething and was chewing everything in sight: sticks, shoes, calf muscles, fingers, carpet church steps, and even cracks in the asphalt! I knew I had to get him a chew toy, not only for him and his teething, but for my sanity. Maybe if he had something he could chew on, I could take my eyes off him for more than 20 seconds!

We broke camp early that day, around 745 a.m. and I got 16 miles in by about 930 a.m., which brought us into the small little town of Rosedale, VA. There's isn't much more there than a convenience store/gas station and a few other little buildings, so I pulled into the store's parking lot to get a drink and try to figure out if there was a veterinary clinic near town. I had decided by this point that I really wanted to get a vet to examine Buck fully, so I could make sure he was ok, see if he needed other shots/medicine, and perhaps see if someone was available to adopt him. At this point, I hadn't decided yet whether or not I was going to keep Buck or adopt him out, but I wanted him to see a veterinarian, regardless.

As I stood at the convenience store preparing to go in and ask the clerk if there was a vet clinic nearby, I spotted a guy wearing a U.S. Census cap and looking rather official. I figured that if anyone would know what was in the local area, it would be 'census guy'. It turns out I was right. Bob Haydock knew immediately that there was a vet about 10 miles away in the town of Lebanon. As it also turns out, Bob had been driving down the road and had seen me on my bike so he had turned into the gas station/convenience store parking lot to talk to ME; he wanted to know if I'd stayed at the Elk Garden Church the night before (they offer free housing/food to cyclists passing through). I told him that I hadn't stayed there, but that I'd heard it was a good place. Bob seemed to be amused by Buck and was petting the little pup, so I decided to go for broke - I asked him if one of his church parishioners might be able to drive me the 10 miles to the veterinarian's office so I wouldn't have to ride my bike. To my surprise, Bob said he was done with his work for the morning and could take me himself.

Bob was Buck's Angel #2. Not only did Bob drive us 10 miles to the vet, he waited there for 2.5 hours for us until the vet was able to fit us in and finish the examination!

The vet said that Buck was in good health, but that she suspected heartworms as well as some more roundworms, so she gave him medication for both. She said he appeared old enough for his first round of shots so she gave him those. She suspected Buck's age was approximately 8 weeks, his breed to be miniature Pinscher (not a Doberman), and that his eventual weight would be about 20-25 lbs. She gave Buck the seal of approval and said he'd live to be a great, healthy dog!! (She also said he'd probably grow 1-2 lbs a week and quickly outgrow his handlebar bag bike bed.)

I have to thank Buck's Angels #'s 3 and 4, Ruth and Carney, of the veterinarian's office. Not only did they love all over Buck, but they managed to fit Buck into an otherwise VERY busy day at the clinic when they were dealing with multiple emergencies; and, additionally, they gave me a 20% discount on the costs and a free bag of Science Diet puppy food. Unfortunately I didn't get a picture of these fine ladies with Buck.

After leaving the vet's clinic, I treated Bob to lunch at McDonald's. It was interesting not only because I brought Buck inside the restaurant (inside his handlebar bag bed), but because it was McDonald's GRAND OPENING. Lebanon's folks had come out in full force to experience the new Mickey D's and had filled BOTH of its drive-thru lanes, as well as the seating inside. Bob and I managed to get a seat and we didn't get kicked out even though I had a dog in my bag. :)

Bob offered to take me anywhere I needed to go before dropping me off at the store where my bike was locked. I took him up on the offer and we went to Wal-Mart, where I bought a bag of 50 rawhide chewtoys and a small red collar for Buck. After we finally made it out of Wal-Mart (Buck got a LOT of attention), we drove the 10 miles back to my bike.

Bob dropped me off and it was at that point I had to make a decision about whether or not I was going to continue riding for the day, if I was going to get a room at the motel next to the convenience store, or if I was going to go back to the Elk Garden Church - Bob's church, which was two miles back along the route I'd already come. At this time, it was about 230 p.m. and I made the decision to ride back to the church. I wanted to spend the day with Buck as I tried to decide what to do. The folks at the vet's office had told me that the following day there was scheduled an 'Adopt-A-Pet' event at Wal-Mart at 8 a.m. and I had a huge decision to make about whether to keep and ride with Buck, or to find a good home for him. I also figured we would have more room at the church than at the motel, because the church had a large covered area with picnic tables, an expansive yard with a lot of grass for Buck to run in, and cupboards with free food! The only thing I'd be giving up was a shower and the church would be much cheaper and much more comfortable for Buck. (As it turns out, I took a cold shower with a garden hose behind the church which was painful but better than nothing!)

Buck and I spent the day playing in the yard outside the church. We had the deserted church to ourselves for a few hours until some guys showed up to work on the water supply to the building next door to the church. As we chatted and I told them the Buck's story and the large decision that was looming over me, one of the guys immediately said "well I'll take him off your hands right now." I think he could tell I was hesitant because he then said that he already had three other dogs and that Buck would be well cared for. I told him I'd think about it; not only had I not decided to give Buck away, but I wasn't sure that this was the right guy. Over the next 30 minutes, as Buck ran around and this guy that had offered to take him never once bent down to pet him, never once called him by name, and never once showed any actual interest in him, I was easily able to make the first decision: I definitely would NEVER give Buck to that hillbilly. I can just see him being thrown outside and ignored, or yelled at and hit because he did something that made the guy mad.

So as they left and the guy once again told me he'd take the dog but didn't pay any attention to Buck, rather than tell him there's no way I'd ever give him my dog, I told the guy I wasn't sure what I was going to do. He said he'd swing by in the morning before work to see what I'd decided since it was on his way. Ok, fine.

As Buck and I played and bonded some more, not long before dusk, a woman, her son, and her husband showed up randomly to move a bed out of the house next to the church. From afar, they were polite, but as they got closer, the woman asked what I had in my lap. When I said "a puppy", she instantly came over and fell in love with little Buck. Her son came over and did the same and it wasn't long before we were having discussions about all things animal-related and I learned the story of Brenda Bundy.

Brenda Bundy, though she attends the Elk Garden Church where I was camping, lives next to a different church. Apparently, occasionally people leave boxes of puppies, cats, or whatever on the porch of that church, thinking that some nice churchy soul will take care of them. Well, Brenda said that many of those animals make their way over to her property looking for food, which she gives them. She says she has found homes for over 50 abandoned animals. When I told her my story, and how I was facing a big decision about whether to take Buck along or adopt him out, she immediately said that she would have zero problem finding a great home for him, either she would keep him, or her niece (who used to work at a vet's office) or her sister (who'd adopted another dog Brenda had found) would love to take him. She gave me her number and said I could call her anytime that night or the next morning when I'd decided what I wanted to do. Watching Brenda and her son Dan play with Buck, I knew immediately that if I left him with them, he'd be in wonderful hands and I knew that that was a much better option than the Adopt-A-Pet event at Wal-Mart.

They left and I took the rest of the evening to just play with and love Buck. He ran around the yard and explored, but always came when I called him. He chewed the rawhide toys I gave him. He went potty when I took him outside. He fell asleep in the bend of my knee with his head on my leg as I sat on the ground at my cookstove.

I really, really struggled with the decision of what to do with little Buck. He was so obviously MY dog. From the first moment I picked him up, he never wanted to leave my side, he obviously wanted to please me, and he was completely devoted to me. I still can't believe he always came when I called him. He knew his name was Buck, he had learned in an hour that his rawhide toy was called his 'chew', and he was already beginning to figure out the word 'potty'. But, for all of his awesomeness and all of my selfishness in wanting to keep him, I really just figured that he ultimately would not be very comfortable on such a long bicycle trip in his early formative months. Yes, he'd be close to me always, but he'd get no sense of consistency of place or purpose, and it would be very difficult to keep him cool on hot days, warm on cold days, comfortable as the bike sways side to side as I climb difficult hills, and dry when it's pouring rain. Add to that the fact that he may start out at 2.75 lbs and easily fit into the handlebar bag, but would probably grow to 20 lbs by the time I get home, and it just seemed to be the right thing to do to give him to Brenda Bundy.

Brenda Bundy became Buck's Angel #5. I called her the next morning and she met me at the Rosedale gas station/store. She even brought a cat carrier that Buck would fit in and that I could strap to my back bike rack if I wanted...you know, in case I'd had second thoughts about adopting him out...but I didn't see a good way to keep Buck comfortable, cool, and dry in it, and I'd already decided that it was better for Buck if he stayed in Virginia with Brenda.

I never thought I could shed so many tears over a puppy that was in my care for three days, but that two mile ride to the convenience store to meet Brenda was the longest two miles of my trip so far. It crushed my soul to give that sweet little puppy away, and the only reason I could do it was because I knew he'd found a perfect home. As if to make me feel better and make it easier to live with my decision, as soon as I handed Buck over to Brenda, he immediately fell asleep in her arms, and when she put him into the crate on her front seat, he appeared completely content and relaxed. When I gave her the Sweet Treats t-shirt that had been part of his bed, she put it in the crate and he immediately balled up and fell asleep on it.

I stole a quick hug from Brenda as I rode off because I was getting pretty emotional about leaving my boy. In fact, I could barely see her as her car passed me and drove off because my eyes were so blurry from the tears...

Here's Buck asleep in his handlebar bag bed for the last time, Brenda Bundy holding Buck, and Buck sleeping in the crate in Brenda's car:

Thank you Heather, Bob, Ruth, Carney, and Brenda for being there for me and Buck. Y'all really were his angels and you truly saved his life. It's been three days since I left the little pup behind, and I still miss him every minute of every day. I'm content only in knowing that he's really in a happy place. In fact, I called Brenda the other night and she told me how well he was adjusting to life in their home and that he was playful and happy, learning to get along with their other dogs, and at that moment, was nibbling on her son Dan's leg. Perfect. :)

Oh yeah. I forgot to mention that Buck's full name was 'Buck, The Light Fantastic' because he just shone with love, affection, and devotion.

Anyway, thanks for reading such a long story; I just wanted to be as complete as possible since this story has such meaning to me.

And, I hope I spelled all the words right in this blog entry...my eyes are just a little bit blurred at the moment...

How fitting...yeah?

Story coming soon...once I reach civilization.

2010-05-22T08:33:00.001-07:00

This is little Buck. His amazing story is coming soon. It's both happy and sad.........

Redneck training begins at an early age.......and Firefighters vs. Cops.

2010-05-18T19:15:00.001-07:00

This is little Henry out in front of Carol Lee's Donuts...proudly displaying his coonskin cap and cinnamon twist. What more could a little boy want, except for maybe a high-powered air rifle. Come to think of it, I'm sure he already has one. Out here, I bet moms don't say "you'll shoot your eye out"!!

On another note, 61 miles today brings Nick and I to Max Meadows, VA. We are camping out behind the volunteer fire department. The guys let us in for a shower and they offered to leave the door open for us to use the restroom, even though they are all leaving for the night!! And, they said we could have Gatorade from the fridge. I continue to be both flattered and amazed by the trust and generosity I am seeing on a daily basis.

As I write this, I just finished dealing with an overly inquisitive cop. He shone his bright light on my tent until I came out of my sleeping bag to talk to him. He was an asshole, straight up. He talked to me like I was a criminal and never stopped shining the light in my eyes. Why does the guy have to immediately doubt my perfectly rational (and TRUE) explanation for why we are in tents behind the rural fire station!? It felt like I was a felon and had to talk my way into just being a tired, wayward cyclist taking advantage of fire department generosity. Jeez, man. Relax. Maybe the fire department needs to teach some interpersonal communication classes to the police department. (I know what you are thinking, Dad, but just let me vent!)

Hopefully we will have a quiet, uneventful night. Right now all I hear is an occasional cow's moo amongst the crickets' chirping. G'night all...

Resting up with the whole fam damnily in Blacksburg, VA

2010-05-17T18:24:00.001-07:00

Well, instead of taking off in the rain this morning, Nick and I decided to take Beckie and Ronnie up on their offer to stay another night. The timing was perfect, actually, because after 8 straight days of riding, my legs feel shot. A day off with no exercise whatsoever is just what the doctor ordered. What the doctor also ordered today was a 2.5 hour nap and food intake including, but not limited to, biscuits and gravy, a cinnamon roll, a raspberry jelly donut, a maple bar with chopped almonds, a 22 oz. Rogue Double Dead Guy Ale, and a turkey/ham/salami/pepperoni sandwich on a french roll.

Beckie and Ronnie drove us to the grocery store after breakfast where we bought a few supplies; it was funny to see Beckie gawk in amazement as Nick and I decided what to buy not by how much it cost, but by how heavy it was. We each struggled with whether or not to buy a small canister of powdered Gatorade (a supremely good deal at $5 for a week's worth of good electrolyte hydration on the road) because it weighs about 4 pounds. That's a noticeable difference on a bike. In the end, we each sucked it up and bought one. I was also thrilled to find a bottle of spray suncreen that I wanted which was the perfect size to fit into my handlebar bag...better than the one I just finished that was a tad too big and completely screwed up the organization of the stuff inside. It's small pleasures like that that I'd have never have expected to make such a big difference on a trip like this.

Have I mentioned that Beckie is my stepdad Lloyd's sister? Ok, so that's how I'm related. Anyway, tonight Beckie, Ronnie, Nick, and I went out to dinner at a local sandwich joint. While at the restaurant, we randomly ran into Kim, who is Beckie and Ronnie's niece. I swear, you can't swing a dead cat in this town without hitting someone Beckie and Ronnie either knows or is related to. That's so foreign to me because the family I grew up with out West is not only small but is scattered across multiple states. So, in just one day, in one small town, I've met brother Larry; niece Barbara and her kid Grace; niece Kim, cousin Tommy; sister Phyllis, her husband Preston, and their kid Travis; and sister Linda and her husband Don. Every one of them has been super friendly and treated me like one of the family.

Oh yeah, Ronnie is into restoring classic cars. He's got a 1940 Chevrolet and a 1957 Pontiac that are simply gorgeous. He left no detail uncovered and both cars run perfectly. In fact, his sky blue Chevy is even sought after by local folks who want him to drive them to and from the church on their wedding day!

Beckie and Ronnie have gone above and beyond in their generous hospitality for a red-headed (well, bearded) stepnephew and I'm fed, showered, organized, and rested. I will leave tomorrow morning feeling renewed, refreshed, and rejuvenated, and ready to ride on in the rain. I cannot thank you guys enough!!

"Sycamore Hills"

2010-05-16T20:38:00.000-07:00

How is it possible for Virginia to have so many hills? They are relentless, endless. The good thing is that most of them are short, but they're also very steep. I have never had to stand up on the pedals to get up so many hills in my Oregon cycling life. I am thankful that I rode a lot on Haleakala Volcano on Maui last summer because training on those hills is proving to be invaluable here in VA. In all actuality, in Virginia I have come to dislike going DOWNhill because I know it will be short-lived and that there's a nasty UPhill waiting immediately on the other side. There isn't a flat road around. In the West, we have really, really long and moderately steep hills, with a very rewarding, joyous descent on the other side. In Virginia, I just pray for a flat road that never seems to materialize...

It rains every day in Virginia. And this isn't some Portland-Oregon-misty-shower rain; this is full force, cats-and-dogs, drench-you-to-the-core rain. It's sneaky too...the days start out quite nice, but at some point, just when you think you're blessed with the perfectly cool riding weather, the skies literally open up. Thankfully it hasn't been cold at all, so the rain has really been, to some extent, refreshing. In fact, I have yet to don the rain jacket and pants I packed, and have been just riding through the rain in my normal cycling shorts and a windbreaker that has nearly zero water resistance to it. So, suffice to say, I just keep getting soaked and it hasn't been much of a problem. Fortunately, on each rainy day thus far, I've ended up not camping for the night. Camping while wet just sucks. It's one thing to get in, set up the tent, and have it rain during the night; it's a completely different thing to get INTO camp soaking wet and then have to get into the tent with a bunch of wet gear. The only real issue has been the lightning and thunder associated with the Virginia rain. It's a little scary riding in a thunderstorm down a desolate country road, with no shelter in sight, with 80 pounds of metal between your legs, in a rainstorm so intense you can barely see. Today I nearly chose to take shelter in a ditch after I only counted 1.5 seconds from the time I saw the lightning to the time I heard the crack of the thunder, but I persevered and was too fast for the lightning to catch me.

I'm meeting so many great folks, random folks, folks who are just amazed by what I'm doing. Generosity and friendliness abound. In Lexington, VA's Sweet Treats Ice Cream shop, after I ate my chocolate-dipped waffle cone with cinnamon graham homemade ice cream, when the gal working the counter learned that I'm riding cross-country, she insisted on giving me a "Sweet Treats....Lick It Up" T-shirt. And, remember Larry and Junior Steppe from the last blog entry? Here they are:

Virginia accents are quite varied. Some people here have no detectable accent at all; others have such a strong Southern drawl that I literally cannot understand what they are saying and I have to ask them to repeat it. I got my first singular "y'all" the other day...when the gal asked me "what y'all gonna have?", I had to turn around to see if someone was standing near me. I was alone. She repeated it. Somehow I didn't laugh, and somehow I managed to NOT say "well, we'll have the....".

I was riding alone on a deserted country lane when I passed a woman who was standing in her yard. She waved. I stopped and turned around because she looked friendly. We had a great conversation about Portland. Her name was Nancy, like my mom. She kept turning around and yelling "BUBBA!!! BUBBA!!" It was clear she was calling for her dog. After a few times of this, I said "your dog is named Bubba?" She said "no, I'm saying 'Bama". Upon further inquiry, I learned that her dog's actual name is Alobama...name made up from those of Al Gore and Barack Obama. I never got to meet 'Bama, unfortunately. This is Nancy:

At the Cookie Lady's house, I showered under a garden hose in an outdoor shower. At night when it was 50 degrees out. It was frigid, ridiculous, and perfect.

And the Cookie Lady's cluttered home, with 34 years of bicylists' gear, memorabilia, postcards, etc:

Nick and I stopped at a fruit stand. We shared a massive box of strawberries and a box of 6 strawberry cider donuts. Can you say 'food coma'?

A few days ago I got a flat tire. The tire just immediately went flat, over about a 2 minute span. We stopped and I took off the wheel, pulled the tire and tube from the rim, ran my hands along the inner side of the tire looking for an embedded sharp object, and pumped up the tube a bit to look/listen/feel for an air leak. Nothing. I searched that tube and tire for 5 minutes looking for a leak, but the newly pumped up tube was holding air. Unable to find a leak, I put the tire and tube back on the rim and pumped it up. I've been riding now on that same tire for 5 days without a flat. Weird!! How does a tire go instantly flat but not have a leak? Perhaps it was a valve stem thing. Perhaps the bike gods just were making me practice flat tire repair. Perhaps I pissed them off.

Today was a long day...a sluggish and moderately inclined 15 miles in the warm and sunny late morning, a cooler but hillier 15 miles in the early afternoon, and a really damned hilly 30 miles in the late afternoon, in a crazy thunderstorm. We safely arrived at Beckie and Ronnie's house and they greeted us with beer, water, and plastic chairs in the garage where we could sit our soaking wet asses.

My stepdad Lloyd's family lives in Blacksburg, VA and Nick and I are here visiting them tonight. I met brothers, wives, cousins, and kids and what a fun, crazy group of characters they are...generous to a fault on one hand, but then they'll turn around and throw insults back and forth right afterward. Sarcasm rules, and conversations are really light-hearted. We went out to a local brewpub (YES!!! An actual microbrew!!) and had a delicious meal that no one would let us pay for. I've had a great time, though it's only been one evening, and I am really glad I got to meet the clan. I wish I could stay longer. Of course I do...free food and beer...who wouldn't want to stay?! (Just kidding, Beckie...)

I'm shocked by how much I can eat right now. Last night I had a big bowl of chili, a huge turkey/bacon/guacamole sandwich, and a big piece of blackberry/raspberry/apple/strawberry pie. This morning I had two eggs, a huge chicken fried steak, fried apples, and two biscuits. All day long I'm eating nuts, bananas, ice cream, sour gummy worms, Bit o' Honeys, etc., and drinking Gatorade. Tonight I had a huge plate of fettucine with shrimp and sausage, along with a bunch of bread, and topped off with three pork ribs. Actually, I'm wondering if it's possible to ride a bike across America and get FATTER. If so, I'm well on my way.

Well, I gotta go. It's time for some dessert. I'm hungry and I think there may be some chocolate in my food bag...

Kick-ass Virginians...

2010-05-15T19:49:00.001-07:00

After leaving rainy Charlottesville, Nick and I meandered some beautiful backroads on a gloriously cool day. We happened upon Wyant's Store and were in for some good Virginia hospitality...we walked in and I said "hey, what's shakin'?" to a skinny white guy manning the counter, who turned out to be named Larry. Larry didn't miss a beat and shot back wih "my ass!!" and he started shakin' it. This elicited a big belly laugh from someone behind us we hadn't seen and we turned to witness a big black guy, who turned out to be named Junior Steppe, nearly rolling on the floor from laughing so hard. We all shared some sarcasm as well as some good, genuine conversation for a while. In fact, after leaving, I had enjoyed talking to them so much for that ten minutes that I went back inside and asked if I could have a photo with them. This time Junior Steppe was the one who didn't miss a beat when he rolled his eyes, laughed hard, and looked over at Larry and yelled "oh sure, they just wanna get a picture of a white guy and a black guy together in Virginia!" Then as we all gathered 'round for a photo he said "hey, you guys go on the outside and put me in the middle and we'll have ourselves an Oreo, but opposite!"

You never know whether to laugh at racial jokes...but 'ol Junior Steppe, a great big black man with happy eyes and a jovial laugh, just was so genuine and smiley that we all rolled with laughter at his joke. :) Then, about five minutes later as we were riding away, Junior Steppe came toward us from across the parking lot, with a little girl in tow. He just wanted his beautiful little 4-year old granddaughter Kendra to get to meet these boys on bikes from far away before they disappeared. She was absolutely precious and he was obviously such a doting grandfather, as he beamed with pride as she talked to us. I felt honored that he valued us enough that he made it a point to make sure we met the family he loves.

Finally we made it to Afton later in the day so now...'The Cookie Lady'. June Curry, now age 89, has been providing water, food, and shelter in her roadside home to passing cyclists for 34 years...ever since 1976's inaugural TransAmerica ride. This woman is a TransAm institution and nearly every rider stops and/or stays there, both because of tradition and her location at the very beginning (or end, depending on which way one is traveling) of what is said to be possibly the most difficult hill riding day of the entire route.

Well, she is still there, still generous to a fault, and quite cantakerous. She talked our ears off for hours about the good ol' days in Afton, VA and was quite a character, even at one point tirelessly forcing us to listen to and watch a 4-foot tall dancing Santa in the corner of the room sing five different original-length Christmas carols (yes, it was May 13th), while she just howled and cackled with laughter as if it was the first time she'd ever seen it!!

Her house was literally littered with layer upon layer of knick-knacks, as well as bicyclists' gear and paraphernalia left there or mailed to her over the years..it was a bit frightening. Some say it is haunted but sadly we didn't have any ghost encounters that night.

The next morning, after pictures, hugs, sage advice, and more lectures about the perils of alcohol (yeah, she was a bit preachy) we were on our way, climbing, climbing , and climbing some more, up some impossibly long and steep hills.

It was an epic day of climbing up to, and then up and down on, the Blue Ridge Parkway. Some who've ridden this route say it is the hardest climbing of the entire route, even worse than the Rockies...I find that hard to believe, but it really was a hard day. Besides beating a 20 yr old kid, I am super proud of the fact that I never once used my 'granny gear' throughout the entire 30 mile climb! I never switched to the smallest front chainring. :)

Dinner was a late afternoon bacon cheeseburger club sandwich and two cokes at Gertie's store in tiny Vesuvius VA. Dessert was a 24 oz Budweiser (don't get your hopes up for a microbrew out here). Tammy, Gertie's daughter, was cooking homemade deliciousness in the restaurant part of the store, while Boyd, her husband, was hanging out, smoking, and talking to us. They own the store and live next door. There was a sign saying that everybody is a neighbor or a friend, and Tammy said that if a person couldn't feel at home in their place, they couldn't feel at home anywhere. I totally agree. They were special folks and invited us to camp out either in the grass behind the store or in their roofed garage in case of rain. We chose outside and then briefly used the garage for shelter when a quick thunderstorm passed through. In the morning we all ate a homemade biscuits and gravy breakfast, and after hanging out and talking with a few other patrons for a while, we rolled west. Tammy gave us Gertie's Store postcards and made us promise to send them back to her from our hometowns once we arrive.

Oh, and June the Cookie Lady made us promise to each send her a picture since film no longer exists for her Polaroid camera.

We have met some special folks and received such hospitality throughout Virginia in week one of this tour...it's wonderful to see the wonderful side of humanity.

The trusty black steed, loaded and westward bound.

2010-05-12T20:29:00.000-07:00

Observe the current calmness at Malvern Hill, site of one of the fiercest Civil War battles. I was the only person there and all I could hear was the wheat waving and whispering in the wind, save for the lone, occasionally-chirping bird...

A 30% chance of rain means there's a 100% chance that you're gonna get absolutely soaked over 30% of the day's route.

2010-05-12T16:05:00.000-07:00

An 80% chance of rain? You're screwed. No way around it. However, I have learned that getting absolutely soaked isn't so bad, and in fact can be surprisingly refreshing, when the temperature is hot. Hot and wet? Goooooooooooood. Cold and wet? Baaaaaaaaaaaaddddd. Remember this.

The last couple of days have been amazing...about 60 and 56 miles, respectively, of some of the most gorgeous forest, farmland, plantations, and lakes I've ever seen. I did get poured rain on for the last couple of hours of each day, but it was nice and warm, so it wasn't so bad. At least it cleaned off my nasty, salty, sweaty, sunscreen-caked body.

The one thing I've learned about Virginia is that, surprisingly, going downhill sucks! Why? Because the descents are short, and you're met immediately on the other side by a really difficult ascent. I'd heard that the roads out in the West are of an easier grade, but are longer, while the Virginia hills are really short and really steep. Now I understand. In fact, I have now learned to hate going downhill. Really?! That's usually the fun part.

Since my last post, I camped one night behind an Episcopalian church, and was offered housing for the night by the Mineral (Virginia) Fire Department. The Episcopalian church in Mechanicsville, VA was just conveniently located near the Mexican restaurant I wanted to eat at, and it was located on a hill so there was a little concealed area down and to the rear where I could put my bike and not be seen. Bonus: there was a concrete slab in front of a door to the preschool that had a ROOF over it!!! Woo hoo!!! No tent hassle tonight, and no drying of the tent tomorrow.

The second night, at the fire department, was awesome. The firemen and women were super hospitable (they didn't have any inventory of patches or shirts to trade or sell....sorry, Orlando...I tried!!) and offered us the top floor where there were electrical outlets (phone charging), sinks (washing hands, prepping food), laundry facilities (washer and dryer...free), and indoor storage for our bikes. We had the run of the place. They're used to cyclists passing through, and so it's kind of become a tradition for them to house us wayward sweatbags. It was a real blessing to get to Mineral that night because the thought of camping out in the POURING rain, after getting soaked for the last two hours of riding, was not sounding really appealing.

You'll note that I said "us" in the last paragraph. Though we are all riding solo, I met up with Sam (Colorado, age 25) and Nick (Pennsylvania, age 20) who are also riding the TransAm. We all got along famously and had lots of stories and tips to share with each other. It was really interesting to see what other people are using for gear and what they did/didn't bring. I have the most shit. That equals the HEAVIEST load. (And this is after I stopped at a post office in a small town along the way and mailed 10-12 pounds of stuff home). I may have a few more things to get rid of soon because the biggest hills (so I'm told) of the trip are coming in the next two days. Some say they're worse than the Rockies. I can't believe that, but I gotta believe that!

Sam is riding 60-80 miles a day and trying to get across in 2 months...much faster than Nick and I plan to go. So, today, Sam took off...then Nick took off...and finally I took off. That's nice thing about being alone, but meeting other people. You can still be on your own schedule, but have familiar faces around. We all traded cell numbers, so that if anyone got in trouble or stopped somewhere for lunch/dinner/sleeping, we'd maybe all be able to congregate. As it turns out, Sam was LONG gone, but I caught up to Nick at lunch where he was eating a turkey sandwich under a shade tree. After a nice lunch of chocolate milk, turkey sandwich, a small bag of cheetos (they came with the sandwich!!), and a banana, I was mostly refreshed. Nick and I hit the road, and it turned out we ride at a very similar pace so we stayed together all day.

Finally, getting close to Charlottesville and the end of today's ride, we passed Ashlawn (James Monroe's beautiful acreage...he was our fifth president) and Monticello (Thomas Jefferson's opulent hillside spread...he was our, uh, whateverth president). Nick and I managed to get ourselves kicked out of Monticello. We didn't know that you couldn't just ride in the gates, ride up the hill, and get a photo of the famous house that's in all the history books. No, apparently you have to dismount, board a bus, pay 20 bucks, and be shuttled up to the house to take a photo. Maybe you get to go in and have a look around too, but we were way too waterlogged and tired by this point to go through all of that. We just wanted a picture and had no idea that we were trespassing if we rode up the hill on our own. We got part way up the hill and an old dude started yelling at us and chasing us down....he ripped us pretty good and told us we had to leave and then stood there and watched us go until he was satisfied we were really gone. He was kind of a dick. Yes, he was just doing his job, but still. I was pissy after riding for hours and being soaked to the bone so I kind of yelled back at him for being such an asshole. Then we left before he called in more nasty, old man troops for backup.

Now, we sit in the Budget Inn, drying out, and drinking the best damn Budweisers we ever tasted, courtesy of Virginia Jerry, some motocross-racin', chain-smokin', local boy who just moved back from California and for some reason felt like greeting us outside the hotel with encouragement. I love nice people. The last few days have been filled with them; there have been lots of smiles, waves, "where y'all goin's", and "be safes" out there on the road. It's encouraging to see that there are such great, supportive people out there. They are definitely outnumbering the assholes who pass closely, those who honk, and others who pass at speed on blind curves only to swerve back in front of me when there's an oncoming car. There are also "No Trespassing" signs on private property everywhere, but it's nice to see a number of "Welcome" signs out in front of peoples' houses too. I may need to take advantage of one of those "Welcome" signs soon when I need water or a place to camp.

Nick and I are off to dinner. I was able to do a longer blog entry tonight because Nick is carrying his computer along, whereas all my entries up to this point, and probably in the future, have been by my cell phone keypad.

Thanks for listenin'...thanks for followin'...

Love to all.
D

The beginning. Day 1.

2010-05-10T18:06:00.001-07:00

Woke early and had to ride 13 miles just to where the TransAmerica trail actually starts, in Yorktown, VA. Yorktown was the site of the final battle in the Revolutionary War, and we'd have not won there if it weren't for the French navy helping us by sealing off the river exit so the English couldn't retreat to the ocean.

Gorgeous 73 degree day. After the ceremonial dipping of the wheel in the salty York River/Chesapeake Bay, I was off. Well, actually I was off after the ceremonial 20-minute cleaning of the sand out of my brakes, rims, and chain...grumble grumble.

I then rode the 13 miles back to Williamsburg to go to Target and the outdoor store for some things I needed. Then I rode to Jamestown to see where the first permanent American colony was established...in 1607...on May 14...my birthday! Hey, I share a birthday with the USA. Can anyone here other than Brandon claim THAT?!

Finally leaving the "historic triangle" area brought a very manageable 20 miles to camp on the banks of the Chickahominy River...only the free camping I expected at the park was instead $28.76. You gotta be kidding me...that's for a basic site on brown grass and next to the toilets?! I just passed fifty places I coulda "stealth" camped for nothing! So, I politely thanked the dude and left, retreating a quarter mile to some bushes and trees not far from a horse farm that perfectly obscured my free night's stay.

Wait...before I left, I used the park's free canopy (open 'til 1000 p.m.) area to cook my dinner, organize my stuff, and charge my phone. And, yes, I called my mom and Grandma to say 'Happy Mother's Day'. It isn't ALL about me, you know. :)

Richmond to Williamsburg, and pre-ride...

2010-05-09T18:04:00.001-07:00

Dave Schweickert. Is. The. Man.

We met online on a bike touring website and he had previously offered to pick me up from the Greyhound station in Williamsburg whenever I arrived. I knew I would either arrive at 730 p.m. or 1255 a.m. and he said he'd pick me up at either time...quite a generous offer, no doubt. When, via text, I told him about how, even though I'd made the early bus, because of traffic we'd missed our connection in Richmond, Dave Schweickert didn't miss a beat. Rather than have me wait five hours in Richmond's bus station for the next bus, he told me he was driving to Richmond to get me. Yes, this man drove over an hour EACH way to help a man he'd never even met.

It did not end there. Dave drove me all around Williamsburg and Jamestown showing me the lay of the land, explaining where my route was closed due to a bridge repair, and ensuring I knew my way around sufficiently to find bike shops, restaurants, and important landmarks. He took me to the hotel, helped me unload, and then drove me to a great restaurant to talk bikes/touring while I fed my famished self. Yes, I said 'I'; all Dave would let me buy for him was one glass of wine because he'd already eaten dinner with his wife and family!!

Now to top it off...get this. Dave and his family were leaving the following morning to go to Ukraine for SIX WEEKS to finalize the adoption of a Ukranian boy (their third).

I feel honored by his selflessness and that he would take such precious time from what must have been a very, very busy schedule. Dave, if I can ever repay the favor, let me know. Your deeds helped the beginning of my journey go SO much more smoothly!!

I stayed 2 nights in the Super 8 motel and one day packing and riding around doing last-minute errands and prep. The second and last night in Williamsburg was topped off with another great meal at the same restaurant that Dave introduced me to, as well as a free beer from the beautiful bartender Bobbie...she wanted to do a little something to send some well wishes my way. I didn't tell her, but her sweet smile and lovely eyes were all I needed.

Chicago to (almost) Williamsburg, VA

2010-05-09T15:36:00.001-07:00

The train dumped me in Chicago and I sadly could not see my good friends during the short layover but I gladly was able to fill my belly with a Chicago dog and my favorite caramel corn.

The train to DC was somewhat miserable without a sleeper berth and sitting upright for 18 hours next to an astoundingly annoying man. Still, I am getting excited.

It was fairly smooth getting my bike and bags from DC's Union Station to the Greyhound terminal after an early train arrival from Chicago, a five dollar tip to the red cap porter who carried my stuff out to the curb, and a very helpful cabbie who parked illegally so I would have the easiest unloading possible.

I was sitting pretty, and able to get on the 230 bus to Williamsburg, thus avoiding a five hour wait for the next bus. Getting on the 230 bus also meant a 730 arrival instead of a 1255 a.m. arrival. Sweet!! But, traffic was so bad that we missed a connection in Richmond and suddenly the five hour wait rematerialized. Not fun after being awake for almost 24 hours! But...enter Dave Schweickert...to the rescue.

Travelin' companions...

2010-05-06T07:08:00.001-07:00

These nice folks from Phoenix AZ have been my companions in the dining car for the last two meals. Susie is an esthetician who generously gave me bottles of lavender oil and arnica to help with wound healing and bruising I may endure during my ride. Nikolai is an international chess master and champion from Russia who regaled us with tales of beating Kasmarov as well as knowing Bobby Fischer's girlfriend. Alan, like me, has a Droid smartphone and shared tips on how to get the most out of using it, in addition to just being an endless source of knowledge and trivia.

Just left Minneapolis and will be switching trains in Chicago in about seven hours...