Days 71 - 73: Central Oregon

We left Mt. Vernon late in the morning, anticipating a relatively easy 60-mile ride to Mitchell. I'm not sure what, if anything, informed this anticipation, but boy was it misguided. It got hot, and there was this long climb through a canyon that just didn't end. Or rather, we didn't know when it was going to end -- it came as a complete surprise -- so it felt like it just didn't. Also the wind was back. The landscape was great, with these bizarre striated rock shelves jutting out of the earth and a cool, mossy-banked creek tempting us all the while. We were later told that we missed some really cool fossil sites and other geological oddities; this sort of thing seemed to happen more often during the last week or two of the trip, as first crater lake and then the coast were calling to us. Anyway, then we ran out of water (which we had already been drinking sparingly) about an hour from town. With the wind and the heat and the climbing, it just took us a lot longer to get to Mitchell than we had planned for, and consequently there above with the water. I started to get kind of worried, given my previous experience with heat masculinity overload, but then there was this four mile 7% downhill and we made up a lot of time.

"Comfortable Elegance"

We stayed at the Oregon Hotel for $41, and shared the single bathroom on the second floor with the other occupants (there were none). The place was really charming in a threadbare way, and the "continental breakfast" of a muffin and cup of coffee was fantastic. The proprietor invited me into her home (in the hotel) so that I could bleach our water bottles. There was a black cat. Also we had great hamburgers at the Little Pine Cafe.

City Hall in Prineville, OR

The next day there was an even bigger climb, but we knew about it in advance and got out early so it was actually really nice. We rode up into the Ochoco NF and hit the pass at around 5,000 ft. just after we saw a pack of five older guys headed to Maine with one of their wives driving a support vehicle. They were really nice and said that we looked like swimmers, which I think was a compliment. One of them mentioned that they heard we had some pretty big hills out east, and Bonesy and I looked around at the mountains and wondered what the heck they were talking about. From there it was on to Prineville and Redmond, where we stopped for iced tea before riding the last 20 of 83 miles into Bend.

See? Like a swimmer.

In the cafe we stopped at we met two motorcyclists, Sam and Clyde, who were on their way back to Eugene after touring around the desert for a week. We got to talking, asking where each other was going, and it turned out they were headed to Bend and staying in the house of a friend who owned the place and kept in vacant for just such occasions. They invited us to stay with them, so we totally did, and stayed up talking about this thing they do where they go to Mexico and build houses for people without houses. I think one of them was a Quaker. They were incredibly generous and good-hearted, open-minded and honest, and they insisted that we take the bed even though they were old guys. The next morning they took off and we stuck around until two getting breakfast and riding around town. Bend is a neat place that seems to be just all about the recreation. This day probably deserved its own post, because those guys' generosity completely made our day and set the tone for an awesome end of the trip. It's all too fleeting.

Pahoehoe lava south of Bend, OR. Also the Cascades.

That afternoon we rode down route 97 to Crescent, which is not much of anything other than a way point between Bend and Klamath Falls, CA. I guess it was probably a logging town at one point -- you see a lot of that in central Oregon. We saw some lava fields and, at a distance, the Cascades. It was only like 45 or 50 miles, and kind of boring, but we were basically staging the ride to Crater lake. We got into town as it was getting dark, and we almost stayed at this really dirty RV park on the outskirts for $12, but then we rode all the way through and found a much better place (with laundry!) for only $15. Further proof that this section of the ride was somehow blessed: we saw the neon sign glowing through the pines just as we were about to turn around.

Ride on.

Days 69 & 70: We'll Take the High Road

So, remaining readers, this is it. A series of four posts, one for each of the last days of August, that tell the story of our final ten days on the road.

We have been back for two weeks now, and I have been avoiding these last posts; partially because of how busy I've been but mostly because they involve the admission that our trip and the summer are well and truly over. So now while a weakened Hurricane Irene drags herself through Vermont, snarling and snapping like a wounded animal, I will sit dry and safe and try to remember what it was like to be three thousand miles away, out of water and far from town in the high desert of Eastern Oregon.

Previously, on The Long Haul:
When we left our heroes, they were stranded with a broken spoke in Unity, a small town in the middle of nowhere just East of the Umatilla National Forest. Would they find the cassette removal tool they needed? Would they get a ride into town? What would become of Rook and Bonesy?

Stranded! (Unity, OR)

Well, the next day a posse of 33 riders from Bike & Build came through town. We knew in advance that they were on their way: the proprietors of the campground and store had posted a sign for us soliciting a ride into John Day, and while no one offered to take us, several reported that a large group of cyclists were headed west from Vale. The front of the pack arrived around 4 in the afternoon, followed shortly by a big ol' SAG van. I approached one of the riders on his way into the convenience store and asked if they had the tool I needed. He said he had no idea, but that "our leaders are inside, if you want to ask them."

Now, readers, can we briefly discuss the (supported versus self-supported) touring ethic? Maybe it's best not to. It's just, like, I totally respect the Bike & Build program because they're doing a great thing -- raising money and donating labor to affordable housing projects across the country -- and even if you're not doing charitable work like that, it's still cool that you're biking across the country whether it's with a group or not. I'm just not sure, having done this now, that I would want to do it any other way. First of all, you necessarily surrender a degree of autonomy (this is an apt illustration of the Social Contract, I think), e.g. the "our leaders" comment. I just can't imagine having someone tell me how far we're going to bike today, where we're going to stay, what time lunch is, et cetera. For me, and I think for Bonesy, so much of the sense of accomplishment derived from having actually planned and executed this whole thing ourselves: in that sense, "Biking across the country" entails for us not just the pedaling, but the logistics and decision-making as well. Furthermore, when you have a SAG vehicle, and you're sick or tired, you just ride that leg in the van (obviously they can't stop 32 riders because one has heat stroke, and besides, they're on a schedule). Fair enough, but I also know that if I had missed so much as one mile of riding over the course of the trip I would have felt like I'd not quite completed it. Steve Garufi knows what I'm talking about.

Then there's the cheering. This is where I probably start sounding like a misanthrope, and but so sue me: every time one of these kids rides into town, the assembled leap and hoot and holler in support. When we get to camp, maybe a dog barks at us or some RVers watch silently from inside their mosquito netting. Then the next morning as we're breaking down camp, there's this ruckus from over at the store, and it's team Bike & Build doing their morning chant or whatever. Then as we rode the same road for two days we'd keep finding these little pastel encouragements from the SAG crew chalked on the asphalt:

"Lunch!

To

Mile

1,"

"People!!!

Amazing

All

Are

You," 

and -- I kid you not, readers -- "You have accomplished more in one summer than most people will in their entire lives!" Have they, though, scribe of the shoulder?

I'm not jealous -- the last thing I'd want to see or hear at the end of a long hot ride is a group of people who beat me there -- but to be perfectly honest (and if this is going to be a good blog it must first be honest) there's a part of my aversion to this whole mutual back-patting that is resentful. I think it's because I know these kids are going to tell people that this summer they "biked across the country," which is what we did, albeit with another 50 pounds each between bike and gear, and having to take responsibility for our personal safety let alone success. The rebuttal, I guess would be that they actually managed to benefit other people while doing it: that my criticism is based on an entirely narcissistic definition of accomplishment. Well fine, I cede the moral high ground. All I'm saying is that what we did was harder, and in light of that there's something a little bit insulting about the self-righteousness.

This brings me to a larger point about the idea of riding in support of charity/fundraising efforts, and I think I can address it better with the above rant out of the way. We both wish that we had tried to raise some money for someone during the trip. Or at least I do and Bonesy thinks it's a nice idea but rightly points out that there was nothing wrong with doing it solely for ourselves. Still, most of the touring cyclists we met had some sort of connection to a "cause," even if they were just raising awareness. My favorite approach was that of two older guys from Oregon who we met 20 miles west of Cody, WY. They were just asking everyone they talked to on the trip to donate to their (the talkees') local food shelves. I like this for three reasons:

1. It's easy (time, effort, money), both for the riders and the donors.
2. It allows the riders to have a local impact in communities all the way across the country, instead of siphoning money to larger, geographically distant groups.
3. It effectively allocates 100% of donations to the target group, which means that as a self-contained effort, the ride's fundraising component maintains perfect organizational efficiency.

If I ever do any big tour again, I'll be doing something very similar to what those guys did. Let's just think for a second, though, about this idea that all bike tours are fundraising efforts. When you go on a 7-night luxury cruise, are you frequently stopped by shipmates soliciting donations for [insert worthy cause here]? Perhaps you are. I wouldn't know.

OK! So yes, obviously I borrowed their tools and fixed Bonesy's spoke. Thank you, Bike & Build, for lending us the tools -- and for helping to address the lack of unaffordable housing at a time when we are still looking to the construction of unreasonably large single-family homes to gird the economy. Unfortunately, the B&B cavalry arrived a little too late in the day for us to start the ride over the Blue Mountains to Mt. Vernon, so we drank a lot of beer and went to bed early instead. The next day was a gorgeous ride through pine forests (checkout Umatilla NF on google maps in satellite mode: the patchwork of logging tracts is pretty cool) and over another little pass. Strawberry Mountain and its sister peaks are awfully pretty, rising out of the grassland around Prairie City which itself is a quiet gem of a town. From there we followed the John Day river through its eponymous town, where we stopped at an ersatz bike shop in the back of the Chamber of Commerce building. I wanted to have someone who knew what he was talking about check the wheel, because even though I'd replaced the spoke I was concerned that it might've gone out of true, ready to spring another one as soon as we got out into the canyons. He said it was fine.

A comically-oversized prairie schooner on the long descent into Prairie City, OR

We stayed that night at the Bike Inn, in Mt. Vernon, OR. The inn and its operator, Christy, appear briefly in this video from travelers Russ Roca and Laura Crawford, who have somehow managed to bike tour basically full time. They also document some of the other small towns that make Route 26 such a great road for cyclists. Speaking of that, it should be mentioned that the road is part of the ACA's Trans-America trail. We didn't know this when we set our sites on it while still in Boise, but it's not surprising given the lack of decent alternatives for crossing the desert that stretches both north and south. Because it lies on perhaps the most-frequently-biked cross-country route in America and otherwise is pretty much out of everyone else's way, this stretch was crawling with touring cyclists and would occasionally present us with an unexpected bike lane or a gas station stocked with Clif Bars. Everyone was either going to Astoria, OR; or Yorktown, VA, and all the locals were pretty much accustomed to touring cyclists. This was nice in some ways, like when B&B showed up which clearly would not have happened off a major touring route, but mostly we were glad to quit the trail in Redmond, OR in favor of what felt, anyway, like the roads-less-traveled.

Ginger at the Bike Inn, technically on the morning of day 71

 Ride on.

Day 77: Crescent City (PHOTOS)

Yes, avid readers of the comments section, it is true: we reached Crescent City on Monday, August 8, after eleven weeks of riding. The moment was emotional.
I know many of you are waiting for a post about the last weekor so of the trip, and I'm sorry not to have wrien it up yet. It's just, like, I'm a little bit burnt out, you know? From biking. Across the country. We really tore it up the last 8 days on the road there, and a lot of really noteworthy stuff was happening -- that of course is when I'm least interested in pecking at the Blackberry (R). Then we drove down the coast to visit Lemairekid in San Francisco, and would you spend your 46 hours in one of the world's greatest cities blogging, impatient readers? No, you wouldn't. So then I went to Dallas for a day to see my fam while Bonesy high-tailed it back to the Burly Veets. I am finally writing this from a Greyhound bus that just pulled off I-89 into town, and guess what? I'm going to have to get back to you later. In the meantime, check out the photos that Bonesy put up -- they're better than anything I'm going to end up squawking about.

Day 68: Disaster Strikes

We are in low spirits, dear readers, as we reach you tonight from Unity, Oregon. Calamity befell us 20 miles east of here when Bonesy broke a spoke on the drive side of her rear wheel. We each carry spares, and they're easy enough to replace... when they're not on the drive side. For that (this) you need to remove the cassette, which requires a special wrench. Judging by the tone of this post, intuitive readers, do you think we have such a wrench? Of course not, which is stupid. So anyway, thanks be that this happened in one of the two towns we rode through during today's 65 desert miles: we just happened to be in front of the Nicest Lady in the World's house. TNLitW gave us cookies and drove Bonesy and her bike to this campround. She also invited us to church tomorrow morning, which we declined.
Then the people here were really nice and offered to take us to the nearest real town on their grocery run tomorrow, but one of the two shops in that town just closed down and the other's owner's out of town. So tomorrow they're going to take us to Mount Vernon, where we have tentative Warm Showers hosts who might, we hope wildly, have the tools we need. Otherwise I might hitch it into Bend with Bonesy's wheel -- we're just not sure. It's frustrating that even with so many people being so willing to help we're still kind of screwed.
Also, I'm bummed out that at least tomorrow's leg is going to be by car -- it grinds my gears that we'll now have ridden Almost the whole way from Burlington to Crescent City. It felt, too, like we were building some good momentum after my convalescence: today we broke into Pacific time, passed the 500 miles-to-go mark, and did some fun climbing out of the hot, flat, and boring "Treasure Valley." At least tomorrow is a vacation day, kind of.
Ride on.

Day 67: Oregon, Baby, Gone

The promised land looks a lot like Idaho did, but being the promised land it is infinitely more bearable. We are in Vale, OR, and when we stand on Main Street, we stand on the actual historical Oregon Trail. There are also some trees, which is nice because it's very hot (and will be even hotter tomorrow). We hear that in addition to trees there are 28 murals celebrating the town's history, but so far have only seen one of these. Last night in Caldwell we went to the Canyon County fair and saw some goats and ate ice cream and listened to a man covering Hank Williams, Jr. songs.[insert wry observations tempered by sincere appreciation for the earnestness and tradition and community experience, etc.]

When we got to this campground and asked for a tent site, the woman was like "ahhh, tent sites-- not my favorite..." which was curious, because she was otherwise very friendly. I felt bad, but it would've been silly for us to take a pull through site with a 50-amp hook-up.
Ride on.

Day 62: In which I am Laid Low by Heat Exhaustion (PHOTOS)

Boy oh Boise, readers, do we have a blog post for you! This because we are laid up in a motel and I am too weak to go downstairs, let alone outside, and so basically what little energy I have can be devoted to this report.

First off, Bonesy has uploaded many fine photographs. See them by clicking the link above!

Now to a description of the last 43 miles of yesterday's ride: grueling. We took off from Mountain Home feeling pretty fine, and were just zipping along the freeway for the first ten miles - actually, I should say that I, personally, zipped for 10 miles before stopping under the first overpass and looking back down the road to find no Bonesy in sight. Bonesy, it turned out, had only zipped for eight miles before getting a flat, and I was too busy playing drinking games to notice (we don't carry camelbacks because of the long days in the saddle, so I have to remind myself to drink water on hot days. Say every time a yellow car passes, or every mile marker. It can get pretty engrossing when we're in the desert). So I rode back with our only pump and patch kit to find an understandably distraught Bonesy just sizzling on the shoulder, two miles from shade and able only to wait for me. Evidently she had tried to flag people down so they could tell me what had happened, and no one stopped. 100 degrees, middle of nowhere, and no one stops for a cute young woman in distress? Outrageous. What threat could she pose? So obviously this situation had her a little rattled, and then by the time I fixed the flat the wind was figuratively out of our sails and physically in our faces.

We stopped at the one rest area on the way to Boise, and sat under an awning and the hills across the interstate reminded us of that Hemingway story:

"It's hot," she said.
The man brought iced tea. She shook the bottle. She drank. The iced tea was cold.
He looked at the hills. There were no trees. The wind blew up dust from the pavement.
"This reminds me of Hemingway," he said.
It was very hot.

Actually, literate readers, old Ernest shot himself in a cabin not 100 miles from that spot, now that I think of it. And yes, I know that neither he nor his characters ever had an iced tea without at least two fingers of rum in it, but there you are.

Asides aside, Bonesy seemed to really turn it around from there on, picking up her cadence and her head for the push into town. I, it should be noted for eventual dramatic effect, felt great. A little hazy, sure, but limber and energetic and certainly not "exhausted." All that given that we were riding a century in high heat, of course, which sort of throws off one's ability to assess these things objectively.

Alright, so we get to this motel (the campground we'd aimed for had zero tent sites - praise be to the creator on that one, as it will soon turn out - and the next one was another 10 miles) and Bonesy's feeling kind of nauseous and we're both a little loopy, but boy am I proud of her tenacity and ability to play through the pain. So we order Chinese, which doesn't sound all that good to me, not that anything really does at this point, and we shower (during which fatigue starts to set in for me and I pretty much just lie in the tub). The food shows up, and I can only force down a single spring roll - ten times fast! - before lying down and drifting in and out of sleep while Bonesy watches Fight Club.
Now, some hours later (it's all a blur, did I sleep? What time is it? Who am I?), I awake suddenly and make my way to the bathroom, where I kneel before the toilet for the first in a long series of violent convulsions that would entirely empty my system of food and water. For hours this went on, and in between I felt like I was going crazy: I kid you not, readers, at one point I was concerned that John Boehner and his thugs were going to interrogate me inquisition-style (I mean, I literally saw him looming over me in bed) and all I managed to say to an attendant Bonesy was "they're going to crucify me." During brief periods of fluorescent-aided clarity as I heaved myself dry, I ruminated intently on the subject of intravenous nutrient replenishment. I had trouble standing.

Mom and Dad and godfather Gary (he of Ironman accomplishment) are pretty convinced it was heat exhaustion. I can see why, though I wasn't aware the symptoms could be so delayed. Anyway, now regardless of what it was my body is pretty much devoid of energy and sitting up in bed is an effort. Worst part is that we're going to have to take a couple of days off. Parents were adamant about this; thing is, I couldn't bike if I wanted to (I don't want to). I wish instead of heat exhaustion (which makes me sound like Daisy Buchanan) it was called something more awesome, like "Heat Overdrive Throes" or "Compromised Hydration and Muscle Permormance," but I'm too tired to be embarassed. Except that Bonesy, after all that, is just a little sore today: her status gets updated from "trooper" to "warrior," I think. A warrior taking very good care of me, I'd like to end by saying. She is out buying chicken noodle soup right now.
Ride on.

Day 62: 101, Being Both the Forecasted Temperature and Projected Mileage for the Day

First of all, let me say that it is currently 93 degrees in Mountain Home, ID, where I am sitting outside a Jack in the Box restaurant listening to a small dog cry out for help as it slowly asphyxiates in someone's car. Whence the city's name, you ask? No idea. Oddly, it's not really in the mountains, nor even at their feet. From the interstate we saw a lone peak about 20 miles to the west, but even that was nothing to write home about (and yet, observant reader, here I am writing home about it! Perhaps the sheer lack of other distinguishing features offers, in that vein, some clue to the mystery of the naming). We woke up before dawn this morning and were ready to go by 6, only to discover that Bonesy had a flat tire. Still, we knocked down 60 miles by noon and earned this two hour shady respite. The dog is still barking.
When we wake up in Boise tomorrow, we will be only 60 or so miles from Oregon! Idaho-rribe week of riding not withstanding, that puts us about eleven days from the coast, and we are starting to get excited. I think my Ocean Mist-scented Car Freshener (R) is growing more potent as it feels itself nearing its home. Bonesy just came back with one of those fast food chain "large" sodas more aptly described as "benthic," and it is full of cold, sparkling lemonade and only cost a dollar six.
Speaking of lemonade -- still barking -- we were just talking yesterday about how our moms alays used to make lemonade from concentrate, which seems in retrospect to have been a little out of character, and how now we have developed associations along an axis between motherhood, refrigeration, and Minute Maid that probably in themselves provide enough material for a French novel. Then this morning when we stopped in a diner for eggs I asked the server if their OJ was from concentrate and she didn't know what I meant, and obviously it was, and I felt like a prat for being so particular and besides it was strangely comforting...
It turns out that the dog (we investigated) is sitting comfortably in a well-shaded and equally-well-ventillated vintage Winnebago, and is just freaking out, apparently, because his master is out of sight. That's good, because I don't know what we were going to do otherwise. 40 miles to Boise on a beautiful July-daho afternoon.
Ride on.

Day 61: On Which Day We Celebrate 2 Months of Riding Bicycles

Today, an estimated two weeks away from the coast, we would like to thank our sponsors. Many people ask us how we're affording a trip like this, and frankly we really aren't. Our parents are helping significantly, and for that we are enormously thankful. Also, though, we have (through my mother's efforts) received the support of several other donors. This is ridiculous. People who have heard about our trip and just wanted to help us make it to California. Thank you Auntie Lisa, Janice, Connie and Kay -- I hope you find your goodwill and generosity alive and reciprocated in the wider world.

Maybe I spoke too harshly about Idaho in our last post -- but probably not. Winds yesterday were the stiffest yet, and our minds were just melted by the end of a meager 44 miles. It's hard to put my finger on exactly what it is about this leg of the trip: busy roads and lots of interstate riding? Ceaseless wind? Unremittant sunshine? I know it sounds silly to whinge about too much sun (although maybe not so much to you, eastern and midwestern readers, with this heat wave you're sweating out), but we're basically in the desert here, so heat really takes it out of us over a day of riding. Anyway, my mind has just been spinning. I catch bits about the debt negotiations, think about the upcoming semester, and all I can do is sit on the saddle all day and fight the wind. So the point, I guess, is that with nothing to fix my attention on, the old brainbox kind of idles.
Yesterday I bought one of those tree-shaped air fresheners for my bike because it seemed kind of funny. But now I get these occasional whiffs of "Ocean Mist," which I thought would spur me onward of the final stretch but somehow just reminds me of linoleum.
Ride on.

Day 59: Idahoped We'd Be in Oregon by Now

We've been riding across southern Idaho for four days now. Their license plates read "Scenic Idaho / Famous Potatoes." To be sure, readers, I have heard of Idaho potatoes; the "scenic," however, must refer to another part of the state. The land here has gone from dry to arid as we've moved westward, following the Snake river in a sweeping end run around the impressive Sawtooth mountains and moving to strike Boise from the south. So far we've stayed in Swan Valley, Idaho Falls, Pocatello, and now tonight in Declo, at what must be the finest RV park of the trip so far (Tree Village). I want to rant about the crummy KOA last night, but I'm too sleepy.
The going has been rough. Aside from the mind-numbing landscape, we have faced stiff headwinds all four days and frankly I'm not sure which is worse: it's especially hard to get motivated in the morning when you know you have nothing to look forward to except getting back off the bike. Maybe that's a little harsh sounding, but it's certainly true in terms of touring-type milestones: the next thing we're really eager for is getting out of Idaho. After that there's the Cascades and Crater Lake (the latter of which I've been real excited about since about March), and then California. It's not that we want to be done, exactly, but I think that since the incredible vacation in Jackson we've had our minds trained on the end goal. This is a blessing and a curse, and here in the Gem State it seems to manifest as talking a lot about the beach and even more about Vermont. I miss reading the paper.
Ride on.

Day 53: All the Way to Jackson

Thank you, Tetons. Thank you, sky. Thank you; Wyoming, Indian Paintbrush, Queen Anne's Lace, Lupine, Aspen, Sagebrush, and asphalt. Thank you fog and geysers and bacon and eggs. Thank you Bonesy.

Wednesday was my birthday and the most glorious day of riding so far. I sort of lost track of how long it'd been since the last update (which itself was woefully short on detail), so now I feel like I have enormous catching  up to do, and of course even if I kept up in the first place I could never capture all of this. So I think we'll just focus on the birthday ride and fill you in on the rest by way of providing some background information.

OK. So we were wicked tired after that climb a week ago, and it took us two days to make it the hundred miles to Cody (we wanted to actually push on another 18 miles up the Shoshone river on the second day, but we were just whipped, and Bonesy's parents treated us to a motel and we watched Harry Potters 4 & 5 on TV and slept a lot). Cody -- "A small town with a big city attitude!" -- is at the mouth of a canyon that stretches fifty miles and climbs about 2000ft to the East entrance to Yellowstone, and somehow it took us another day to get up there. Again, we'd wanted to make it another 27 miles into the park, but by now were feeling so tired that I think we both started getting a little nervous. It should also be noted that there was some gnawing concern regarding Grizzly bears: during our week-long approach to Yellowstone we were alerted via text messages -- by no fewer than five people -- to the recent fatal mauling of a hiker who had evidently "done everything right." Bonesy had been concerned about bear activity from the outset, and my bravado regarding the ursine threat had worn awfully thin by this point in the trip. Point being, we were carrying minimal food and planning on eating exclusively at restaurants and gas stations, which added stress to the whole situation because it meant that we were going to be limited on our ride-routing by the admirably sparse development of services in the park. Then there was the whole "Yellowstone in July" thing which, take it from me, vacationing readers, just do not go to Yellowstone in July. Lodging is booked like, a year in advance, including campgrounds. Including campgrounds!

So when we arrived at Fishing Bridge (the first "village" -- or concentration of parkgoer services -- to be reached below the 8600ft Sylvan Pass that constitutes the park's natural east entrance) under skies the color of the lupine lining the fire-scoured hillsides above us, the ranger we asked about camping was like "geez, yeah, it's just such high season right now," and directed us 45 miles south to a campground without potable water. It's now about 3:30, and in the mid fifties and certainly not getting any warmer, and it's been raining on and off since noon, and this alarming weariness has not left us. The wind began to howl.
"I can suggest some nice places to stay just outside the park," she offered the two of us, clad as we were in spandex, cycling gloves, and dripping raingear.
"No," I was surprised at having to clarify; "we're on bicycles."
She said, "oh, gosh, OK. Yeah, I would head south [to the aforementioned campsite, dry and distant]."

Anyway, patient readers, we went to the nearest campsite, about two miles away, and sure enough it had a sign saying "full." I pointed this out to the woman working at the registration window, and she said perhaps the most welcome words we'd heard all trip (bear in mind, readers, the grisly prospect of being dismembered in our tent all because I left a powerbar wrapper in my sweater pocket or something): "Well, we are full, but never too full for hikers and bikers." May the creator bestow blessings upon Xanterra -- the park's principal concessionaires and operators of the Bridge Bay campground -- and its employees in measure commensurate with their treatment of us and all cyclists foolhardy enough to visit Yellowstone National Park.

Alright, still with me? We had planned on getting up early, leaving our gear at the campsite, and riding light up to the falls at Inspiration point, then coming back for the stuff and riding south to the edge of the park, there to stage the following day's 67 mile trek to Jackson. Well, after eating some pretty weak sandwiches at the Lake Lodge, we were spinning back to our tent contemplating another whole day of riding with rabid tourists in rented RV's careening past, paying more attention to the admittedly impressive scenery than the winding, shoulderless roads. Bonesy bravely broached the subject of bailing on Yellowstone, which had become more something to survive, or at least endure, before our impending vacation in Jackson. To be fair, she actually couched it in terms of the century ride it would entail -- something that, near the very beginning of the trip, I had idly suggested as a potential birthday celebration. So we went to bed early.

The next morning, we woke up at 5:30 and hit the road in less than an hour -- I wearing every long-sleeve article of clothing I had, as well as a wool hat. Our fingers were cold, and the morning fog still hung over Yellowstone Lake (which, by the way, looked an awful lot like Lake Champlain when we arrived the day before but now looked like the largest alpine lake on the continent, which it is) as we rode the narrow piney road along its shore. Stopped for breakfast, at which to celebrate my birthday I had both orange juice and coffee, and ran into two sets of touring cyclists while there. It turns out that all touring cyclists in the United States manage to converge on Yellowstone (Riding Bar Harbor to Key West? A quick detour will allow you to see, and potentially be charged by, free-grazing bison!). I think a later post will deal exclusively with the variety of tourists we've met: with the variety itself, mind you, and not necessarily with any of the cyclists themselves. This is getting long winded, isn't it?

So then we rode over the continental divide, and I peed on both sides of it. Woah! Then we crossed and followed the Snake River, and while our road continued to climb gradually back to 8300 ft, the river plunged ever deeper into a canyon to our immediate left. Like, immediate, readers. Pretty spectacular. Then -- and this might be the best part of the whole unbelievable day, buried inconspicuously right here in what, like the sixth paragraph? -- we descended. It had been overcast all morning, and then I swear less than ten minutes before we hit the pass it just cleared off and the sun shone brightly on an unbroken four mile descent through the sweetest-smelling air I have ever had the pleasure of breathing. Wildflowers on the roadside dissolved into a fragrant blur as species blended in different proportions, creating mats colored everywhere from dark purple to magenta to creamy white. In front of us, the Tetons loomed, craggy and perfect, slicing cumulus clouds so sharply that they might have burst and drifted tattered into Jackson Lake.

We spent the afternoon riding past those mountains -- like someone's idea of what a mountain range should look like -- first through forested hills along the lake and then across wind-blasted flats. The last thirty miles into Jackson were, like, real windy, and right in our faces. There was no shade. It was exhausting and somehow invigorating at the same time. Spiritually, I guess. From town it was another ten miles to Bonesy's cousin's house. Most of that was on a rolling bike path while the sun settled out of a cloudless sky, dipping behind the mountains just as a near-full moon rose in front of us. Then we had to climb this ridiculous grade to get here, but at that point it was all just icing on the best birthday cake ever. You know, we were either going to make it up here or fall off the bikes, and we didn't fall off, so we made it. Showers. A cold beer each. Sleep like the dead. There could be no better way to spend my birthday than with 112 miles and a whole day spent outside, cradled by lakes and mountains and sun and clouds, starting swaddled head to toe and ending up in nothing but my shorts. Getting rained on and getting a little bit of a burn on my nose. Finishing with a climb to a gorgeous view and a beautiful quiet home to rest in. So thank you.

Regarding the home, we have to thank cousin Becca and her husband John in a big way. This is the most beautiful place we could hope to rest before the push to the coast. We're sorry to have missed you and your son, but please understand how grateful we are for your generosity and for the mental and physical rest it affords us. I think we're going to take a full 3 days off, and I'm sure it will be hard to leave even after that.
Ride on, just not quite yet.

HARRY POTTER FEELINGS AND EMOTIONS: AHhhhh!!! We waited in line for two hours last night for the midnight showing, and we didn't get in!!!! There was a woman in the crowd after they closed the doors wearing a t-shirt that said "relax, it's only a movie," and she was telling everyone outside how sorry she was that we didn't get in. I was almost as disappointed as when I turned 12 and didn't get my letter of admission to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!!!! But now I realize that it's only going to be THAT MUCH BETTER when I finally get to see the movie!!! I have begun to see how Harry and I are very much the same person -- in the trailer it says that every moment he has lived has led up to THIS, and that's exactly how I FEEL! I think I am being tested to see if I am courageous enough to persevere!! I wish I had a time-turner like Hermione has in the PRISONER OF AZKABAN so that I could GO FORWARD IN TIME to TONIGHT when I have seen HP7:t DHp.2!!!!

Day 46: Cloud Peak Skyway

Phone dying, readers stop Knees a little achey but otherwise none the worse for wear after big climb stop And really, climbing was ridiculous stop Took approx. 5 hrs to reach pass, el. 9666 stop Scenery was amazing stop Had great breakfast in Buffalo, then like a dozen Power Bars (R) stop Bonesy saw a moose stop V tired now stop Staying in Ten Sleep, WY stop More like Eleven sleep stop Did mention am v. tired? stop.
Ride on full stop.

Day 45: The Buffa-lowdown (and PHOTOS)

We got into Buffalo around 2 PM this afternoon. Great thinking on Bonesy's part suggesting that we leave early, because we ended up beating the heat and having time to relax, grab a bite, and upload some photos. Also I bought a new tire to replace my rear one that is literally worn down to the threads. Unfortunately, the bike shop here didn't have anything wider than a 32c (I've been riding on 37's), so I just bit the bullet and picked up some tubes to fit the new tire. It's a Continental "Touring Plus," by the way, which is a bit of a step up from my Conti "Contact" as I understand it. There was never really anything wrong with the Contact, but it does seem to have worn awfully fast. I guess I'm going to change it out when I get back to the campsite, but the prospect of going through that whole process while being eaten alive by bugs is not a pleasant one.
Speaking of prospects, tomorrow we make what is supposedly the most strenuous climb of the whole tour: from Buffalo to Powder River Pass along the Cloud Peak Skyway (US-16 Scenic Byway) we will gain about 5,000 ft. elevation over 30 miles. People have warned us about this since Sioux Falls -- none more ominously than the guys at Sports Lure (the bike shop) in town here. But I guess there's always that local "our road (or weather or wildlife or bar or whatever) is more dangerous than yours" mentality. I'm wicked looking forward to it, although I will be honest and admit to sharing some of Bonesy's trepidation. My feeling is that the more excited I am, the better I will perform, the easier the climb will be, the more enjoyable it will be. Sort of "power of positive thinking," only with a tangible connection via biometrics. At any rate, you'll be hearing from us at some point about this ride (including, of course, the equally epic 30 mile descent through Ten Sleep Canyon).
We're going to some sort of Bluegrass Jam night at the old Occidental Hotel here, which should be cool. There's also a Big Horn Mountain Music Festival this weekend, but hopefully we'll be hearing disjointed snatches from a mile above town by the time they get that going tomorrow. Also I should note that there were some fellow tenters at our campground who cheered as we rode up. I guess they passed us on the 70 desolate miles between Gillette -- curse its name! -- and here, and felt like we were pretty "hard core." I'll leave that to the hive mind.

HARRY POTTER UPDATE. Today I am so excited for the upcoming release of HP7:tDHp2 that I can't even talk about it on the internet! Instead, wizarding readrs, I will ask you to post who is your favorite HP character and why!!! Mine is Hermione because she's the "brightest wizard of her age" and can solve any magical riddle! Only eight days left!

Ride on.

Day 44 Pt. 2: Gillette - the Worst a Man Can Get

So we made it to Gillette. Take my advice, wandering readers, and steer clear of this blasted place. Oh sure, it's a convenient pit stop if you're headed west on I-90, but I urge you to hold it till Buffalo, which surely can be no worse than this, "America's Energy Capital." For it is also America's sprawl capital, the country's foremost example of bad (or no?) zoning, and the national headquarters of debris-piled lawns. There are no side streets, only deafening boulevards and trash bag-barricaded alleyways; no supermarkets, only Kwikstops and liquor stores; no trees, only scrub brush and golden arches. Denizens lie awake nights listening alternately to an endlessly flatulent motorcycle promenade or the squealing of coal cars over steel rails (undergirded by the bowels-loosening churn of the locomotives). We did, however, find very good Mexican food at Los Compadres, and with the blinds closed were able to pretend we were in Oaxaca, or at least not Northeastern Wyoming.

While we were riding on I-90 this morning, some guy with Illinois plates and "Alaska or Bust" written on his rear window honked encouragingly at us. He pulled over at the Parking Area on the next hill and it turns out his name was John and he was driving way up to the Bering Sea as doing so was #4 on his bucket list. He had two spare tires and a gas cannister and an emergency beacon and just a whole lot of contagious enthusiasm. Then he pointed out, way off to the north, that we could actually see Devil's Tower about 30 miles away, which was surreal and somehow kind of creepy. We would totally have missed it had we not stopped to talk, which pretty much sums up the past week.

I forgot to update you all on my feelings and emotions re: the upcoming Harry Potter film. Right now excitement is about at an 11 out of 10, and inability to think about anything else is probably about a 9!!! Only 8 more days when I wake up tomorrow!! By the way that's going to be real early since we're trying to drop 70 miles by early afternoon (no stops between here and Buffalo with T-Storms and 88* heat in the forecast). Ride on.

Day 44: If the Thunder Don't Get You, Then the Lightning Will

Got an early start today, though not as early as the Sundance Kid, who was gone by the time we woke up at 7. He left us a nice note, and we hope he made it to Moorcroft by the time this weather hit. And hit it has, concerned readers. We're sheltered in a gas station here in town and the rain is sideways and the lightning is right overhead. The power just went out, briefly. It's hard to know when to strike out for the next uncovered 30 miles when the forecast is for Iso T-Storms all day ("some storms may be severe") and the sky is gunmetal grey as far west as you can see.
We're surrounded by the ubiquitous Sturgis Rally 2011 gear -- do you know about Sturgis, Eastern readers? Google it. -- and drinking coffee and listening to colorful local banter. There is generic-sounding Nashville country on the radio, and we are stomping our cleated feet like nervous horses.
Ride On (as soon as the storm blows off).

Day 43: Rook, Bonesy, and the Sundance Kid

You Guys. There is so much to write about. We've been in the Black Hills of South Dakota and it has been breathtaking. Right now we're in the Crook County Public Library in Sundance, Wyoming, and I'm going to try to get some of this down before they close.
First of all, we're in Wyoming! That means we're no longer in Vermont, New York, Ontario, Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, or South Dakota. I meant to remark on this earlier, but the MN/SD border was the first one we crossed on dry land, and Wyoming's was the second: I guess that's a prettty good indicator of how the land was settled. The eponymous "Sundance Kid" is actually named Mike, and he's from Ohio. We met him at the Subway (they're like biker bars for touring cyclists) in town here and are hoping to bump into him later on in the campground. He's biking to Gillette, so this was his penultimate day of riding -- something kind of strange to think about for us, as we still have about 1,500 miles to ride. I am of course looking forward to reacing California, but not necessarily as it represents the end of the trip. How strange it will be to go to bed knowing what we're going to do the next day.
So yesterday was Independence Day, and we were tired, so we declared Independence from cycling and hung out at the campsite all day. What a campsite it was, readers! We pitched our tent right beside a winding little stream; ate watermelon and corn on the cob and BLT's; read books in the shade; read books in the sun; went for a short bike ride through town before we decided that, if we weren't going to ride, we might as well really not ride; made a fire and ate s'mores. We made boats out of the watermelon eighths and raced them between the little bridges over the stream. There were no fireworks, but we slept very well anyway and it was a day well spent.
Today we meant to ride to Moorcroft, WY but then we got here and the weather was looking just impressively foreboding, and there's literally no shelter to be had between here and there, so we thought we'd wait a bit in the library and see if it would blow over or what. Then I'm looking at google maps and it turns out that -- and there is some math here, so follow me if you will -- we're 32 mi from Moorcroft, which is 30 mi from Gillette, which is 70 mi from Buffalo, and there's nothing in between these towns. So what would have happened, arithmetic readers, is that we'd've woken up in Moorcroft tomorrow and ridden 30 miles to Gillette only to be confronted with 70 barren miles to Buffalo and a forecast calling for thunderstorms. No thank you, readers: we've not ridden over 80 miles in a day yet, let alone 100 with no services for the last 70 and a very good chance of dying high-voltage (though, to be fair, also near-instantaneous) deaths with no witnesses but the rain and the antelope. Point being, we're just hanging out here tonight. At least it has encouraged me to update this consarned blogograph.
So July 2nd and 3rd were far and away the best riding to date. On the third we rode the norther half of the Mickleson Trail (a 100 and something mile rail trail maintained by the state) from Hill City to Spearfish, SD. Actually, the last portion of that consisted of a 3 miles up and 3 miles down a 7% grade, which was a hoot, and then about 20 miles from the top to the bottom of Spearfish Canyon. Oh, photophillic readers, await these pictures with that special excitement you reserve for the most stunning of artistic achievement, like for example HARRY POTTER 7: THE DEATHLY HALLOWS PART 2, which comes out on July 15th. Neverminde that we'll probably be in Yellowstone National Park -- I can't wait to see that movie.
In fact, from now until the fifteenth, I'm going to stop writing about cycling across the country and start chronicling my feelings and emotions relating to the imminent rapture (the opening of HP7:tDHp2). Once that moment has come and gone, and I have spent several posts describing my experience thereat, then we may return to the humdrum events of days on the road. Oh, including the time we stayed with John of the Prairie Dog Cycling Club. That's a good story, but not at good as HP7:tDHp2.
Ride on.

Day 39: Rapid City

Yesterday we woke up in a motel in Wall, SD. But we hadn't paid for a motel room! How could this be, skeptical readers? Bonesy's brother Tim and his girlfriend Jess just happened to be driving through on their way to a new life in Los Angeles, and they were gracious enough to billet us after a 104* day in the Badlands. That was an amazing ride, by the way, and I don't feel like I can do it justice from the handheld. We met two guys riding from Seattle to Rhode Island, and we met a boy scout troop from Longmeadow, MA (hi, troop 90!). We also met three shirtless, aging bikers who rode back and gave us a bottle of water because it was "hotter'n hell." Anyway, just wait for the pictures.

So there's this tourist trap in Wall that started as a drug store in 1931 ("Free Ice Water!") and now basically comprises its own western-themed mall and has an animatronic T-Rex. We've been seeing billboards since Minnesota. It was funny, then, that I had to actually get an antibiotic prescription filled there. Ha ha!

Yesterday we rode 52 miles on the interstate to get here to Rapid City. At least it was graded nicely. Today we're doing a short ride because of my drug-induced weariness, and we'll ride past Mt. Rushmore, which I guess is neat. The Black Hills are supposed to be pretty. Ride on.

Day 36: All the Pretty Horses

The grasslands continued to roll, and there were in fact horses (see pics to be uploaded in next real town), but mostly just grassy undulation. The sky was blue. There was one road - as if there were ever any more than one - and it went west. When the wind blew through the tall grass on slopes in the middle distance, it looked like a great migration of manatees. Prairie Manatees. We rode for about 75 miles, and during the latter half long buttes and headlands began to rise out of the previously dimensionless expanse to our south. It turns out we could see a long, long way.

Towns here are about 11 miles apart because of the logistical demands of the abandoned railroad we've been following. That doesn't mean there's necesarily anything IN the towns, but there's pretty reliably a gas station in 2 of every 3. This is important in terms of muffin and Hot Pocket procurement, and convenient in terms of sanctioned mituration. You know you're coming to a town about 5 miles out when you see its water tower rising out of a sooty patch of horizon that will eventually resolve into trees. The water tower then hovers there like a fata morgana, willing you on and taunting you at the same time - once in a while the road will turn away from the tower and in such cases you feel more acutely than ever that you are bound to the fickle will of this sizzling, roadkill-stained strip of blacktop (or chipseal, or concrete block).

Today we were in a diner for lunch in some awful tourist trap of a town (Murdo, I think, which claims to have a world-famous car show. I wouldn't know.) when we struck up a conversation with a really cool young family from Minnesota. Dad had done about 20 triathlons, and one of the kids tells me that he's done "about 5 or 6."
"One," says dad. "You've done one triathlon."
"Well, there was green lake..."
"Right," says mom. "One."
"OK, maybe it was like 2 or 3 then," concedes the kid. Behind his back, dad is holding up his index finger and mouthing the word "one" at me. Mom isn't going to let this go, and assures me that son has only done one triathlon.
"Yeah," says the kid, "but there was also that long run."

Still, he's done more than I have (that's about one or two, approximately). I think I would get demolished in the swimming part. I did race a freight train the other day though, if that counts for anything.

Tomorrow: wicked hot ride through the Badlands. We're on mountain time as of tonight, so that should help us get an early start. Ride on.

Day 35: Good Country

Today marks the beginning of a new era, patient readers. One of rolling grassland, sweltering heat, and an ever-diminishing frontier. Yes, when we crossed the Missouri river and -- after a stop at the famed "Al's Oasis" -- climbed the formidible Manganese Hill into central South Dakota, we rode right over the broken yellow line separating the first 1700 miles of our trip from the last. In actual fact, there was no such line on that stretch (I will not apologize for taking poetic license) because we were cycling the shoulder of I-90; you can do that, and often must, in many of the less populous western states. As tractor-trailers roared over the crest of the escarpment, I left the Governor George Aiken lying outside the rumble stip and cheered Bonesy up the last few yards of the 3 mile climb. She rolled up to me, bumped my fist with hers, and said, "that was kind of fun." We have truly come a long way.
We did it into 20 mph headwinds, too, abiding readers! All day they blew. I hate to resurface after two weeks of radio silence and complain about the weather, but the weather for the past two weeks has just been rotten. Chilly, lots of rain, headwinds, you name it. We had taken to calling it the summer that wasn't. Then today was just an amber-waves-of-grain stunner (save for the wind), and the next sevaral are supposed to be gorgeous as well, with temperatures cracking triple digits on Wednesday (probably when we'll hit the Badlands! How awesome is that?). Anyway, larger noise w/r/t weather is that we have felt very keenly how intimately our lives can be tied to nature, and how little stands in the way of that relationship in life at home. Quality of days is largely dictated by atmosphere and terrain out here, which is a little tough but also sort of freeing.
So anyone still reading this would, I presume, like to be filled in on the past 13 days or whatever it's been. Well, tough noogies, as mother always says. Typing on this thing is super tedious and I want to go to sleep so I can wake up and ride another beautiful day on the high plains.
... But OK, real quick. 2 cities: St. Paul and Sioux Falls. Two warm showers hosts: Christine in St. Paul (who happens to be a UVM alum) and Dave in Mitchell, SD. Both truly awesome people who merit much more discussion- THANK YOU, YOU GUYS. 1 Native companion: Randall, whom we met in a St. Paul bike shop and who guided us through Minneapolis's totally impressive network of trails. Lots of other great people, of course, and a car show in Sioux Falls through the inebriated crowds at which we pushed our bikes. A light show at the eponymous falls - sponsored by Wells Fargo - that presented Their Fair City's history. The Mall of America, at which we declined to ride the roller coaster(s), and ate pretty good Thai food-court food, and felt uneasy. Common Good Books (G. Keillor, prop.), where I bought a signed copy of Lake Wobegon Days and felt guilty for not blogging. A few motels because of the blasted rain. Untold numbers of hamburgers and Snickers bars. 2 really nice guys going east-west whom we met outsida Sioux Falls and wanted to meet up with for a beer or something but got distracted by great host Dave. As for quotables, which I know at least one of our Platinum Club readers enjoys, there have been some real gems:

3. "Watch out for the snakes on the other side of the river." -Gas station clerk re: the Missouri

2. "Where is Vermont?" -Biker guy at a gas station who, when informed of the state's proximity to New Hampshire, offered: "oh, like near Maine."

1. "Well, Ted'd probably let you set up in back of the motel there, and anyway, you're in good country." -Ruggedly handsome biker guy in Reliance, SD just this afternoon. We do indeed seem to be in good country.

That's it. If you want to learn more, you'll have to read (and hopefully purchase) the book.
Ride on.

Day 27: We Met Her Accidentally in St. Paul, Minnesota

Day 22: I-o-l-a, Iola

Tonight we find ourselves at the aptly named Iola Pines campground in piney Iola, Wisconsin. I always thought Iola was something you put on fancy sandwiches, but it turns out also to be the name of a town about 65 miles away from Grandma's house (I've been waiting all day to type that one). Today we left early and had breakfast at Luna, West De Pere's artsiest coffee shop (and its only coffee shop, so far as we could tell). We made such great time with unexpected tailwinds that we both dillied and later dallied in New London at lunchtime.
While Bonesy shopped for lunch in a Festival supermarket, I solemnly perused our moderately-helpful large scale map of Wisconsin roads. I chatted with a few people about the bikes, as typically happens on afternoon guard detail, and then this guy in a polo shirt with a nametag that said "Mike" asked where we were going. "No shit!" he said when I told him; "no sir," I replied, "no shit." Turns out Mike is the gregarious manager of New London's Festival Food Store (this is actually an assumption based on his corner office's commanding view of the sales floor): he practically insisted that I store the bikes in the attached liquor store and ascend to the parenthetically aforementioned office to google nearby campgrounds. Mike and his wife (Pam? Excuse me if I've misremembered) seem to be avid outdoorspeople, and he was excited to help us plan out the second half of day 22. So thanks, Mike.
Then we ate lunch at Taft Park (est. 1915) on the Wolf River -- jury's still out on whether the park's name is at all related to President Wm. Howard -- and napped for about a half hour. Getting an early start seems to allow for more leisure time. Weird, right?
OK then quickly- we ate at the Municipal golf course here: $5.25 all-you-can-eat baked potato buffet! It's like a dream. Also when we stopped at a convenience store in town the cashier told us about a solo cycle tourist going Maine to Seattle who had just passed through last week. We had heard about just such a rider from an excitable cruise director aboard the S.S. Badger... So it's a little mysterious and kind of reminds me obliquely of a Cormac McCarthy novel, which I'm going to try not to think about as I go to sleep. Ride on.

Day 20: Little Sister Appreciation Day

Today was my sister Kylie's 22nd birthday! Happy Birthday, Kylie!

In other news, we crossed Lake Michigan on the SS Badger. It took four hours to travel sixty miles, and not a single pedal stroke. They made the bikes ride steerage, though, which I felt sort of guilty about as we sat on the stern and watched the razor's edge of Ludington dissolve into the bright blue of a chilly June morning. Really, darling readers, it's not broken seventy for the past... three days now, is it? Makes for nice biking weather, and even better sleeping weather. I mean, I've been sleeping like a rock. Also, as I was just telling mom, my back (which usually bugs me most days) hasn't bothered me this whole trip as we close in on three weeks. Chalk it up to the tiny little sleeping pad and the comfortable arch over my Long Haul Trucker.
Speaking of three weeks, tomorrow (day 21) will be our first whole day off in like, twelve days maybe? We're in beautiful De Pere Wisconsin -- which sounds kind of like sarcasm but is actually very sincere -- and staying with my dear grandmother on very short notice. My mom also flew up here from Illinois, which has been the best part of this whole terrific day. I love my mom like crazy. Also my cell phone won't charge, and I'm really hoping that it's the charger itself. This is probably the closest we've been to a Verizon store on the whole trip, so thank goodness for timing.
So after the day off (and hopefully I can write some more tomorrow because I want to talk about things like the Command Suit and the Longest Date Ever and some more people we've failed to thank) we'll ride more or less straight through central Wisconsin to St. Paul, where Bonesy and I are looking forward immensely to visiting Garrison Keillor's book store, Good Books. You all should feel very lucky that I always write under time pressure, or I would just blather for ever. There would be more footnotes, too.
By the way, Grandma just totally housed about half a pound of burger. I admire her to no end. And speaking of figures of admiration, Steve Garufi featured us on his web page (that is, we admire him -- not that we, personally, are the figures in question). Awesome.
Ride on.

(But though actually not, right? I guess I should say "hold up," or something. But to all you, and potential future readers, Ride on.)

Day 18: A Retrospective

Got to write quick, which is too bad because yesterday was awesome. It was raining, and the confounded waterproofing spray I'd applied to the tent must be water soluble or something for all the good it did. So we found a place 55 miles west in Le Roy, MI called the Travler's Bar, Grill, and Motel [sic] for $30 a night. No, the sheets hadn't been washed and no, there was no deadbolt on the door, and yes there were cigarette burns in the carpet, but also there were dollar domestics at the bar and Detour, Michigan's premier variety band. We're in seriously high spirits and hoping to make Ludington tonight to cross Lake Michigan on the morning ferry. Ride on.

Day 17: Bay City R&R and IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT

The previous two days have been in the nineties and we've ridden over 60 miles in 20mph headwinds. I guess that was the excuse for shacking up at the Holiday Inn here for clean sheets and internet access and free breakfast. If you've seen the movie Wedding Crashers, breakfast was kind of like that scene where Vince Vaughn piles up his plate and smothers it in syrup: we ate like professionals. Anyhow, we're going to do a half day today, and mostly on the Pere Marquette rail trail, so we look forward to that. Meanwhile, I'm going to use this full-sized keyboard to make some long-overdue acknowledgements and an IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT (below this photograph!).

The IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT is as follows: Bonesy is, as we speak, assembling a picasa album of photos from our trip. It seems like that will be the smoothest way to post & host the large number of images we have accumulated. Find the photos here, and in the future use the link that we'll put on the "Photos" page up top there. And thanks to Bonesy for putting that together -- it's probably more interesting than my blathering here.

OK, so on to acknowledgements. Lots of people have helped us along the way, whether materially or simply by encouraging us. I have been remiss in not thanking them more regularly, so I will here make ammends and endeavour to be more diligent in the future. If you're not on the list and you should be, I'm sorry. Please know that we're incredibly grateful to all of you and probably couldn't be doing this without your support.

Dale, who gave us water a few days ago when it was real hot and we stopped for shade at his store. John, who saw us in the Port Huron paper and then bought us powerade yesterday afternoon when we stopped in Fairgrove. The nameless gentleman at De-J's Store in Fairgrove who not only gave us more bottles of water than we could carry, but also let us use his own private restroom because there were no public ones for miles. The man near Albion, NY who gave us bottles of water and told us not to miss the one spot on the Erie canal where the road goes under the water (woah). Bonnie and her son Simon, who where not only extremely generous but just super cool as well. Mark Rummel, the photographer for the Port Huron Times Herald, who gave us some local advice on M-138 and its hills. Julianne Mattera, the reporter who was interested enough to write about us. The guys at Alpine Cyclery in Port Huron, who replaced Bonesy's derailleur cable housing free and were super friendly and also carried the tubes we needed for her tires. US Customs agents, who after they realized that we weren't a national security threat were very supportive and all came out to look at the bikes and even printed us out directions to Alpine Cyclery. The lady who worked for the Blue Water Bridge Authority who drove us across the bridge in her truck because we weren't allowed to ride over it and would have had to go 20 miles south to the next border crossing. Steve Garufi, who runs bikeacrossamerica.net and was a huge source of inspiration and wisdom in preparing for the trip (we have a picture of Steve taken from his website that encourages us when we're struggling -- what an inpirational guy, and you should all check out his page). The RV-ing couples at Deer Creek and AW Campbell provincial parks who gave us coffee, firewood, conversation, etc. Sean Mahoney, who I think is going to send us a drop somewhere in Minnesota. Also everyone who comments on here. We really like that.

Ride on.

Day 15: Thumbs Up!

Today it was warm. Low 90's and humid in the way that makes the sky look a little pwdery or out of focus. We dranks lots of water; fortunately, resupply points seem to be a little easier to come by in the "thumb" of Michigan than they were in Ontario. That's where we are, is in the thumb. As Bonnie explained to us last night, Michiganders will, to a Michigander, invariably use their own hands as ersatz maps when discussing intra-state navigation. So we're heading up into the webbing tomorrow (Bay City, map lovers), and today we are camping just west of North Branch in a campground that only charges $10 per cyclist as opposed to the North American standard $30 flat. I am, as I type this (with my thumbs!), cowering in our hastily erected tent while Bonesy showers in the inexplicably luxurious washroom. The mosquitoes here are like sweat-seeking zeppelins, and they hunt in packs. The proprietor just drove by twice in an old Massey-Ferguson tractor, spraying a billowing white cloud in his wake, so hopefully that will buy me some time to sprint to the showers. It's a little late to be starting dinner, and I'm a little racoon-phobic, so the day's anxiety is not quite done with.
I will say before I go, however, that the country was beautiful, and especially the last hour as the sun set. It felt good to ride for a while after a few short days, and it's easy to get into your cadence when it's so hot. So silver linings, or not even really, because it was just a good day. Except for the damn mosquitoes, but here he comes for a third pass with the spray.
Oh, also we're going to be in the Port Huron newspaper. Ride on.

Day 14: I Didn't Realize There Would Be So Much Biking

So here we are in Port Huron, MI. Bonnie from warmshowers.org was nice enough to take us in on only a day's notice, and we're living the dream. Among the amenities:

-Kitchen
-Dinner
-Shower (and bathroom!)
-Fuzzy, a little dog that looks like a wolf
-Beds (indoors)
-The Internet

[Major league thanks to Bonnie. Kind, generous, fascinating, and leaving on a bike trip of her own tomorrow. We wish her well.]

I wanted to do brief rundowns of the past 10 days or whatever it's been since the last posting, but Bonnie was in the Peace Corps so obviously we talked about that after dinner and then there was a map session, etc. -- point being that we have stayed up later than expected and now have little energy for this blogging thing. By the way, gentle readers, please have patience with me re: infrequency of posts. It's not that I don't care about you, but rather that we've been in the wilds of southern Ontario where a "blog" is a smelly, poorly drained place at the bottom of a pasture. Too, frankly, at the end of a long day of riding it's hard to lie down in the tent and do anything other than go immediately to sleep. So maybe I'll start updating at lunch or something.

Thus far the hardest part (since people ask) is eating enough food. This is not really a surprise, but it is a little disconcerting that we haven't quite figured it out yet. One can only eat so many granola bars, but doing much more that that seems to take the wind out of our sails if we stop mid-ride for a snack. I have lost considerable weight, as I believe Bonesy has, and even though I stuff myself at night I feel hungry in the morning. I sure would appreciate some advice here, community. Not sure if Gary's reading this, but I'm going to try to call him (my Ironman-conquering godfather) for some advice on this point.

Biggest emergencies to date:
1. Racoon raid at Rock Point Provincial Park on the northern shore of Lake Erie. It wasn't so much that they took all our food (which they did) as the sniffing, and the clawing, and the snarling that kept us up until dawn. Totally undeterred by lights: v. unsettling.
2. Flat tires. So far only two, actually, which seems fine. I patched mine up fine but Bonesy's was punctured right on the seam so it kept leaking all yesterday and today. We were lucky that the patch held as well as it did because we didn't have 32c tubes for her until this afternoon (I had packed two larger tubes thinking she had the same tire size as I did, but so crisis averted).

Biggest surprise: Niagara Falls! It's like Disneyland on the Canadian side, all built up like that. We had no idea. The falls were gorgeous, of course, and we spent a vacation day just looking at them and wandering the little city (great falafel at Tarboosh, and about the best deal in town for the calories). Somehow though all the entertainment complex that's grown up around there kind of detracts from the natural spectacle. I'm not being cynical here -- we approached even the overwhelming commercialism with an anthropologically objective eye -- but I really was a little underwhelmed by the falls until we spent some serious time just gazing. The Rainbow Bridge, though? Really, really beautiful. But I'm kind of a bridge guy.

Best coffee: two mornings ago when we had a long day of riding ahead of us and the skies opened up just as we were mounting the bikes, an older couple in an RV invited us onto their awning to set a while and wait out the storm with a cup of Tim Horton's (I love Tim Horton's -- always have, ever since working on a farm in PEI).

Best quote: yesterday we were stopped in the middle of a long day against a headwind (oh, more on the blasted winds below), making tuna wraps in what can only be described as the prairie town of Melbourne, ON. This older guy is there with his niece and the sky is like, hard, it's so blue, and he's gabbing away at us about not riding through northern Ontario in the dark because of the bugs and the moose, and we're just nodding, staring a thousand yards into the grass and munching away with full mouths. And so of course we talk to him about the trip, which is beginning to feel like a routine with people ("Burlington Vermont. California. Almost two weeks. About three months. Yes."), and really I'm kind of throwing him under the bus here, because actually he was an unexpectedly nice guy in a pretty terse-talking area, and so we're leaving and we've said our goodbyes and then he says:

"Do you ever just want to give up?"

Never, of course, and we rode away.

For real, though? The headwinds. Today was the first day that I would downgrade to "breezy" from "windy" in the past seven. And all due West, too. I know it's likely to be that way most of the way across the country, what with the prevailing winds on the continent, but this was pretty ridiculous, and it slowed us down, and there's just no one you can blame or be mad at so you swear and you grit your teeth and you get down in the drops and you pedal. I try to think of the wind as just being part of the world's energy, and we have to keep things in balance by cutting through it with our westward energy. That is our role.

This is the fourteenth night of the trip, and Bonesy and I are loving it, even when it's not fun. I got a puncture wound in my left calf when my fender stay bit me on a railroad crossing back in Rochester; my sock turned red and after we dressed it our first conversation was about what a good picture the blood would have made from a low angle along the tracks (it healed up just fine, mom). Speaking of pictures, we'll try to post some at some point -- there are a few good ones, is my understanding.

Major life lesson in the process of being learned and integrated: it is OK, and even a good idea, to ask for help when you need help. Simple, maybe, but I have always experienced some uneasiness about this sort of thing. Out here, too, it's like, you don't really have anything to give back other than a little conversation and your gratitude. But people like to help, and we are grateful to them for doing it, and the giving and the taking maintain that old balance. Mom says that human beings deserve each other's love and care, and that I can repay by being a peaceful man. I feel peaceful these days, as barns and silos roll by on the picture box of county roads. Ride on.

Day 4: Darkness on the Edge of Utica

[R] Tonight's dispatch from a tent at lock 20 on the Erie canal. Free camping, and we got here just before the rain. Feeling pretty good about that until we discovered that the fly's no longer waterproof. So a soggy night lies ahead, mitigated only slightly by raingear draped over the frame. This is my fault (I had been concerned about the urethane's integrity and didn't bother to treat it) and I feel terrible about it. Bonesy's being very sweet, though, and we did have a good day of riding, and at least it's warm. So it's a lesson learned and we'll dry out in the morning.
Thanks, by the way, to everyone for reading and commenting. It's nice to get those little messages every once in a while. Ride on.

Day 3: Also Days 2 and 1

Tonight we're in Johnstown, New York, about five miles from the Canalway Towpath. The past three days have been great, and have also been exhausting. Let's do haiku.

Day 3
Miles of rolling hills,
Economic depression,
And sometimes lilacs.

Day 2
Climbed along Lake George:
Surprisingly hillacious,
Too many resorts.

Day 1
One state boundary down,
Months of planning rewarded.
Quiet lakeshore camp.

I thought that that would be a good way to summarize things, but it actually took me quite a while to sort out the details. How about a scattershot list of highlights:

Day 3: Escape from the Adirondaks
We broke camp and sprinted about a quarter mile to the first diner on 9N-South (seriousnly, what kind of department of transportation thinks it's a good idea to name a north-south road "9N"?) because the mosquitoes at Lake Luzerne public campground were super aggressive and we figured we'd lose at least as many calories to the bugs as we'd've gained from the instant oatmeal. Anyway, I think we were both a litle crabby, as this morning was the first that we really felt sore. Then we tried to get directions down to the Erie Canal Towpath, but apparently no one in the southern Adirondacks ever leaves their piney hometowns. I will say, however, that everyone was really friendly about not knowing how to get to the next town over. Interesting note: when you tell people you're biking to California, they will inevitably assume that you mean you're riding a motorcycle -- even if you're sweating bullets and wearing spandex. So finally we found a public library in Hadley and looked up directions and set off. Most of the ride was unremarkable, but once we hit the mighty NY-29 it was pretty much all rollers for 17 miles or so, and the landscape kept opening up as we came out of the foothills and into dairy farms and abandoned pastures. It was like 85 out, and by the time we got here to Johnstown (our goal had been Fonda, 4 miles south) there were massive thunderheads and a tornado watch and we were pretty tired after three days, so we decided to get a hotel room, regroup (i.e. have some beers and long showers), and really attack the towpath tomorrow morning. Thus far we've averaged about 46 miles per day, and while some of that can be chalked up to hills, mostly it's just that this is the training we should have done.

Day 2: Mind over Matter, Wheels Over Road
It was chilly down on the lake, but also kind of nice to be vindicated in bringing a wool sweater and hat. So far I think we have used everything we brought, and (with the important exception of hand sanitzer) not thought "oh, I wish we'd brought...." so that feels pretty good. I wasn't sure the MSR stove would be in working order, as I'm not even sure where it came from or when it was last used, but I'll be a sonofagun if it didn't boil water like a charm. We had about 5 miles of riding before Tongue Mountain --  a 2-mile, 800ft climb about which we were warned repeatedly by the locals. The northern part of the lake is really beautiful -- very little development even along Lake Shore Drive, and next to none on the wild-looking far shore; being enraptured by the scenery, I almost didn't notice the start of the hill. It made itself known pretty quickly, though. I think that was the hardest I have ever worked on a bicycle, and it was awesome. I was literally laughing out loud as I crested the last grade. Bonesy, by the way, was a champ on this ride. While neither of us was really prepared, I have a little more cycling experience and the good fortune of actually enjoying the painful exhillaration fo climbing. Anyway, I got a picture of her topping that hill and hopefully we'll get it up sometime soon.
But so the payoff to that climb was this mile-plus ripping descent through pinewoods and bogs and this surreal quarry-looking place where we found this dead carapaced thing that looked like a massive legg-ed prawn. That ride was a huge emotional boost and helped carry us through the endless string of "Adirondack Lodges" and "Lakeview Resorts" that was to follow. Lake George town itself was a weird little touristy place where the visitors' center was closed on weekdays and no one had a map. We did manage to stop at a "Mini Price Chopper," and Bonesy got us some pasta and sauce and sausages and peppers and we cooked them over an open fire and swatted away mosquitoes and went to sleep.

Day 1: Don't Think Twice, It's Alright
We were having dinner with Bonesy's parents the night before we left, and like Constantine before her, she opened up a Magic Hat #9 whose cap said "don't think twice, it's alright," so that seemed pretty auspicious. It was a good day with foreboding skies but no mechanical, physical, emotional, or logistical issues. Ticonderoga was a ghost town.
When we got to the Public Campsite at Rogers' Rock, the camp manager/honcho (who we shall call "Burt," so as not to endanger his job) asked where we were headed and said to his coworker, "oh, lord, I want to give 'em a break-- don't want to take all their money on the first night. Don't we have that special rate?" And then sold us a day pass and pointed us to a secluded campsite right on the water from where we could neither see nor hear other campers. We washed up in a little cove formed by some boulders, and cooked hot dogs over a fire. There was a loon.

Ok, that's all for now and probably for a while, the way things have been going. Although I guess I'll probably have service more often now that we're clear of those bloody mountains.

Day 0: Waiting

[R] Today was busy and very exciting. There is some trepidation about Bonesy's sleeping bag situation. Right now I'm trying to set up mobile posting. Did it work?

Update. Bonesy put up some pictures on the nascent "About Us" page. Thanks to her dad Jack for the shot of the four of us. It was raining as I came in from stabling the bikes just now, and I don't know how I'm going to sleep.
Tomorrow we ride!

Day -1: Staging

[R] Hello, internet!
(For those of you new to the site, please read "A Bicycle Log, or 'Blog'," linked to above)

Today I moved out of my apartment for the summer and rode down to Shelburne, where Bonesy's parents live. Her brother just graduated today (congratulations, Tim), and there was a family gathering to which I was characteristically late. It was a cloudy day and I was riding into a pretty good headwind with my more-or-less fully loaded bike when an SUV pulled up alongside me near the edge of town. Our conversation, which took place as my steel frame flexed over the horribly maintained right lane of Route 7 southbound and I tried to hold my line, went pretty much exactly as follows:

"Where're you riding to?"
"California."
"Where are you coming from?"
"Burlington."
"Like, today?"
"Yeah."
"[garbled encouragement as he sped away]"

So that reminded me that today was the first successful day of riding out of what will probably be about 65 such successes, albeit slightly under the target average. Today can't be Day One, though: that's Tuesday, and it's been scripted for months and I just can't wrap my mind around it being Day three when we ride through the valley and across the lake and out of the Shire at last. So like the US Senate or the Catholic Church, I'll just rename the days. Today was Day -1, and tomorrow is Day 0.

Speaking of tomorrow, it's likely to be pretty busy with packing and last-minute procurements and a 40-mile tune-up ride to Jessa's aunt in Bristol (Hi Nina). Point being, I don't see another post going up until at least Tuesday. So before we leave I'd like to thank everyone for their encouragement over the past several months (but reserve the right to rescind that gratitude in the event of grisly injury or other disaster) and urge anyone interested to contact us through the comment form at the bottom of these postings.

That's all for now -- Bonesy's gotten a head start on the power sleeping, and I don't want to get dusted.