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.