cycleMDS

The Finish Line and Beyond

2010-11-28T01:14:00.000-06:00

I left Lake Charles following the route that were given me by Laura at the Cameron MDS site. As I pedaled south, I questioned my decision to go down to the Gulf Coast before turning east. The wind was blowing hard out of the west, hardest I had dealt with since Wyoming, I would say. A few miles south of Lake Charles I crossed Friesen Road, which made me chuckle a little. I took a picture and wondered what the relationship was between this road and my surname. Continuing south I rode through the Cameron Prairie National Wildlife Refuge. Along this road I saw several small, flattened alligators on the road before seeing one larger, more obviously three-dimensional alligator scurry across the road ahead of me. The creature was too quick and I was unable to get my camera out in time to get a picture. It was a short day on the bike and I got to the MDS site fairly early, but the day was not without its challenges. The stiff wind was more irritating that anything for most of the day, but it became a little more dangerous as I rode across the bridge spanning the Intracoastal Waterway. As I climbed (still locked into my large front chainring), the wind got stronger and tried to push me into traffic. I stopped to take a few pictures at the top, and it felt like I was going to get blown over the edge. Much of the ride this day had no shoulder to speak of, and off both sides of the road was stagnant, swampy water. The final 9 miles of the day were the most difficult. When I got to Creole, I turned west towards Cameron and straight into the wind. Without the ability to change my front gears, I was stuck cranking pretty hard on my pedals.

When I got to the MDS site, I stashed my belongings in the bunk trailer, had a bite to eat, then biked over to the work site another two miles down the road where I joined a group of men from the Goshen, Indiana, area that were building columns for two different houses. The houses were going to be about 8 feet off the ground. There were a few questions for me as I pulled up, but everyone seemed pretty focused on their tasks, so I just jumped in and tried to find a way to help. The next day when we showed up to work, a journalist arrived at the work site to interview me. As we worked throughout the day, one of the future home owners named Jeb did whatever he could to help us out. He had a tractor with forks on the front, so he moved pallets of brick and cement around. He also provided the entertainment during our breaks. He had some great stories about alligator hunting. Over lunch we went out to see a shrimping boat that a friend of his owned. The boat was docked because the engine was blown and needed to get fixed. It was pretty fascinating to learn about how that business works. We ended up getting all of the columns finished and ready to be filled with cement the following day. This trip to Cameron was not on my original itinerary, but I'm glad it worked out for me to stop there for a day. After cycling all over the country, repeating daily why I am doing this bike trip and telling people what MDS is, it was great to be able to be on a work site, see the people that are doing the work and the people that are benefiting from it, and to do something for MDS other than talk. During the day we were focused on building a house, so my trip was not the center of attention. I wasn't wearing tights and a helmet, so I didn't stick out in a crowd. And best of all, nobody knew it was my birthday, so I didn't get any special treatment on that front either. I don't think I could have had a better day.

The next morning I got up with everyone else, had breakfast, and hit the road about the same time they were all headed to the work site. I headed through the swamp toward Abbeville where I would meet my parents and maternal grandmother. On the way, I saw many more two- and three-dimensional alligators along the roadway. I stopped in Pecan Island to eat my packed lunch from the MDS site, and ended up talking to a couple of people about my trip. It was weird to tell the one man that I had been on the road for more than 5-1/2 months and that I'd be finishing the trip tomorrow. I was fully aware of how close I was to the finish, but it felt very different to say it out loud. The man was rather fascinated and seemed as though he needed to tell someone about this guy he had just met. He shouted over to his traveling companion in the truck that I was biking all over the country, but the other man didn't seem to care so much. From there I pedaled the rest of the way to Abbeville and checked into a hotel to wait for my family to arrive. When my parents have visited me during this trip, I tend to stay in nicer places and eat better food, so I didn't bother finding anything to eat before they arrived.

The next day I knew it was going to be a short day, so we didn't hurry to get out of the hotel. I needed to time my arrival at the New Iberia MDS site for about noon so I could be received appropriately. I think I would have arrived within about two minutes of noon, one way or the other, but road conditions forced me to take another route that extended my travel time by about 15 minutes. At the finish line, they actually had a finish line set up. My uncle Kim had joined my parents and his mother at the finish, and had even contacted a local news station. The news people were late, but they still came and interviewed me when they got there. The MDS volunteers prepared a fantastic lunch for the group of us, so we dined and celebrated over the lunch hour. Eventually I took a shower, packed up the bike, and we hit the road towards Henderson.

In the wake of this journey of a lifetime, I am now set with the task of figuring out how everything--everything I have seen, everyone I've met, everything I've felt--how it all fits together in the bigger picture. I've been living for 27 years. How does this 6 month trip fit with the 26 years and 6 months that preceded? What does this mean for the years to come? Obviously this has been on my mind as I have been biking, but being back into a stable environment after becoming accustom to instability and uncertainty, I am now confronted daily with questions I can't answer about what this trip has meant to me. Give me some time and I may come up with something a little more concrete to say in retrospect.

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Readers: I'm not a blogger. This blog is about the bike trip called CycleMDS. I will not continue to blog about my personal life outside of this trip. I may post once more if I come up with some sort of coherent reflection that makes more sense than that last paragraph. In the one week off the bike thus far, that hasn't come. Thank you all for reading, and I apologize for the rather anticlimactic final blog post.

48 States: Check.

2010-11-15T18:09:00.000-06:00

I left the RV park near Mena, Arkansas, in search of breakfast. The first little town I pulled up to was Hatfield, and lucky for me they have a small diner. Most mornings I've been trying to find a diner of some sort rather than cook on my camp stove. The first few miles of a day are really tough without coffee; once I get into a rhythm it doesn't matter.

My next stop for the day was in De Queen, Arkansas, where I pulled over for lunch. Pizza Hut had a buffet. As I was getting up to pay, some men sitting near me asked about my trip. I told them about it and gave them my card and moved to the register to pay. As I was digging through my bag for appropriate change, another group of men came in the door. One of them pointed at me and said, "That's that guy!" The others didn't seem to know what he was talking about. "That's that guy we were talking about, hey, are you riding your bike all over the country or something?" he went on. Apparently I had been featured on the website of their local radio station or something. This is the first time someone has recognized me because of the trip. I didn't expect that to happen.

From there I rolled on down to the Texas line, where I entered state number 48 on my way to New Boston, Texas, for the night. I decided to check into the Tex Inn, partly because I was wanting to celebrate my final state with a night inside, and partly because I thought the clever name should be rewarded.

The following morning I went to the Wal-Mart across the road before leaving town. I needed batteries for my GPS. After purchasing the batteries, I was outside standing next to my bike when I heard a sound like something had just hit my bike, like a small rock or something. After further inspection, I discovered that a small piece of very necessary plastic had broken off of my front derailleur, rendering the spring useless. This means that when I release tension from the cable attached to the derailleur, it does not shift itself into a smaller chain ring. This means that I'm riding the rest of the trip in my largest chain ring on the front, unless I can find a bike shop to fix it.

Surly's newest injury did not hinder my travels that day and I made it to Marshall, Texas in good time. From there I looked up bicycle repair shops in Shreveport, Louisiana, to see if anyone could help me out. I was hoping that such a small problem could be fixed without completely replacing the derailleur. As it turns out, the derailleur should be replaced, but I decided to keep on trucking as is. There are no more hills along my travels, so I should be alright. I'll fix it when I get a job.

The next morning I got up and headed for Shreveport, Louisiana. Entering Louisiana was my 48th state sign picture. When I got to Shreveport, I found a book store to hang out in for a while. I was running quite ahead of schedule and I needed something new to read anyway. From there I headed south to the small town of Stonewall, where I stayed with Steve and LaBetha. It's always nice to have a home to stay in. I ended up spending a second night at their place. During my day off I helped Steve move a few things around. He was grateful for the help, and I appreciated the opportunity to feel like I wasn't a total freeloader. It was certainly disappointing to find out how weak my arms have become. They don't do anything all day, so when I was helping Steve, I felt like a wimp. That evening (of my day off) I got to attend a production at the Back Ally Community Theater in Grand Cane, Louisiana. Grand Cane is a tiny spot on the map, but they have managed to support a community theater for 10 years now. The musical I saw is called "Smoke on the Mountain". Well done, Grand Cane.

The following morning I took off about the same time as my hosts. I had ambitions of covering more than 95 miles on a bike with 1/3 of the gear ratios it is meant to have, so I hit the ground running (pedaling?) and didn't stop much. My goal was Leesville. When I arrived in Leesville, it was just after 3:00pm, so I made pretty good time. I continued through town and down the highway to the Sandman Motel. Why did I get a motel room again? It was supposed to rain that night and the following day. I'm just about done with my trip. I've spent less money than I thought I would. I'm getting lazy about camping. Take your pick.

This morning when I roused from the Sandman, it was indeed raining. Nothing to do but throw on the rain gear and pedal. It drizzled for a good part of the morning, but eventually let up just before lunch. I arrived in Lake Charles at about 1:30pm and got another cheap motel room. If not for the Cowgirl sheets I encountered in Florida, this may have taken the cake for crappiest motel room all trip. Sketchy would be an understatement. The man that runs the place seemed like a very nice person and he personally came with me to the room to make sure everything was in order and to ensure that I was getting a wireless internet signal. For the price I paid, not a bad deal.

Tomorrow I will ride down towards the Gulf coast and the Cameron MDS site. It will be a very short day to get there, so I don't think I'll set an alarm for the morning. In Cameron, I plan to take a day off the bike to work with one of the crews before riding the final two days from there to the New Iberia MDS site. The end is near. Within a week I will be in my parents' basement. We'll see how my integration back into a community goes.

Surly got hurt...

2010-11-09T19:33:00.001-06:00

As I departed from the Yoder farm, Martha and I agreed that highway 71 was the best way to get south in a hurry. Now, during my approach to the Yoder farm, I spent a few more miles on some rough gravel roads than I would have liked, but I figured it was ok. Now, as I headed south on 71, my bike was making occasional funny noises when I would hit bumps. I looked at the back of my bike, checked to see if my bags were attached properly, picked up the back end and spun the wheel to see if I could find any explanation to the peculiar noise that came when I would hit a bump or have to cross the rumble strips. As I continued down 71, I came into a construction zone where they were repaving the road (not so much the shoulder). Things got a little rougher through this stretch. For a while, I rode on the new pavement in the lane that was coned off, but when that ended, I needed to return to the awful conditions of the shoulder. As I transitioned from the new pavement to the old, I had an awful case of deja vu as my heart sank into my gut. Back when I was in Delaware, I had a moment when, with little warning, my bicycle gave out a brief cry of pain, followed by a very sudden loss of momentum. Another awful sound came from the rear end of my bike, and I was quickly drug to a halt. In Delaware I had shelled out the bearings in my rear wheel. This time, the eyelets on the fork of my bike that the rear rack attach to had sheered off and the rack and fender were resting on top of the tire under the weight of my baggage. The sound I had been hearing prior was probably made because one side was broken and clanging every time I hit a bump, but the other side held the rack in place enough that I couldn't find the problem.

Well, technically speaking the bike was still functional, but I couldn't carry most of my gear without that rack. What do I do next? Stick out the thumb. As I waited for a kind passerby, I called my parents to see if there was any way for them to get my trailer out to southern Missouri. (There are two primary methods of carrying your gear when bicycle touring. One is racks and panniers like I have been traveling with, the other is a bicycle trailer. I own a single wheeled trailer called BOB.) As I was running through options with my parents, a pickup pulled over, so I hung up the phone. Frank came to my rescue. Frank drove me the last few miles of my day to get to Lamar, Missouri, and even helped me find a machine shop. My bicycle is made of steel, so it can be welded. Frank and I eventually found an old man with a shop, and he tacked things back together for me. It doesn't look pretty, but it's held up thus far. This whole ordeal took us a little while, which delayed Frank's commute home. I gave him my card with instructions to have his wife call and chew me out for his tardiness instead of him.

From the machine shop I headed back towards the highway to find food. As I was on my way out the door with my sandwich in hand, a small child walked up to me and handed me a bicycle inner tube. At first, I was very confused as to what was going on, but his father, Mark, was there and explained that they see a lot of cyclists in the area, and he always kept a few inner tubes in his truck to give to them. We chatted for a while and he gave me directions to the city park where I could camp. When we parted, I made my way in that direction, but wasn't really feeling like a night in the park. I was still pretty bummed about the mechanical failure and the scars that Surly now has from the old man in the machine shop. I made my way back to the highway and checked into the cheaper of the two options of hotels there. I made a few phone calls to explain the mechanical difficulties in more detail to the few people I had texted during the whole ordeal, but spent most of the evening looking at google maps and enjoying silence.

The following day I continued south, avoiding highway 71 where possible. It was a fairly uneventful and relatively short day, ending in Anderson, Missouri, at a small campground by Indian Creek. I spent the remaining daylight hours at a truck stop at the top of the hill, making a few phone calls and attempting to use the wireless internet that never actually connected. The creek was running at just the right volume to provide very relaxing white noise to block out the sounds of the old highway, which was not heavily trafficked after the bypass was built.

In the morning I got packed up and on the road in decent time, but I was in no rush. If I cover too many miles too quickly, I'll beat my parents to the finish line. I had been across the Arkansas border for several miles when lunch time came around. I pulled off in a McDonald's to use the internet for a bit. I also ate a Big Mac for the first time in a very long time. I think I'm ok with waiting a very long time to have another, though it wasn't an altogether unpleasant experience. Either I was very hungry or their food doesn't suck as bad as I remember. From the McDonald's I continued my trek against the wind to the south. When I got to Fayettville, AR, I was reminded that it is the home of the University of Arkansas Razorbacks. I had the misfortune of stumbling across their campus. I say it that way not because there is anything wrong with the University of Arkansas or their campus, but the street that Martha put me on was ridiculous. Somehow I ended up in this residential part of town, and when I made the turn that Martha wanted me to, it appeared as though the other end of the tunnel created by the bows of the trees was a concrete wall with two vertical yellow lines painted on it. Apparently in Fayettville they call walls like this streets and expect you to drive and bicycle up and down them. I have biked all over this country, and the only thing that I have seen that could compare to the grade of this street is the hill I came down from after Bob's birthday celebration at Sea View in California. This wall that they call a street went for only about a quarter mile I would say, but for that entire quarter mile I was in my lowest gear, standing on my pedals to make my heavy touring bike move. With every shift of my weight from one pedal to the other, my bike lurched forward about 2/5ths of one tire revolution. The split second between shifts of my weight from pedal to pedal, I was not moving. I had to shift my weight quickly so I wouldn't fall over or move backwards. I kind of wanted to stop and rest part way up, but I wasn't going to give the state of Arkansas that kind of satisfaction. Resting during a climb is something I reserve for mountains, not hills in Arkansas.

From Fayettville I pressed on a little further to an RV park that was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, south of another place that may not exist, West Fork, Arkansas. I don't know how anyone else found this RV park, but there were other people there. I had to knock on a few doors of campers to find change to pay my fee. The few people I talked to were very friendly, but I never asked how they ended up at this particular RV park that seemed so lonely. I spent much of the evening in the laundry room reading. It had lights, so I didn't need to use the batteries on my headlamp.

The following morning I meandered around on the old highway through some towns that probably wish the new highway hadn't been built to bypass them. I appreciated the lightened traffic, but pittied the drivers that took the new highway. Most of the time I was a few hundred feet above them, looking out over the rolling hills, blanketed in fall colors. The trees looked like they were rusting.

When I got near an active major highway again, I found another McDonald's to use the internet to decide where I should end up that day. It seemed like a good day to see a new state, so I angled towards Oklahoma. I rolled into Poteau, Oklahoma, with sunlight to spare and checked into a cheap motel to get a shower and wash my laundry.

The laundromat was just under a mile from my hotel, so I decided to walk it. It's good for my body to do something other than turn the pedals all day, right? As I walked along the highway with a trash bag full of clothes slung over my shoulder, it made me think about how I was perceived by those passing by. Most people probably didn't give me a second thought, but if asked what they imagined was my story, an unshaven man in grungy clothes carrying a trash bag full of really grungy clothes, what would they have said? What would I have said? I probably looked homeless. I mean, I am, sort of, but not in the usual sense.

Anyway, this morning I tried to get on the road early, but after I was already dressed and headed out the door, I noticed that my rear tire was low and I needed to change it. Luckily I'm pretty dang quick at changing tires by now, but it was still irritating to start a day out that way. From there things went pretty smoothly. There wasn't much temptation to stop, because there was really nowhere to stop. I did pull over to take another picture by the welcome to Oklahoma sign. On the way into the state I had a weird angle at the sign because I was on an access road next to the interstate. That sign wasn't trying to welcome me anyway, it was meant for the interstate travelers.

After a bite to eat in Mena, Arkansas, I continued a few more miles down the road to a nicely kept RV park on a hill. The woman charged me less than I paid for the one in the middle of nowhere and the facilities here are infinitely better. Tomorrow I intend to cross into Texas, which will be the 48th state my bicycle has ridden in since May 31st. Once I get there, all that's left is closing the loop and ending in New Iberia. I do have to make sure I put on enough miles to get to that 10,000 mark, so I am not necessarily taking the shortest route to New Iberia from here. I intend to stop at the Cameron, Louisiana, MDS site as well. I'm still on pace to finish on the 19th. 10 days to go!

Bittersweet Arrival in Hesston

2010-11-04T15:54:00.000-05:00

I hit the road from Walsenburg, Colorado, and continued down a familiar highway 10 that I had just traveled in a car a few days before. From Walsenburg to the La Junta area is a very desolate stretch of road for about 70 miles. I hit the ground running, not sure where I would end up for the night. I knew I wanted to try for a longer day, so I only dismounted the bike once during the morning to water some of the local vegetation. As I neared La Junta, I noticed a rhythmic sound coming from the rear of my bicycle, so I pulled over to investigate. I found that the sidewall of my rear tire had started to give way and the tube was about to push through and rupture. I knew it needed to be dealt with quickly, but I was so close to town that I was hoping it would hold until I got there. Rather, it gave way less than a mile from where I discovered the problem. I had been making such good time that I was a little irritated by the sudden snag, but I've gotten so quick at changing tires that it didn't really impact my day too negatively. The tire and tube were both shot at this point. I got my spare out of my bag and threw it on the bike, then bungied the failed tire and tube on the back with my tent.

After a bite to eat in a diner in La Junta, I hit the road hard again, seeing how far I could get before sunset. I thought about stopping at John Martin Reservoir State Park, but things were going too well to stop. I kept on cranking the pedals to Lamar Sportsman's Campground, just outside of Lamar, Colorado. Nobody was there to check in with, so I did the self register thing. Nobody was there when I got up, either, so I probably could have gotten away with squatting for the night. There was even a small heated cabin next to the tent sights that was unlocked that I could have definitely hidden in for the evening. It certainly would have been warmer than the tent. Rather, I paid for and used only a tent sight.

In the morning I got up early, packed, and found a diner for breakfast. The diner was connected to a large truck plaza and had a pretty well stocked breakfast buffet. That was perfect. I hadn't eaten too much the night before, opting for tortillas with peanut butter instead of cooking beans and rice in the dark. As I left the diner, I heard the song "Friends in Low Places" blaring from a semi parked at one of the pumps. That song has some significance with me and my former Hesston College coworkers, so I quickly texted the group of them, letting them know I was thinking of them.

Just before reaching the Kansas border I passed through the town of Holly, Colorado. Nothing about this town really stood out to me as I rode into town. Then, I slammed on my breaks. I wasn't quite sure why I hit my breaks or what I had just seen on the side of the road, but I needed to stop and look back. It was so out in the open and so still that I glazed over it on my way by. I had ridden my bicycle within about 6 feet of an elk. It was standing in the front yard of a house in the middle of town, right on the sidewalk. There shouldn't even be elk in that part of the state, much less standing in the front yard of a house in the middle of a small town. I got off my bike, walked around it (at a distance) and took a couple of pictures. It just stood there looking at me, turning occasionally to keep an eye on me. It was so calm that I almost wanted to try to pet the thing, but I imagined what an elk hoof would feel like hitting me in the face and decided against it. I saddled back up and took off for the border.

The next town I rolled through was Syracuse, Kansas. The only reason I mention this town is because this was the first time I had seen a semi hauling a wind turbine blade through a town. Not only was it passing through town, but it was making a left turn in the middle of town. The "wide load" car that drove ahead made the corner first, then stopped with it's hazards on. The driver got out with a hand held stop sign, and kept traffic from approaching the intersection, preventing the semi from dragging it's rear tires across the hood of some poor Civic or something. It was quite the sight.

Speaking of wind turbines, there are few places that I've seen with the sheer quantity of wind turbines than along highway 50. There were huge fields of them stretching into the distance, and evidence of more to come. I got to a bend in the road where there were neatly organized parts to wind turbines laid out, covering about 20 acres. Not much else to do out there, may as well use the wind.

The day seemed to drag on, but I was pretty motivated to cover more miles. I knew that Hesston, Kansas, my former home, was waiting for me. I pushed on into the evening, covering the last four or five miles in the dark to get to Cimarron, Kansas. I don't recommend cycling at night in general, and what is worse I was on highway 50. I had one eye glued to my rear view mirror at all times, just in case.

In Cimarron, I found a small diner where I could grab a bite to eat. While I was there they were preparing a very large burger for someone who called in the order. It's some kind of eating challenge. The burger itself is something like 5 lbs of beef and what appeared to be about a full block of cheese sliced up and put on the patty. The burger was enormous. They said they had to bake the patty because it wouldn't cook all the way through on the griddle. It looked like a round meatloaf between the halves of a round loaf of bread. I was not interested. I was hungry, but that looked gross.

Eventually people started asking me what the heck I was doing, so I explained. As I was about to head to the city park to set up the tent, Paula and Steve, a couple that hadn't said much yet, stopped me. They told me that they didn't live in town, but Paula's parents did, and they were out of town. They offered to let me have the house for the evening. I couldn't turn that down. It was dark and getting chilly already. They drove ahead and I met Paula at the house. She let me in, showed me to a bedroom and told me to make myself at home. It's amazing to find such trusting people. They knew nothing about me but what I had claimed about my trip, and Paula felt comfortable enough to leave me alone in her parents' house.

The following morning I had breakfast at another local establishment and was entertained by how familiar the morning coffee crowd felt. After Breakfast, I don't really have a whole lot to say about the day on the bike. I didn't really spend much time off the bike, and I don't remember seeing anything really worth noting. This was my longest day on the bike to date, covering about 141 miles to get to Yoder, Kansas, where I stayed with my friends Kendra and Mark who run a bed and breakfast in town. It was a good place to be when I received a phone call from my friend Alyssa (who I stayed with in Americus, GA, a few months ago).

Alyssa called and told me that our friend Chole Weaver had been riding her bicycle that morning and was struck from behind by a car. She died shortly thereafter. I hadn't paid attention to where so many of the students had gone to after leaving Hesston. Chloe had been living in La Jara, Colorado, and was in Alamosa, Colorado when the accident happened. I had ridden my bicycle through Alamsoa three days earlier.

The next day I got up early and rode to Hesston from Yoder, arriving just in time for chapel at the college. I had spoken with the campus pastor, Todd, about possibly making the announcements at the beginning of chapel if I arrived in time. When I walked out from in back, the sophomores were all pretty shocked and cheered a little, but the freshmen were all very confused (or so said the sophomores). I just read the announcements and left the stage with no explanation. I spent the next several days looking up as many of my friends in the area as I could, spreading my time relatively thin. I did my best to single people out so I wouldn't be caught in huge groups.

Then on Thursday I got in a car with Emily and Katie, two of my former coworkers, and we drove to Colorado for Chloe's funeral. It was really good to see that group of friends again, but it was not easy. The funeral was Friday, after which Emily, Katie, and I drove back to Hesston.

I stayed in Kansas through the weekend so I could go to New Creation Fellowship Church, where I had been attending for the three years, and to see a few more people I hadn't been able to meet up with yet. My friend Adam drove down from Henderson, Nebraska, for the weekend, and we made Indian food one night. By "we" I mean he cooked and I enjoyed the product. I should really pay attention one of these times and take notes.

I didn't go to bed very early Sunday night, so I slept in Monday and had lunch on campus before hitting the road. I expected to cover a shorter day due to the late start, but it was one of those days where I sort of found a zone and just stayed there. I ended up knocking out 76 miles that afternoon. The down side to getting into a zone like that is that I don't really appreciate what's around me, I just bike. It's ok though, I was in Kansas.

I found a cheap hotel room on the edge of Emporia, Kansas, and took care of some overdue business I had neglected while I was in Hesston. When I woke, my quads were quite unhappy with me. I spent a full week off the bike in Hesston, then pushed out 76 miles against the wind in one afternoon. I think they wanted a warm up day, or at least a warning of what was to come. I moved a little slower and took a few more breaks that day. It was still pretty uneventful on the grand scheme of things. It's hard for me to really appreciate the view. I do think that Kansas is a beautiful state, but I have lived 6 out of the last 8 years of my life before this trip in the state of Kansas. It's hard to see it with fresh eyes, especially when I get in my zone. I spent the night at Hillsdale State Park, where the camp host gave me some firewood at no charge. It was pretty cold, and I was the only one in the park without the rigid walls of a camper.

In the morning I woke with Garden City, Missouri, in my sights. Emily, one of the former coworkers that I went to the funeral with, lives near Garden City. It turned out to be less than 50 miles to get to her place, but my travels were delayed a bit because Martha (GPS) doesn't know which roads are paved and which ones are not. I took her directions anyway, but we got into a little snag when we came upon some railroad crossing maintenance. Eventually I was allowed to walk my bike through the work area, but I had to sit for about 20 minutes first.

Emily's sister, Megan, is married to my former college roommate, Brandon, so we had supper at Megan and Brandon's house last night. I really appreciated the opportunity to catch up with Brandon again. He's all grown up and working full time and then some. I, however, am delaying the conventional lifestyle of employment as long as my bank account can support it.

Today I am sitting in a coffee shop, trying to plot out the remainder of my trip. I intend to arrive in New Iberia, Louisiana on November 19th. I still need to pass through parts of Arkansas, Oklahoma, and Texas, and take a picture of myself entering Louisiana. I also need to make sure my route covers at least 900 miles so that I get my total mileage over 10,000 miles. I'm pretty comfortable with that. The idea of biking 900 miles sounds like a lot to many people, but at this point in my trip I feel like I'm almost tripping over the finish line. I had better live it up out here on the road while I still can.

10,857

2010-10-21T22:31:00.001-05:00

Well, I rode out of Durango towards Pagosa Springs, accompanied by my friend Mark, who happened to have the day off work. Just as we got out of town, Mark presented me with an option: continue on the shoulder of the busy highway or climb a steep hill to a road that parallels the highway with little traffic. I figured that I should ride up the hill, especially since I was just coming off of the longest break (4 days off) since I started on May 31st. Mark had his cycling GPS on for the ride, and by the time we got to Pagosa Springs, we had climbed about 3,000 feet for the day. The road between Durango and Pagosa isn't exactly flat. When we got to town, we stopped to have a bite to eat and check out a bike shop before Mark turned around to head back home, giving him close to 120 miles for the day (with a little bit of climbing). I kept going through town along hwy 160 towards Wolf Creek Pass.

The valley that approaches Wolf Creek Pass from the west is very beautiful, but also a little ominous for a cyclist. As I biked through the valley, the mountains kept getting bigger and closer on every side. Eventually I reached the point in the road where I would start to really climb. Lucky for me, there is a campground there. At the time it was inhabited by a bunch of elk hunters. When I pulled up I saw three men standing by the tailgate of a pickup. Resting on the tailgate was the severed head of an elk, upside down with it's antlers resting on the ground. As I explained how I got there on a bicycle and what I was doing, two of the men went to work with a battery powered saw, removing the antlers from the skull.

After registering for a site, I set up camp for the evening and headed for the shower. Later, when I was preparing my usual camp meal of beans and rice on tortillas, a man came from his camper across the way to offer me a lantern to use while I camped that evening. I readily accepted his offer. A while later he came back over and asked if I'd like to join he and the others for supper, but I had already prepared my meal. I agreed to come over for dessert when I was done. I ended up spending most of the evening with their hunting party, reluctant to leave the warmth to crawl into my tent. They said that the temperature would get down to 26 degrees.

When I woke in the morning, everything outside my tent was covered in frost, including the rain fly of my tent. I, however, stayed quite warm. I've been impressed with my 20 degree bag thus far. I was moving pretty slowly that morning, a little intimidated by the two huge hairpin turns looming up the road, visible from the campsite. After a late start, I began the crawl up the mountain. I stopped at the second hairpin turn to look out over the valley and chat with some more tourists. According to the signs at the top, it was 9 miles of 7% grade that I climbed to get to the top of Wolf Creek Pass, crossing the continental divide for the last time at 10,857 feet above sea level, my highest elevation of the trip.

At the top I chatted with a few people that probably thought I was out of my mind and to layer up for the descent. It was a beautiful, clear day despite the weather forecast, so I worked up quite the sweat crawling up the mountain, but the air had a bite to it when the wind blew. Coming down off of a pass like that at 40+ miles per hour, the wind is in your face. I cruised down the mountain and into the San Luis Valley to Monte Vista, Colorado. In town I stopped at a grocery store to get some breakfast for the morning before heading to the edge of town to look for a place to camp.

At the edge of town I saw Calvary Baptist Church. The front door was propped open, there was a truck parked in the lot, and their lawn looked soft. I wandered inside and eventually found the pastor, Tommy who readily agreed to let me camp behind the building and even offered me a shower. They were scheduled to have a service at 7pm, and Tommy said I was welcome to attend. After getting myself cleaned up and getting camp set up, I headed inside for the service. I really appreciated what Tommy shared with the sparse crowd, sticking mostly to Ephesians with a brief jaunt into Revelation. After the service I stayed and mingled a little. As I was getting ready to go out to the tent to make up another batch of my beans and rice, Tommy asked if I was interested in a warm place to stay. I told him my tent would likely keep me alive for the night, but if he had another option, I'd probably take him up on it. I ended up packing my camp up and throwing everything in the back of his SUV for a drive back into town to the Rio Grande Motel. A woman from church runs the place, and they gave me a room for the night. It was a wonderful surprise. I especially appreciated the room when I woke this morning to find rain.

I wheeled my bicycle out of the room just before 8am to hit the road in the rain. After I dropped the key in the drop box, I noticed that one of my tires was low. It's pretty disappointing to start a day by changing a flat tire before you even cover a single mile. I changed it out and hit the road. In Alamosa, I saw a clock in front of a bank at 10:00am that read 44 degrees. Cold rain. It was 43 miles from my starting location to Fort Garland where I had lunch. About the time I ducked in for lunch the rain quit. After Fort Garland was a 47 mile stretch with no services. In the middle of that 47 miles was La Veta Pass at 9,413 feet elevation. I was back on the road just before 1:00pm to get the last 47 miles knocked out. La Veta Pass is pretty mild coming from the west, so it wasn't a bad climb. The descent went by pretty quickly. The sign at the top said "6% downgrade next 4 miles" but to me it may as well have said "downgrade next 1,600 miles". Needless to say, I was pretty excited to see that sign.

I rolled down and down until I got to Walsenburg, Colorado. At this point I am at a junction. My route I had formerly drawn up had me turning south, working towards the norther corner of Texas and the panhandle of Oklahoma. I think I'm going to go straight into Kansas, then when I get to Missouri and turn south, I can hit the eastern edges of Oklahoma and Texas, and the eastern edge of Arkansas on my way down to my final destination of New Iberia, Louisiana. This route will give me a little more flexibility with my time in Kansas, and I'll spend less time in the desert.

Next stop: Hesston, Kansas

Big Push to Durango

2010-10-18T13:40:00.000-05:00

After spending the night at Pipe Spring National Monument, AZ, I hit the road for a jaunt back into Utah before dipping back down to Page, AZ. There was a stretch in the middle of the day that was about 70 miles with no services. I knew that Page was right by the dam that created Lake Powell, so I thought the day was almost over when I started to see water. I didn't know Lake Powell was HUGE, and I only saw a tiny fraction of the thing. It stretches on forever. After crossing the dam to get to Page, I had to climb back out of the canyon to get into town and to the campground. I've got mixed feelings about the tent sites at this campground. They're sand. It wasn't bad for sleeping on, but it sure made for a mess in the morning. I think I'm still shaking sand out of my tent, sleeping bag, and everything else, but some of that sand probably came from the next day of riding.

The following morning I got up and hit the road earlier than usual, because I was going to be meeting my friend John at Navajo National Monument. From Page, AZ, to Navajo National Monument I was going to gain almost 3,000 feet in elevation. Despite the climbing, I was making pretty good time all morning. When I got close to the town of Shonto, NV, I had a little conversation with Martha (GPS) to decide the best route to get to the monument. After some deliberating, we decided to take a "short cut" that would save 17 miles off the trip for the day. I looked at a map that I purchased a few days ago for a second opinion, and it showed the road I planned to take. I started down the road, on which the pavement quickly ended. Now, I grew up in Nebraska and lived in Kansas for a while after that, and our roads that are not paved are generally still navigable by bicycle. Out here, they don't really have dirt. Anywhere. It's all sand. Have any of my readers ever tried to ride a bicycle on the beach? Of course not. It's a horrible idea. I, however, am a bit stubborn and was maybe a little overconfident in my cycling abilities. I pressed on down the sandy road. A few grueling miles down the road I came across a pickup on the side of the road with two teenage men in it. I asked them if the road got any better up ahead, or if it was sandy the whole way. They assured me that it wasn't so bad further up, and that they had seen the road maintenance guy working to make it better further up.

I continued down the sandy road, which turned to pavement for a short stretch where it descended into a canyon. At the bottom of the canyon, there was a little convenience store to the right, and a very narrow, very steep road going up to the left. The sign said the monument was up and to the left. I watched a couple vehicles crawl up and down the hill, taking turns because there was only room for one at a time. At this point, I stopped and held out my thumb. The next vehicle headed up the hill was a man with a pickup full of children. I asked if he had room for my bicycle and I, and his short response was, "Yep." I loaded up in back of his truck, where I found two more children riding under the topper. As I climbed in with them, they said nothing, but laughed a little at me. When we got to the top of the hill, the man pulled over to let me off before making his turn to his destination. I thanked him for the ride, and he responded with, "Yep." I hopped back on the bike and tried to continue down the sandy road. Now, I'm riding a bicycle that weighs more than 100 lbs and has tires about an inch or an inch and a half wide. When I say that I continued to "ride" down the road, that's a pretty loose definition. About every 15 feet my bike would slide out from under me, and each time I would barely catch myself. For the first time on my whole trip, I got off of my bike and pushed it for some stretches. I don't remember being this frustrated in my life, and all because I thought I could handle the "short cut" to the monument.

I found the man in the road maintainer up ahead, and he looked at me like I was a bit crazy. He was actually making the road much nicer to drive on, but much worse to bike on. Some places the sand had become packed into washboard, and he was tearing that up and returning it to about 6" of sand. After a while he passed me with the blade up, finished for the day. About 30 minutes later, the same man came down the road in his pickup and offered me a ride. He told me that at the rate I was moving, I'd be wrestling with my bike in that sand for another 3 hours before I would get to the monument. As he drove me down the road, I saw what would have been to come if I had kept riding. He said that every year people see this road on their maps and try to drive their RVs on it and almost always get stuck.

He dropped me off at the monument, and I thanked him several more times before heading to the campground to set up the tent. My friend John that was meeting me at the monument hadn't arrived yet, so I went about picking out a site on my own. As I pulled into the campground, I stopped to ask some people how I was supposed to register and pay for a site. Newell and Katherine told me that there was no fee for camping, and that I should just pick a site and set up. I stood and talked with them for a while, and also met Sam and Anne, neighboring campers.

After I was all set up for the evening, and John still wasn't there, Newell and Katherine invited me to join them for supper. It ended up that the three of us also ate with Sam and Anne over at their site. We ate a great meal as the sun set in the distance, still without John. As we sat and chatted over some hot chocolate, we heard a motorcycle approach. I ran out to meet John. He had ridden up from Phoenix to camp with me for the night. As it turns out, he had a similarly frustrating experience getting to the monument, wrestling with his motorcycle on a nasty sandy road. We commiserated for a while about our experiences trying to ride two wheeled vehicles through that sandy mess as our new friends reheated some leftovers from our meal to feed John.

When John and I got up in the morning, we were on our way out when we were stopped by our fellow campers who offered us coffee and a little something to eat for breakfast. We ended up sitting and chatting for a while again and posing for some pictures. This caused a bit of a late start for the day, but I wasn't too concerned, as much of the morning was going to be down hill. I rode the 9 miles from the monument to the highway where I stopped to get a few more calories in me from the gas station. When I left the gas station, it was after 11:00am already. I knew that if I was to cover the miles I wanted to, I needed to really step on it. I kept looking at my watch and looking at mile markers to try to decide how far I could get before the sun went down. Martha didn't have any campgrounds for me, and I hadn't seen any on the internet the last time I checked, so I wasn't sure where I was going to be sleeping that night. I figured that if I could make it to Peec Nos Pos, AZ, that there would at least be a gas station where I could fill with water for the night. I got to the little town about 30 minutes before the sun was scheduled to sink below the horizon, and sure enough there was a little service station called the Peec Nos Pos Trading Post. Apparently they've had a couple of cyclists stop through and they've allowed them to camp in a little fenced in area beside the gas station.

The next morning I got up and waited for the store to open. As I waited, a truck pulled up and told me that if I was wanting breakfast, that a man around the corner sold breakfast burritos out of his truck, and that they were pretty good and I could get on the road a little quicker that way. I found the man selling burritos, and I was surprised at his English accent. He was from England, met a Navajo woman online, came to the U.S. and married her, and eventually became a U.S. citizen, though not without a whole series of headaches and being revoked the first time around. His wife made the burritos and he worked the early shift selling them out of the back of his truck. Many of the locals preferred the Spam and egg burrito, so I decided to try one. I don't think I've ever had Spam before. It wasn't as gross as I had imagined, but I wouldn't call it my favorite or probably order it ever again.

After breakfast, I headed down the road 5 miles towards Four Corners Monument. It cost me $3, but I went in and got my picture of me standing on the giant X on the ground representing the Four Corners border. I marked that point on my GPS. I've heard so many people talk about how it's not actually in the right spot, but my GPS said that it's only off by about 30 feet. The lines are just made up by people in the first place, so I don't think it matters so much that it's not in the exact right place. The other tourists there were a bit curious about seeing a cyclist in the middle of nowhere. They really thought I was crazy when I told them where I was coming from and going to.

Again, it was going to be a long day with a bit of a climb in the middle, so I hit the road again. When I was about 10 miles from Cortez I got a flat. I really wanted to make it to Durango that day, so I changed the tire as quick as I ever have and got back on the road. When I got to Cortez, I got a phone call from their newspaper. They asked a few questions and then said an article would probably run on Saturday. Between Cortez and Durango was where the climb was. There wasn't an elevation sign at the top, but I know it was over 8,000 feet. On my way up I got another flat. Again, a very quick change on the side of the road and I was back at it, climbing a mountain and racing the sunset. I made it to the top in plenty of time, and as I coasted down into Durango, my friend Mark rode out to meet me and led me to his place. Upon arriving at Mark's house, I have completed my longest mileage week of my life, with 651.6 miles in 7 days, averaging more than 93 miles a day from Ely, Nevada, to Durango, Colorado, all on a loaded touring bike. I needed this break.

Mark works for the train that goes from Durango to Silverton, so he got me a ride on it for the following day. I took a TON of pictures on the train. They're really repetitive, so if you go look at my pictures, you can skip through a bunch of those. You should look at some of them, because the view was amazing. It was also neat to go back to Silverton. I was out there a little over 4 years ago for History of the Southwest, a class through Goshen College. It's beautiful out there, and it's really tempting to come back with my bike (probably carrying a little less gear) to tour the area.

On Saturday morning I pedaled out to the car rental place about 6 miles out of town to get a car. Part of my rush to get to Durango as quickly as I did was so I could rent a car and drive to my friend Brent's wedding in La Junta, Colorado. After a brief scare where the employee of the car rental place showed up almost half an hour late, I got in a fancy little SUV, bike and gear loaded in back, and headed off towards La Junta. This gave me a chance to preview the terrain that I may end up cycling, depending on what the weather does. Wolf Creek Pass is going to be a bit of a hike.

I'm very glad I was able to make it to Brent's wedding. Brent is a Resident Director at Hesston College, so he and I worked together for three years before I started this trip. I can't say that I know his new wife, Angie, very well at all. I met her through Brent, but my interactions with her have been very limited. This social gathering was also the first time that I was that engulfed in familiar faces in a very long time. After spending 4-1/2 months out on my bike, mostly by myself with occasional interactions with one or two people at a time that I know, it was a bit overwhelming. I didn't have anything to talk about except the bike trip, which may seem like a great conversation piece, but I don't know how to talk about it yet. If you've been keeping up with the blog, you'll know that I've got a bunch of stories, but I don't think I've figured out a unifying theme throughout the whole narrative yet, making it not much more than a bunch of mildly entertaining stories without a point. I'm ok with that for now, as I'm kind of looking at this trip as living out a story. I've still got 18% of the story left to live, so of course I don't know the ending yet, but with my almost complete detachment from current events and the "real world" I felt a bit socially debilitated. I'm looking forward to these last 1,800 miles, but I'm also looking forward to being a functional part of society and a social circle when I'm done. I know that this trip has had an impression on me, but until I reintegrate into society, I can't really say how.

Also, I don't like traveling by car. It felt like cheating, and the scenery went by way too fast. I'm glad that I turned in the keys to that SUV this morning and I'm back to just my bicycle.

Tomorrow I intend to ride my bicycle towards Pagosa Springs, at which point I will decide whether to try Wolf Creek Pass, or to turn south into New Mexico. If I ride Wolf Creek Pass, that will definitely be the highest elevation I've ridden both on this trip and in my life. It is 10,857 feet elevation. After that, I would cruise across a high plain for a while before climbing back up to La Veta Pass at around 9,400 feet. After La Veta Pass, it's all down hill. Seriously, I'll be going down hill until I get to Louisiana. And hopefully I'll get an occasional tail wind.

5 more weeks?

Through Utah and into Arizona

2010-10-10T23:04:00.000-05:00

After watching the Nebraska Cornhuskers manhandle the Kansas State Wildcats on Thursday night in the El Ranchero Motel in Ely, NV, I hit the sack, anticipating a long day on the bike Friday. In the morning I found a little diner down the street to grab a bite to eat for breakfast, but not before getting sprinkled on a little bit. The weather forecast said that the rain was past and that it was supposed to be clear, but I think the state of Nevada just couldn't allow me even one day without getting wet while within it's borders. At the diner, I inhaled the food rather quickly, and before I could get to the cash register, a woman named Crystal asked if I was biking for a cause. She had seen my jersey, but didn't quite catch the organization before I sat down. When I told her what I was doing, she said she wanted to pick up my tab for breakfast.

As I was leaving town, I picked up a few more provisions at the grocery store. It was going to be 63 miles before I saw any kind of civilization. Leaving Ely, I continued through the valley for 15 or 20 miles before hitting the first climb for the day. This was also the highest elevation I would hit while in the state of Nevada at 7,722 feet. At the top of this climb, there was a construction zone that limited traffic on the downhill side to one lane. The traffic flagger allowed me to leave before the rest of the traffic. Cruising down a mountain with a guarantee of no traffic in either lane is a very nice way to spend the next several minutes after a rough climb. As I coasted along, I saw a giant, snow-covered peak across the next valley. When I got to the bottom, I asked the other traffic flagger what mountain that was. It was Wheeler Peak, standing somewhere over 13,000 feet. Wheeler Peak was surrounded by other large mountains, so I was a little concerned about how I was going to get across the next range. My route took me several miles down the valley, away from Wheeler Peak, before cutting into the range and up Sacramento Pass.

As I coasted off of Sacramento Pass I entered the town of Baker, 63 miles from Ely. It was still pretty early in the day, so I stopped for a bite to eat. From the town of Baker, Nevada, to the next town on the route, Milford, Utah, there was another gap between services. This time it was 84 miles. I made sure I was full on water as I left Baker and continued down the road and into a new state. The last climb for the day was over Halfway Summit, which proved to be pretty mild compared to everything else I had seen thus far. As I cruised into Pine Valley, between the Halfway Hills and the Wah Wah Mountains, I was looking for a place to camp for the night. The immensity of Pine Valley still sort of blows my mind. I could clearly see straight down the road, all the way to the other side of the valley to where it climbs into the Wah Wah Mountains. It looked like it was all just right there. About 45 minutes later, it appeared as though I had not gotten any closer to the Wah Wah Mountains. It felt like I was on a giant treadmill. There was a dark spot in the distant valley that, at first sighting, I thought was a dark colored pickup on the side of the road with something white in the bed. When I got my camera out and used it's 15x zoom, I saw that it was not a truck, but a gigantic tree shading over a white house. It really stood out, as it was the only thing taller than knee high in the whole valley, other than myself. I thought about camping near this house, but it looked like uninhabited private property. I don't like the idea of squatting on private property without speaking to the owner.

I pulled off the road about a mile into the desert and set up my tent. I would have had to go about 30 miles if I wanted to get to a place where people wouldn't see me from the road. To conserve water, I did not cook that night. I ate peanut butter tortillas, trail mix, sesame sticks, and drank some V-8 that I had brought from Ely. I had traveled more than 100 miles that day, so I laid down pretty early, as the sun was setting. Given the amount of liquids I take in daily, I can't make it through the night without having to get out of my tent to relieve myself. This was the first night that I was glad to get out of my warm sleeping bag. When I got out of the tent, I saw stars that I've never seen before. It was incredible. I was camping at about 5,000 feet elevation, and there wasn't even a light bulb within 40 miles in any direction. That night's sky is something that will stick with me for a long time.

In the morning I ate more of the same thing I had the night before and packed up my one night desert home. As I rode, I finally came to the white house that was dwarfed by the giant tree. It felt like I had been approaching this landmark for days. The house was approximately where the valley floor started back up again towards the Wah Wah Mountains. As I descended into Wah Wah Valley, I saw a very large farm at the bottom. This was the first attempt at agriculture I had seen in a very long time. As I got closer, I saw a sign pointing towards the farm that said, "Wah Wah Well". Further down the valley, at the very bottom, there was a dry creek bed labeled "Wah Wah Wash". The rest of the valleys didn't have everything named. I think someone appreciated the alliteration a little too much.

On the other side of the valley I climbed over Frisco Summit, which I thought was the worst climb of the whole week since Carson Pass. On the other side I coasted down to Milford, Utah, where I was ready for a large meal. I ordered a double cheeseburger with bacon, egg, and just about whatever else they had in the kitchen. The cook said I was going to have a heart attack half way through the burger. From there it was another 50+ miles to get to Cedar City, UT, where I had made arrangements to stay with a family through the website www.warmshowers.org. It was motivating to have a bed and a shower waiting for me. There was one last climb between Minersville and Cedar City that rose rather slowly, then descended all the way to Cedar City and beyond.

Ian, a member of the family I stayed with (and owner of a maroon Surly LHT), advised me on my route out of Cedar City. From town I went south on I-15, turned off towards Hurricane, UT, and Colorado City, AZ, before arriving at Pipe Spring National Monument in Arizona. I got to the monument just in time for the last tour of the day. It was interesting and quite sad to hear the history of this spring. A group of Native Americans were living here, but then the Spanish came and started selling their children into slavery, so they became nomadic to retain their children at the expense of their home. Then the Mormons moved in and built on top of the spring. It sounds as though the U.S. government wasn't very nice to the Mormons, and the Mormons weren't very nice to the Native people who's land they were on.

Anyway, I'm at a campground a quarter mile down the road. $5 for a site with water and electric, the biggest and nicest bathroom I've seen at a campground, and there's wireless internet. Nice.

Desert?

2010-10-07T22:17:00.000-05:00

My stay in San Francisco was pleasantly uneventful. I stayed with my friend Jenna, and I think her and her housemates lives went on as planned, despite having a homeless man sleeping in their kitchen. I spent a lot of time sleeping, eating, and running the few errands I needed to take care of while in the city. The evening of my first full day off the bike in San Francisco, I was working on laundry when I realized that the sun would be setting soon. As soon as my laundry was finished, I jumped on my bike (laundry strapped to the back) and pedaled as quickly as I could to the west. I didn't really know how far I was from the beach at that point, but it didn't matter. I wanted to see the sunset. I arrived just in time to sit on a bench at the beach to watch the sun sink into the Pacific. I had paid little attention to how I got there, so on the way back, I was mostly wandering aimlessly in an easterly direction until I found something familiar.

On the morning of my departure, I had breakfast with Jenna and didn't end up on the ferry across the bay to Vallejo until the 9:55am boat. It's an hour ferry ride, so I was not really expecting to cover as much ground as I had previously hoped. While pedaling away from San Francisco, I passed through the town of Davis, which is apparently known as the “Bicycle Capital of the World.” I had never heard that, but some locals told me, and it says so on the Adventure Cycling Association map. I biked through a little bit of the University of California – Davis campus, and their sidewalks/bike paths had roundabouts. Pretty good idea to avoid those awkward who-goes-first moments when two bicycles meet on intersecting paths.

That evening I ended up staying in a hostel in Sacramento. Aside from a snoring bunk-mate, it was a good place to stay. I also overheard a very interesting response to the question, “what do you do?” while I was there. I heard a man say, “I'm a non-skating official for women's flat track roller derby.” That might be the last possible thing I would have guessed I'd hear come from any given individual in response to the stated question.

The following morning I tried to get out early, but I ended up running around a bit. First I went to the post office to mail a box of stuff home that I no longer needed, and to mail a pair of socks back to Diane in Bend, OR. She let me borrow them to get me through the inclement weather. I still have ten toes, thanks to that woman and her socks. They're waterproof socks. Sounds weird, but they're fantastic. I purchased a pair of my own in San Francisco. Anyway, after the mail run, I had a difficult time finding and staying on the path to get me out of town. It really wasn't a tough thing to find or stay on, I just took a wrong turn once and ended up several blocks in the wrong direction.

The day out of Sacramento started off pretty flat, winding around on a trail that went for several miles out of the city. Eventually I ended up on the road again about when it was time to start climbing towards Carson Pass. At about 2,400 ft. elevation I got a flat tire. I took the tube out, replaced it, and started pumping the tire back up to pressure. When I was nearly to the desired pressure, my pump gave out. It just stopped pushing air. With my tire slightly under-inflated, I pressed onward to a service station where I used an adapter that I carry with me at all times to allow me to fill my tires with their air hose (fyi: my bicycle tires have a different valve than car tires). At this station, I turned off of the Adventure Cycling Association route and started climbing straight up. It was quite the climb. I reached the top just in time to see an incredible sunset over Jenkinson Lake. That evening I found out that the two women tent camping next to me were also cycling around the area. They had both of their bicycles along, but were taking turns driving and riding. When I told them about my pump failure, they gave me a CO2 adapter and cartridge to fill a tire. Then one of the women gave me the pump from her own bicycle and said I could use it as long as I needed to, and to mail it back when I had my own. I'm still impressed by how generous and trusting people continue to be along this trip.

The next morning I tanked up on a special blend of oatmeal I learned about from my friend Russ in Idaho, then hit the climb again. I got onto a road called Mormon Emigrant Trail. It wasn't the steepest road I've ridden, but it was pretty unrelenting. I just kept climbing. It wasn't too bad, because I knew it was coming. This was my climb up to Carson Pass. I camped at around 3,500 feet, felt my ears start to pop at about 5,000 feet, got a nose bleed at around 7,000 feet, and then, in the rain at about 8,000 feet, just before the top of Carson Pass, I blew the sidewall out of my front tire. After filling my tires up to capacity below 3,000 feet elevation, my tires behaved something like a bag of chips as you drive up to the mountains to go skiing/snowboarding. Both of my tires had way too much pressure at this point, but only the front one gave way when I slammed on the brakes to try to make a turn. My weight shifting forward was enough extra pressure that the sidewall blew.

Now it's raining, my tire is shot, and the only thing in the area is a ski resort. I hitched a ride in the back of a pickup to the ski lodge to ask about a room. The woman at the desk did what she could as far as discounting the price of the room, but it was still more than I was ready to pay. Eventually a guest of the lodge offered me shelter in the back of his pickup that has a topper. I thought this sounded like a great place to spend a night, so we went outside and, after I had fixed my tire, I crawled in the back of his truck and made myself at home for the night while the storm continued. In the end, I had covered less than 40 miles and climbed 5,770 feet that day. My mileage would have looked a lot better if I had been able to cash in on the descent from all the climbing.

In the morning the rain was still lingering. I wasn't sure where to find breakfast, so I just hit the road and kept my eyes open. I didn't find anything before the top of Carson Pass. At the top I met a man that warned me to keep my brakes and rims dry, because it's a pretty steep descent. He said cyclists have hit 60 mph on it before. Given my tire escapade from the day before and my lack of trust in my spare tire, I stopped to tighten up my brakes before heading downward in the rain.

I used to think of the descent as a reward for all of the hard work that went into the climb, but coming over Carson Pass in the rain was about as painful as it was frightening. Rain in October at 8,500 feet is cold. As I cruised down the mountain, I kept my eyes open for a place to get breakfast. I saw a place, but a combination of wet brakes/rims and cold hands that didn't want to do what I told them caused me to slide past. I did get stopped in time for the second place, which ended up being a sweet turn of events. The place was called the Hope Valley Cafe.

A couple that was at an adjacent table, that had asked about my cycling trip, tried to pay for my breakfast, but were too late in getting there. The man, Hal, proceeded to get out his wallet and contribute to the “Feed Neal Fund”, with instructions to have a good lunch. After Hal and his wife were on their way, a man named Zach spoke up from the breakfast bar and asked me if I needed anything. He had overheard my story about my tire and offered me a tire. I couldn't turn that down. I didn't know when I would be going past an open bike shop to get a new tire. I followed him back to his place a few miles down the road, and he proceeded to pull a tire off of his own bike to put on mine, all the while refusing payment for the tire. On top of it all, he cleaned up my chain and cassette while I worked on my tires. His living room was a mess when we were done, but he said not to worry about it. Hal and Zach have helped the small community of Woodfords, CA, stick in my mind.

After getting the tire put on, I continued down hill (the rain had let up) to the Nevada border and eventually in to Carson City where I met up with Highway 50: The Loneliest Highway in America. I made it to Dayton before looking for a laundromat and a campsite. The laundromat ended up being a few miles past Dayton and the only campground in the area, so I rode out to the laundromat, then threw up the tent about a mile off the road behind a sand dune. It's a desert, this should be a fine place to camp, right? Well, it rained all night and I had to basically dig myself out in the morning. It was not a fun experience.

When I had earned my freedom from the mess of wet sand, I headed to a casino for breakfast. They had the weather on the TV, and that's when I found out how much I was going to hate Nevada. The forecast said rain all week. Again, isn't this supposed to be a desert? I hit the road, pedaling through my frustration at the weather forecast. It remained dreary all day, only occasionally precipitating on me. I ended up making it to a small spot on the map called Middlegate. Middlegate consists of a bar and a motel. Oh, and a tree covered in shoes. Google it, I didn't get any pictures.

When I arrived in Middlegate, it was drizzling. I walked into the bar and asked if there was a dry place I could crash for the night. One of the men at the bar suggested that I spend the night in the “drunk tank”. He urged the owner to give me a good deal on that. She never referred to it as the drunk tank, but rather as the bunk house. It was a small shack with one queen bed and one set of bunk beds. I could see through the cracks in the door, which was held shut by leaning a 2x4 against it. The lighting came from a lamp, plugged into an extension cord that was strung through a hole in the wall. It earned it's name, the “drunk tank” because that is where they put people too drunk to hobble out to their cars to drive home drunk. Lucky for me, it was a slow night at the bar. For less than many campsites I've stayed at, I had four walls, a roof that didn't leak, and a shower. I did not use their bedding, but slept in my sleeping bag on top of the blankets.

The following morning I got up and was in the bar just after 7:00am when they're supposed to be serving breakfast, but the cook didn't show up. The man that opened the place up told me that if I continued 14 miles down the road to Cold Springs Station I would be able to find breakfast. I don't function so well on an empty stomach, and there was a nasty headwind, but I had little choice. I hopped on the bike, lowered my head, and pedaled down the road.

At Cold Springs Station I found out about two cyclists that had spent the previous night camping there. The owner of the place told me that if I was quick, I could probably catch them before the first pass. I hit the road pretty hard after hearing that there were other cyclists out on this lonely stretch of road. I did catch them just before the first pass. Cate and Katharine were the cyclists. I got to the top of the climb and waited for them. We exchanged pleasantries and then continued at our own paces. Both they and I intended to stop in Austin that evening, so when I got to town, I scoped out the lodging options and decided on a lean-to type shelter in the park. It had lights and live outlets to charge electronics, and best of all it was free. Across the street was an RV park that allowed people a shower for $2. I passed on the option, since I had just bathed the night before (I suppose to normal people that sounds kind of gross...). Cate and Katharine arrived sometime later and set up camp. They shared their dehydrated vegetable beef stew with me for supper as we chatted about our respective trips and learned a bit about each other.

In the morning I chose to eat breakfast at a diner in town after realizing I was carrying only enough oatmeal for one more good sized breakfast. The two women and I left at roughly the same time, but the day started off with a particularly rough climb, and that was the last I saw of them.

The weather in the morning was actually quite beautiful, despite the forecast for overcast skies and rain. It even got warm enough that I went without a jacket for a while. In the afternoon a few storms skirted past me, dropping a few sprinkles here and there, but nothing too noteworthy until I got closer to my destination of Eureka, NV. As I approached the end of a long, flat stretch of road, leading into yet another mountain range, I saw storm clouds ahead that I knew I would probably not be able to avoid. With about 15 miles to go to Eureka, I pulled over to put on my rain gear as it sprinkled on me. Not more than 2 miles later, as I approached Devil's Gate (canyon-like geographical feature leading through a ridge), I was hit with a gust of wind that brought me and my bicycle from about 12 mph to 0 mph instantly. I had to stand on my pedals to regain any forward momentum to stay upright. The wind then shifted to a cross wind that just about knocked me into traffic. The rain proceeded to turn into sleet, then to small hail, a little bigger than pea sized. I kept on pedaling, as there was really no place to go. Highway 50 really is the loneliest highway in America. The hail stung like hell, but I knew that was it, it was just going to sting me. The thing that had me really concerned was the lightning and thunder all around. Again, on the loneliest highway, in a desert, riding a steel bicycle. Since I am writing this, it is apparent that I made it through in one, un-electrified piece. When I rolled into Eureka, I checked out the city park for camping, but they had already “winterized” the restrooms and locked them for the season. It had been such a crappy day that I decided to pony up for a hotel room. I've managed to keep things pretty cheap and to stay in some pretty sketchy places, but here there was only one option with rooms still available, so I ended up dropping more than I have for lodging this whole trip.

Today I got up before dawn and got all of my stuff packed up and ready to roll before heading to the continental breakfast to load up on calories for the 77 miles with no services to Ely, NV. I am now realizing that I haven't said a whole lot about the terrain out here. It's a desert. At least, it's supposed to be a desert. There are a whole bunch of mountain ranges that run north to south with basins or valleys in between. So far I have climbed over 11 mountain passes in the state of Nevada alone. When I have a stretch with no services, like I did today, I have to carry a lot of water. Water adds a lot of weight, and weight is not my friend when climbing several passes a day. Tomorrow I have 63 miles before I get to Baker, NV, and from Baker to Milford, UT, is 84 miles.

Anyway, I'm currently in a room in the El Ranchero Motel in Ely, NV, watching Nebraska abuse Kansas State University. When I remembered that the game was today, I found the cheapest place that had cable TV. If I remember correctly, this place ties for the lowest price I've paid for a motel room, but it is definitely the biggest room I've ever stayed in. It's huge.

ADDENDUM: Video from Seaview and Scott's blog.

2010-09-29T03:19:00.000-05:00

While I was at Seaview celebrating the birthday of a once complete stranger, a video was thrown together. Here's the guys I spent the evening with!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GdOmWSy9W_o

I rode with Scott for a few days and had some excellent conversation with the guy, so here's a link to his blog if you're interested in checking out his travels.

http://thelonghaul.posterous.com/

Dreary Oregon Coast, Sunny California

2010-09-28T16:56:00.002-05:00

When I woke up in Clatskanie, Oregon, there was a thick haze in the air. It wasn't actually raining, but I got as wet as if it had been within the first few minutes. My glasses were catching water droplets and fogging as I rode, but I eventually dropped out of the clouds and into Astoria, Oregon. As I approached Astoria, I couldn't help but think of the movie Goonies. I felt like I had already been there. I found a little coffee shop to get my caffeine buzz going again and to browse the internet for lodging options ahead. While I was inside it started to rain. I threw on the rain gear and headed back out to the bike to knock out a few more miles. Though I had reached Astoria, my turning point to head south, I had not yet actually seen the Pacific Ocean.

I hit the pedals pretty hard and made my way to the town of Seaside, Oregon. When I got there, I made as direct a line to the coast as I could, which put me on a boardwalk that followed the beach. I asked a man that was passing by if he would snap a picture of me by the Seaside, Oregon, sign. He obliged, and was also rather interested in my travels and the route that had brought me to the coast. He suggested a place to stop to eat in Cannon Beach, just down the coast, so I held off on lunch until I got there.

By the time I reached Cannon Beach, I had forgotten where my Seaside photographer had suggested I eat, so I pulled off at the first place I found that had an overhang where I could try to get my bike out of the rain. It was rather difficult to get myself motivated to leave the restaurant once I was somewhat dried off and warmed up, but I had to get back out on the road.

As I rode south of Cannon Beach, the weather stayed pretty dreary. I pulled off of the road at Manzanita to see what kind of lodging options were in the area. I pulled into a grocery store and asked the cashier if there was a cheap place to stay in town. The woman that was checking out at the time, Carol, spoke up and said that there was a hostel in Rockaway Beach, just to the south, that had opened within the last month or so. Carol said that it would be about 8 more miles down the road to get to this hostel. She was driving a van, and offered to drive me and my gear the remaining distance to the hostel. At first I was reluctant to accept her generosity, mostly because I'm stubborn and wanted to tough it out on my own, but when she told me that in the waning daylight hours, many of the curves ahead would not be the safest, especially with the wet conditions, I threw my bike and bags in her van and we were off. She drove me out to the coast to show me the view of the climb I had just completed prior to pulling in at that grocery store, but the weather didn't allow any kind of view. I remember being at the top, wishing I could see down to the ocean.

Soon enough we had arrived at the Sea Haven hostel in Rockaway Beach. Maureen showed me to my sleeping quarters and explained how everything worked and where everything was. Regardless of price, this was the best place I have stayed (other than at private residences with friends). That being said, I paid about the same to stay here as I did for some campsites east of the Mississippi River, so the price was right, too. The rain outside was not helping my motivation on the road, so when Maureen told me that a group of cyclists had made reservations for the following night and suggested that I take a day off and wait for them so I have people to ride with, I decided that was a good idea. This was the first time I took a day off where I was not staying with friends. That evening I spoke with a man who was a photographer for NASA's jet propulsion laboratory.

I bummed around the whole next day. I read, walked on the beach, ate, and slept throughout the day. It was great. Eventually the cyclists started to show up, so I had plenty of people to chat with that evening. There were at least 8 other cyclists present in the hostel that evening. There was a group of older men that were traveling together that played cards most of the evening. It was entertaining to be on the sidelines for their conversation.

The next morning I got on the road relatively early. Around noon I was looking for a place to stop for a bite to eat and found a place with three loaded bicycles out front. I ended up joining them at their table: Scott, Scott, and Mark. When we left the restaurant, one of the Scotts and I pulled away from the other Scott and Mark. We pushed onward to eventually reach Newport, Oregon, where we found another hostel. This one was a little more expensive than the previous, but it certainly had a lot of character. There were books and literature references everywhere (including what I believe to be a quote from "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" above the toilet, reminding us to wash our hands). Scott and I had one other roommate for the night, and before we took off in the morning, he asked me about my ride. When I told him, he pulled out his wallet and contributed to the "Feed Neal Fund" with instructions to find a decent place to stay down the road.

Scott and I kept on rolling through the mist and rain to arrive at Honeyman Memorial State Park near Florence, OR, to camp for the night. Fortunately the rain let up long enough to get the tent set up. Since my tent is gigantic, there were a couple of times we both slept in it so we wouldn't have to pack up two wet tents in the morning.

There isn't a whole lot that stands out in my mind about the Florence area, other than purchasing better rain gear. It was not a small chunk of money that came from my wallet, but it was necessary. When we left the following day we were riding along some very large sand dunes. I'm sure they would have been much more impressive had it not been raining. I was crabby. When we got to the North Bend/Coos Bay area, the Adventure Cycling Association route that we had been following had us turn off of hwy 101 to go closer to the coast. Scott and I followed the route. As we were about to leave town, the sky opened up and it rained harder than it had in the past couple of days. It was discouraging, but we pressed on. It let up a bit as we turned onto 7 Devils Road. We should have known better than to take a road called 7 Devils. It was ridiculous. That was the steepest grade I've seen in a very long time. We found out after the fact that it is called 7 Devils because of the 7 very steep climbs. It was so hazy that we couldn't see more than a couple hundred feet in any direction, so if there was an impressive view to go along with all of the work we put into climbing, we did not get to experience it. The descent on the other side wasn't even worth it. we never really dropped. We just kept going up and down until we were back at sea level. We stopped at Bullards Beach State Park for the night. It is worth mentioning that state parks through Oregon and California were all $5 for cyclists.

The following morning we got on the road and had a pretty dry (but still overcast) day for the first time. My favorite part of the day was when we approached Humbug Mountain. It's not the biggest mountain I've ever seen, but the way we approached it made it look pretty impressive. That night we rolled in to Gold Beach, OR, and camped at the fairgrounds under their band shell. That evening the sun even poked through for a little bit. Just enough to get our hopes up. Scott was definitely the optimist. I figured that mother nature was just messing with us, and just wanted to give us a little taste of what we had been missing before dumping on us again. That night while we were in town we did laundry, which was sorely needed at that point. Everything was wet. It's pretty difficult to get motivated in the morning when you have to put on a wet jersey, socks, cycling shoes, and worst of all cycling shorts.

On our way south from Gold Beach we went through Samuel H. Boardman State Park, which had some amazing sights if you're willing to get off the bike or out of the car and walk 40 feet. I snapped a few pictures, but I think you all just need to go there sometime. As we crossed the border into California, I got my picture by the Oregon and California signs, and decreasing the number of states remaining to be pedaled through to 10. We made it as far south as Klamath, CA, where we found giant statues of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox. We stopped for some pictures, then started calling campgrounds to compare prices, ending up at the Mystic Forest RV Park and Campground.

In the morning, just south of Klamath, we turned off of hwy 101 onto Newton B. Drury Scenic Highway. On this jaunt off the main highway Scott and I saw some of the biggest trees we'd ever seen. They were enormous. We stopped for a few pictures with the giants as we rode through. This was also the first day that we really had clear skies. Thanks for nothing, Oregon.

There were a few other places that the map instructed us to turn off of 101. My favorite for the day was called Trnidad Scenic Drive. Parts of it were pretty steep, parts of it were narrowed down to one lane, and parts of it were gravel, but it was definitely worth the work. It was a sheer drop off the side of the road down to the ocean for most of it. Scott and I had gotten split up for a bit during this stretch, but when we met back up, he had two more cyclists with him. The four of us hit the pedals pretty hard for the last stretch into Eureka, CA. At that point, Scott and I found an Indian food buffet. It was amazing. I stuffed myself stupid. I love Indian food. After that we found the cheapest hotel in town and used the money our hostel friend had given me to pay for it. There was a big food co-op across the street, so we did some grocery shopping and I found some more of the dehydrated re-fried beans that I've been eating. They also had a sale on Cliff bars, so I bought a dozen of those.

Scott and I discussed our plans for the next few days, and we decided to split up. He wanted to ride a section of the road called the Lost Coast. I was more looking at getting down to San Francisco to take some time off a little quicker, so I bypassed that part. Props to Scott for riding it; it's about 8,500 feet of climb in about 60 miles according to the Adventure Cycling Association maps. I took 101 out of town and eventually turn onto Avenue of the Giants. Again, a worth while turnoff to see some really huge trees, as well as to avoid some of the 101 traffic. I stopped to camp at Richardson Grove State Park, where I met several other cyclists. One was a man from Athens, GA. Oddly enough, I biked through Athens, GA a few months ago. They had better bike lanes than much of what I found out east. There was also a couple from Norway biking down the coast, and a man from Eugene that was working his way around the country to end up in Pennsylvania to see his family.

The next morning I took off in search of a place for breakfast and with the intentions of covering a lot of miles. Basil, the man from Athens, GA, had left before me. I caught up to him a little ways down the road, where he was taking a break with two of his friends that were choosing to find lodging each night instead of camp. We all ended up at the same market in Leggett, CA, for a food break. This ended up eating away my entire morning. They were fun people to talk to. The road past Leggett was the longest climb of my coastal ride, reaching just over 2,000 ft in elevation. Part way up I stopped to take a picture. As I mounted the bike to continue climbing, I noticed my rear tire was very low. As I took the wheel off, the Norwegian couple, Basil and his friends, the man from Eugene, and two more cyclists caught up to me and all pulled over, making an impromptu party on the side of the road. The two cyclists I had not met yet were Scott and Dan. At the moment they were riding unloaded because Dan's mother had come to SAG for them. The whole group of them trickled away while I was still fixing the tire. When I had the tire back on, I pumped hard to catch up to everyone.

I ended up passing all of the loaded cyclists and meeting Scott and Dan at the top of the hill, where they had pulled over to get a picture at the top of the climb. At that point, I decided to try to keep up with the two of them for a while. This proved quite difficult, as I was riding a 110 lb. bicycle (including gear and whatnot) compared to their presumably 18-23 lb. rides. At the top of the next big climb they had to wait a little for me, but after that I did alright at keeping up. They seemed somewhat impressed at my ability to keep up, but I don't think they really realized how much it was killing me to keep up. They said I was in the running for the nickname "Manimal" which had been reserved for a man in their cycling club with very large thighs. We knocked out some good miles in the afternoon, and when we got to Mendocino, Dan's mother had found a cottage with a hot tub for the night. They graciously offered me a spot on the floor and food for the evening and morning. It was an evening well spent, chatting with my new traveling companions.

The next morning we ate breakfast and hit the road relatively early. Scott and Dan had aspirations of pushing through some long miles, so we hit the road pretty fast in the morning and had about 50 miles done before noon. That's no easy task on the coast. Some of the grades get pretty steep. At one point, just south of Elk, CA, I was in my lowest gear and standing on my pedals. I can still say I have never had to get off my bike to push, but that one got close. Anyway, around lunch time I took a lengthier break than my fellow travelers and proceeded at my own pace. I was not in the same rush that they were. I was pretty excited about how well I had done keeping up with them for the last 24 hours.

Down the road a ways I stopped at a convenience store near Fort Ross. As I sat on the curb outside, snacking, a man in a wetsuit walked up and asked me about my ride. I told him what I was doing and where I planned on camping that night. He told me that he and some friends were celebrating a birthday near there and that I was welcome to join. He and his companions insisted that I throw my bike in the back of the truck, and in hind sight, I appreciate the ride up the hill. As we approached the climb up to the house, there was a sign reading "18% Grade Next 2 Miles". Holy crap.

They were wearing wetsuits because I met them on their way in from fishing from their kayaks and diving for abalone. I had never heard of abalone before this. Apparently it is a delicacy. Wikipedia calls abalone a large sea snail. Anyway, we arrived at the house and hung out while fish and abalone were cleaned and prepared. One of the guests raises duck for several restaurants and brought some to contribute. Not only did I have shelter and engaging conversation for the evening, but I ate like a king!

There were far too many names to try to match with faces, but I do remember Eric, the host. Once it came out that I got my bachelors degree in Bible/Religion/Philosophy, that seemed to take over the conversation for the rest of the evening. It was very entertaining, but a bit frustrating when Eric tried to put me on the spot as the truth source on all questions about Christianity because of my major. For a while we were caught up on language, failing to clearly distinguish atheism and agnosticism. Eric defined himself as an atheist, but at the end of the night I think I'd call him more of a pantheistic agnostic, but hey, we're probably just splitting hairs here. At one point I mentioned that many Mennonites really dig four part harmony. I shouldn't have done that. Eric was then convinced that we needed to find three more people to join me in forming a quartet for some evening entertainment. Thank God that didn't happen. There was a fantastic sunset over the ocean, visible from the deck. I tried to take a picture, but sunsets are hard to convey through a picture.

In the morning I was well fed yet again before hitting the road en route to San Francisco. As I left their house (they referred to it as Sea View) I dropped and climbed a few times on top of the ridge before reaching a sign warning me of the impending downward slope, again 18% for the next two miles. Climbing up would have been pretty awful, but descending with a loaded touring bike was frightening. I must have burned up half of my break pads on that one hill. At the top it felt like I was approaching the initial drop of an advanced ski slope. After making it to the bottom of that, I kept going downhill into Russian Gulch. It wasn't the steepest gulch I had ridden through on the coast, but this was probably the most windy road I had been on along the coast.

It was a nice ride along the coast towards Bodega Bay, where I turned inland for a ways. On this stretch of the road I started to get a little nervous because I saw that traffic was backed up for several miles. It was kind of funny to cruise past miles and miles of cars, nearly stopped on the road. There had been a fire at the top of the hill, so the fire engines were blocking one lane, making traffic take turns. There was a lot of traffic trying to get through. When I got to the other side of the single lane section, I stopped several times to cars that were waving to me to tell them what was causing the holdup. They were grateful, but I think I ended up descending the hill slower than I had climbed it. I pedaled on further towards San Francisco and reached Samuel P. Taylor State Park, where I set up camp for the night.

In the morning I got up and took off towards the Golden Gate Bridge. It wasn't a long ride to get there, and it was great to arrive on a clear day, so I could actually see the bridge. I was worried I'd get there on an overcast day. The pedestrian walkway was very crowded, but navigable. Once I got across the bridge, I took the quickest route to Jenna's house that my GPS could give me. I don't like wandering around hilly places with lots of stop signs with a loaded bicycle. It's kind of tiring. Apparently I completely missed Golden Gate Park. I'll have to check that out later today, as I enjoy a day or so off the bike.

From here I'll be heading into the desert. I'm going to cross the Sierras, basically following hwy 50, into Nevada where I will actually be on hwy 50 through the whole state. Apparently hwy 50 has been called "America's Loneliest Highway". I think the longest stretch between services is about 84 miles. I'll have a few other lengthy stretches, but that's the big one, near the Nevada/Utah border. We'll see how that all goes. The good news is that I shouldn't get rained on any time soon! This last large gap between blog posts was mostly because there was so much to do along the coast. This next lull in activity on my blog will be due to no internet services, I'm guessing. I'll try to get something typed up as I ride so that if I do happen to come across a library or something along the way, I have something ready to post. I can't imagine that there will be much to do in the evenings in my tent in the middle of a desert. Strangely enough, I'm looking forward to it. I'm not sure what that means.

About to Turn South

2010-09-14T22:52:00.000-05:00

One of the nice things about being at the MDS meeting in Albany, OR, was that I could finally use the acronym "MDS" and not meet very confused expressions. It was great to meet more people associated with MDS at various levels, and to see some familiar faces in the organization that I haven't seen since my trip through Pennsylvania. I received many invitations to stay with people throughout the western states, but unfortunately most of them will not really be along my route. I also received several generous donations to the "Feed Neal Fund," which felt alright since these funds were coming from people who have already invested so much into MDS as an organization already. I hope that the people that have given me money along the way didn't forget about MDS. This trip is about much more than raising money, but the most tangible sign of progress for the cause at hand is that running total. As of my arrival at that meeting (6,000 miles in) the total raised is something around $3,300. I didn't know how to set a goal for this trip at the beginning, but I thought it would be cool if $1 per mile would come in. There's more miles to travel and more people to meet. We'll see what happens.

After a sizable lunch with the MDS crowd, I hit the road north towards Portland. My friend and cycling partner from two years ago, Dustin, left from Portland at the same time to come meet me and guide me to his place for the evening. Given the late departure, it was kind of late when we rolled into town, but the sun hadn't quite set yet. Some of Dustin's classmates from law school were getting together that evening, so Dustin brought me along to meet his new friends from his new school (he just transferred).

Since Dustin doesn't have any furniture in his place yet, I was on my sleeping pad in his living room. I'm actually quite used to it, and I sometimes prefer it to other sleeping surfaces. Anyway, when we got up, Dustin and I pedaled down town to check out REI and some bike shops for some gear upgrades, including a few better provisions for riding in the rain. I ended up bumming around town for a good chunk of the afternoon before going to Beth and Marcos' place for supper and a game of Settlers of Catan. I don't get to play quite so often now that I'm not working at Hesston College. It was a welcomed treat. I ended up crashing on their couch.

The next morning I had breakfast with my friend Laurel, then made my way to this huge bookstore called Powell's. It's definitely the biggest bookstore I've ever seen. I've traveled more than 6,000 miles without a book. I thought it was time to pack some reading material. Hopefully I actually read the books I bought so they're not just wasted weight I'm carrying. I got back in touch with Dustin, because all of my stuff was still at his place. He and his siblings were about to go grocery shopping, so I headed back to his place to join in the fun. Afterward, I packed my equipment and groceries onto my bike and headed for Logan and Jake's place to make humus with them and our friend Kaitlin. At the end of the night, I got a ride back to Kaitlin's ritzy suburb abode to sleep on a very nice futon.

When I woke, I was a little bit torn between leaving or staying for another day. By the time I got back to Jake and Logan's place to pick up my bike, it was late enough that I decided to stick around, do some laundry, and plot out my route a little bit better. About a block from their place there was a laundromat/coffee shop. Honestly, that's a genius idea. I drank coffee and mapped out a route while my laundry was in. It was great. I bummed around town a little more, checking out the bike paths by the river, before settling into a chair outside of a coffee shop to make a few phone calls and to start on a book. When Laurel got off work, I headed for her place for an evening on her couch, involving the movie "The Bucket List". Quality film, if anyone is interested.

Today I actually hit the road and left the city. Before I did, I met a high school classmate, Annie, for breakfast. We hadn't seen each other in a few years, so we caught up on life for quite a while over some biscuits and gravy and coffee. The ride north through the city could have been quicker, but when I'm not really sure where I'm going, I tend to go there slower. I just wandered north to the I-5 bridge where I crossed into Vancouver, Washington. I saw neither a welcome to Oregon or a welcome to Washington sign to take my picture by. As with north Portland, I didn't really know where I was going in Vancouver, other than north, so I was moving a little slower until I found the highway I was looking for. While meandering through the city, I wandered into a residential suburban part of town. At one of the intersections, I slowed down to look for traffic, then pedaled through. There was a stop sign, but I didn't completely stop. As I went through the intersection, a car about a half block behind me gave one short beep from their horn. I glanced back to see if I was in some way impeding his travels. He beeped his horn again as he got closer. Next, he pulled up beside me and said, "You ran that stop sign back there." I responded, "Yeah, I slowed down and looked for traffic." He repeated, "You ran that stop sign back there," this time with an intonation of impatience. I said, "There were no cars." He repeated himself one more time, "You ran that stop sign back there," this time sounding almost angry. "Thank you, sir, have a nice day," I responded. At this he drove away. I would have preferred to say, "Your confrontation style will only aggravate and irritate others, likely not affecting any change," but he drove away too quickly. I think I slowed enough that nobody, including myself, was in danger. It's not easy to get that 300+ lbs. moving again when I completely stop. Whatever.

I took a break in Longview, WA, before crossing the river back into Oregon. The bridge to get across was not a friendly one. There were a ton of logging trucks coming and going from the mill in Longview, and there was not a shoulder. I should also mention that the Columbia River is not narrow, and the bridge was tall enough to allow barges through underneath. It was not a fun bridge. On the bridge, there was a very small sign that said "Entering Oregon" on one side and "Entering Washington" on the other, but not in a place where I could stop to take a picture. I still have another chance to get a picture of me being welcomed into Oregon as I leave to go to California, but I have no picture of me entering Washington. I improvised a little, but it is quite disappointing to come this far, getting a picture entering each state, and finally miss one. There's a bridge near Astoria, OR, that I could try riding across to get a picture, but it's a really long bridge. Maybe if the morning is going smoothly I'll give that a shot.

I'm currently stopped at the Clatskanie River Inn, where the manager gave me a break on the cost of the room. Tomorrow night I should be sleeping on the coast of the Pacific Ocean. When I turn south tomorrow, I will no longer be moving away from Louisiana. I will finally be on the return trip. I've got about 800 miles of coast to ride between here and San Francisco, so the next two weeks should be great. I'm supposed to be catching some rain later this week that might last a few days, but things will eventually dry out, right? I just hope that doesn't mess up the view!

The Hooley Farm through Central Oregon

2010-09-10T01:44:00.001-05:00

After my night in Pocatello, ID, I tried to get on the road early to see if I could make the Hooley farm in one shot. When I woke up, it was raining. It was hard to get motivated to get out the door. By the time I was packed up and ready to move, it had stopped raining. I got on the road and within 2 miles I had a flat tire. I'm pretty quick at fixing these by now, but it sure is irritating. I saddled back up and hit the road. About 2 miles later, I got another flat tire. At this point, I realized that there was no way I would make it to the Hooley farm. This is yet another reason I hate riding on the interstate. There is so much junk on the shoulder, that it's not possible to avoid it all. Most of the stuff that gives me flats I can't even see anyway.

I kept on going on the shoulder of the interstate and eventually came across signs saying that there was construction ahead. Sometimes that's a bad thing, sometimes is a good thing. At first, it had all of the traffic reduce down to one lane. That was great. It gave me the other lane to ride in, protected by a series of orange barrels. Soon, however, we were all instructed to cross the median in this single file to the oncoming side. I rode over there for a few miles, but I was seriously afraid for my life on several occasions. At one point a semi loaded with hay bails felt like it was inches from hitting me. Not so much the truck, but the bails that were hanging over the side. It was so frustrating to have all of this traffic that just didn't seem to give a damn that I was on the road. All that was at risk for them was a fender, while my life was on the line. Eventually I got off my bike in the median and walked it over to the construction zone to ride for a while. Eventually I had to get back in with the traffic because of all the construction equipment that was operating, but there was an exit just a mile further down the road. At that point I got the heck off the interstate.

I took a break at that gas station, then biked the last 15ish miles to get to Burley, ID, where I planned to stop for the night. As I was rolling through town, looking for a place to camp, I saw a little motel and figured I'd ask how much a room was. The headwind that day had me pretty worn out, so if the price was right I thought I'd treat myself. When I first pulled up, one of the guys in the lobby asked me if I was biking to Alaska. I said, "No, Louisiana." They chuckled for a while, then told me that the last cyclist that had stopped in was headed to Alaska. They all thought he was nuts. They thought I was only a little bit crazy until I told them the route of my trip and how far I had come already. The guy at the desk cut me a deal for the night.

The next morning I got out early and headed for Filer, ID, on the highway (NOT the interstate). About a mile from town I got another flat. When flats become this frequent, it is quite obvious that it's time for new tires. I fixed it and kept on rolling and got to the Hooley farm just as they were finishing lunch. After gorging myself on their would-be leftovers, I went outside to clean up my bike a little and to look over the tires. It was kind of amazing to see how much junk had stuck into my tires over the last few days. I ended up throwing one of them out and putting my spare on to get me to Boise.

While I was cleaning up my bike, my friend Isaac was divvying out produce to the customers of his CSA (Community Supported Agriculture). His garden is amazing and his customers seem to love what they're getting. I think he harvested and sold something like 700 ears of corn that day. His sister, Sarah, and I went out to pick a few things while Isaac was busy with customers. He has this funny little truck that I got to drive. It's got a flatbed and the driver sits on the right side of the cab. It seems perfect for what they do. It was pretty weird to convince my left hand to control the manual transmission.

Throughout the day I had to keep snacking. I'm used to continuously putting food in my mouth throughout the day to keep my energy up. Also, they don't really eat supper until they're done working. They keep working as long as they have light. Supper was after dark. Luckily they had stuff to snack on in the kitchen and the supper was most certainly worth the wait.

The next morning I slept in. I learned that sleeping in at this point is about 9:00am. That only comes after initially waking at about 6-6:30 to freak out a little, wonder where I am, think about packing and where I'm riding to, come to grips with reality and the knowledge of the day off, then a restroom break. Once all that was resolved, I could go back to bed for a little while. In the morning I worked on my route a little, used the internet, and started laundry. In the afternoon I made a connection with someone to stay with near Boise, packed some stuff up, mailed some stuff home, and got the laundry into the dryer before heading out to help Isaac pick tomatoes.

When we finished harvesting, we headed for town to go to the county fair. His sister was already in town, so we met her there. It has been a long while since I've been to a fair to look around. It seemed very similar to the York County Fair back home, but with better food options. We looked at paintings, photographs, sugar beets, alpaca, and draft horses. The alpaca had all been sheered everywhere except the top of their heads. All of them looked goofy. I wish I had thought to bring my camera, but unfortunately I didn't remember to do ANYTHING with my camera while I was staying with the Hooleys. I didn't take a single picture while I was there. I'm a little frustrated with myself for that one.

While we were at the fair, someone said something about jalapeno poppers. At the sound of those, we decided that we should make them. Isaac had jalapenos from the garden, and they knew who to ask for a recipe. On our way out of the fair, we tracked down a recipe and then went to do a little grocery shopping for the missing ingredients. Back at the farm, Isaac and Sarah made the poppers while I finished packing up for the ride out in the morning. I think I ended up eating half the pan. They were delicious.

The next morning I had breakfast and headed out of the house to leave the serenity of the Hooley farm. When I got to my bike, the front tire was flat. I'm still a little puzzled by that one. I took the tire and tube off, but couldn't find a problem. I pumped up the tube, but I couldn't find a leak. I just put in a new tube and headed off. Despite the rough start, it was a great day for a ride. For the first time in a very long time, I had a tail wind. I knocked out 89 miles in about 6 hours, including a few stops and a brief descent into a canyon (which is always accompanied by the ascent on the other side). I spent the night at a KOA in Mountain Home, ID. They're always nice places to stop, but they're also more expensive than any other place to camp. Either way, it was a shower and a place to set up the tent.

The next morning I had breakfast and then hit the road to Boise. When I got a little ways down the road, I called Russ. When I rode out this direction two years ago with my friend Dustin, we stayed with Russ in Eagle, just north of Boise. Like last time, he planned to ride out to meet me. I made pretty good time to Boise and met up with Russ before noon. We pedaled towards his house, stopping at a couple of bike shops along the way. I bought a new chain and two new tires. My chain wasn't shot yet, but I like to have an extra. The tires, as you may have gathered from reading, were a much needed replacement. At Russ' place, we did a whole lot of work on my bike. It had seen some rough weather, so I hosed it off, then we took apart the chain and rear cassette for a good cleaning. It was amazing how much crap came off of the rear cassette. I suppose that's what a few thousand miles will do. Russ had some extra handlebar tape, so we re-wrapped my handlebars with a little extra padding. It also added a little bit of personality to my bike, as the new bar tape is a fairly vibrant shade of purple. Russ also had a better pump than I had been using and some different gloves for me to try. Like last time, it was a great pleasure to stay at his place and do some sorely needed cleaning and maintenance on my bike. On my way out in the morning, Russ made a contribution to the "Feed Neal Fund" as well as to Mennonite Disaster Service.

While rolling out of the Boise area, a cyclist caught up with me and asked where I was headed. This sparked about 8 or 9 miles worth of conversation, which made the miles fly by. It was his birthday, and it is the tradition of his friends that on your birthday you must bike your age in miles. I don't remember how old he said he was, but I told him I was just working ahead. As I got to the Idaho/Oregon border, things got a little bit more middle-of-nowhere feeling and the temperature kept rising. It got to about 94, which is the hottest I'd seen in a while. After passing through Vale, OR, I ended up stopping in Harper. There isn't much there, but they've got the only gas station for miles in either direction and a school. I spent the night in the grass by the school. I made sure to ask someone if there was automatic sprinklers there. Any time I see green in the middle of what otherwise looks like a desert, I'm hesitant to set up my tent. I learned on my last trip that sprinklers can cause a rude awakening.

At the gas station, I learned that there was another cyclist named Ryan just a few hours ahead of me. They said he intended to camp in Juntura, 34 miles further down the road. With this knowledge in mind, I got up early and pedaled hard to try to catch him. I expected him to stop at Burns for the night, because there wasn't really any other option, so if I didn't catch him on the bike, I just needed to look for him in Burns. I was plotting all of this while I got a bite to eat in Juntura. After leaving town, there were two pretty solid climbs coming up. As I climbed the first, I got near the top and saw someone stopped on the side of the road. I had caught Ryan much earlier than I had expected. He was having one of those days where you just don't really want to push. I understand the feeling. We ended up riding together the rest of the way to Burns. It was a good thing we stuck together, because the last stretch before town was long, flat, and windy. Since we were together, we could take turns drafting off of each other. This makes wind SO much more bearable.

As a bit of an aside, you can learn more about Ryan by visiting his website at http://www.ryanprizio.com. He started in Connecticut on July 1st with zero cycling experience, and has learned a lot as he has traveled. He's nearing the end of his journey to the coast, but is currently mulling over what it would take to bike across the rest of the continents. Bold.

When we got to Burns, I learned that Ryan has made it this far into his trip without having paid for lodging. He has done a lot of stealth camping, traded labor for lodging, and utilized online communities like http://www.couchsurfing.org and others. I told him I planned on paying for a site, so he could just set up at my site. That night we had Thai food in Burns, Oregon. I never would have guessed that Burns would have a Thai restaurant.

It started to really cool off that evening as we were getting to our tents. In the morning it was very difficult to get out of the sleeping bag. During breakfast, I checked the weather on my phone. There was a "special weather statement", so I clicked on it. Apparently Burns, OR, recorded a new record low for that date, getting down to 28 degrees for the night, surpassing the previous low of 30 degrees. no wonder it was tough to get out of the sleeping bag.

After breakfast we stopped at a Safeway for some last minute items before heading into the middle of nowhere. We moved at a pretty good pace to Riley before taking a break. Next we pushed on to Hampton, and eventually to Brothers. All three of these places were barely more than intersections. At Brothers there was a rest area with lush, green grass to camp in. I knew that there had to be under ground sprinklers in the area, but I couldn't find them. If I could have, I would have put one of my camping pots over the sprinkler head with one of my bags on top of that. A 30 minute cycle of high pressure sprinkler water really cleans a pot well! Ryan and I gorged ourselves on beans, rice, and corn tortillas for supper. I'm bad at guessing how much rice is actually in the pot when it hasn't been cooked yet. We ended up with a lot. Anyway, I never found the sprinkler head, so at about 3:30am the sprinklers kicked on, so Ryan and I were now camping in the artificial rain of the Oregon desert.

In the morning, after we had packed up our wet tents, Ryan and I headed to the bar/gas station/restaurant/post office/convenience store for breakfast. About 70 miles back someone had recommended the breakfast at this place. It was so good, we ended up eating breakfast twice. We stuffed ourselves stupid with eggs, hashbrowns, toast, bacon, pancakes, and coffee. Cycling is a little rough at first with a full stomach, but as the day wears on, you just kind of realize that you don't need to stop to eat. Ever. We got to Bend and neither of us was hungry. I had planned on continuing on to the town of Sisters, but Ryan's knee had started hurting yesterday and was still bothering him today. He decided to stop, and I decided I'd just stop as well. We hung out at a restaurant for a while and ended up finding someone willing to house us for a night in town.

While we were in the restaurant, it started to rain. It continued to drizzle as we headed across town towards our host for the night, Diane. While cruising across town, Ryan got a flat. When we took the tire off, we found the biggest piece of glass I've ever seen embedded in his tire. I found out then that he had been riding the same tire since Connecticut. And the same chain. Like I said, he's learning a lot as he goes. I'm impressed at how well he has done on his first tour with no prior knowledge of the sport.

At Diane's place, we got set up with a guest room and a warm shower. It was fantastic. We talked with Diane about bicycle touring for quite a while that evening. Apparently she biked all over Mexico a few years back. As I planned for my departure from her place, I saw that the weather was supposed to be less than cooperative. It was going to be "unseasonably cool" and raining. I talked with Diane about bike shops in the area where I could pick up a couple of things to help keep me warm during the ride. She ended up lending me a pair of waterproof socks. You should just google them, I don't know how to explain them. I think they saved my toes. When I get to Portland I'm going to mail them back to her.

I had a pretty long day ahead of me, so I tried to get out at a decent hour. It was a short ride to get to Sisters, and beyond that I would be climbing Santiam Pass and Tombstone Pass before following the river to Sweet Home, OR. I grabbed a bite to eat in Sisters because it didn't look like there would be much option down the road. I also made the assumption that I'd be able to find water down the road. As I left Sisters, the rain picked up a little as I climbed Santiam pass. The climb in the rain wasn't too bad, but the descent was very cold. Not very long after reaching the bottom, I started to climb again, this time up to Tombstone pass. This climb was shorter, but it had a much longer descent on the other side. I took pictures of the signs warning drivers of the 11 miles of 6% downgrade to come. For those 11 miles, I may as well have unclipped my shoes from the pedals. It was nice to just cruise without all the work. I can see why so many people like having an engine on their bike. The down side was that it was still raining and I was still freezing as I sat there and coasted down the mountain. All this while I had not been able to find a place to fill my water bottles since I left Sisters. I ran out of water at the bottom of the 11 miles of 6% downgrade and still had 21 miles to go before arriving in Sweet Home. It's a good thing it was cold and rainy. I got by without more water, but I had to really tank up when I got to town. I cramped up a little early in the evening, but once the water and electrolytes had time to sink in, my muscles eased up.

In Sweet Home it was still raining, and I just didn't feel like dealing with the crappy weather in a tent. I found the first motel along that road and got a room. The next day I would bike a short 27 miles to Albany, OR. With a short day ahead, I decided to sleep in. I did the usual early morning panic about getting on the road in a timely fashion, followed by a trip to the restroom, before catching a couple more hours of sleep.

From the hotel I found a small diner where I got a late breakfast before hitting the road to Albany. The ride was another rainy one, but it was short. I got to the Quality Inn on the edge of Albany in the early afternoon and checked in.

I suppose I never explained why I took this route through Central Oregon rather than sticking to my previous plan of following the Columbia River, where I would have touched Washington. While in Idaho, I found out that District IV of Mennonite Disaster Service was having their annual meeting in Albany this weekend. I did some figuring and worked with Russ (in Eagle) on a route to get me here in time to attend and meet some people and see some familiar faces in the MDS world. Tomorrow morning is the start of their meeting, so I got here just in time. I plan to stick around through the morning before hitting the road for Portland, where I will most likely take at least two days off the bike to take in the city and visit friends. I'll probably look for some of those sweet waterproof socks for myself.

Yellowstone and Teton National Parks, and the Snake River

2010-08-29T23:21:00.000-05:00

Something I forgot to talk about in my last blog post was some construction that I rode through in North Dakota near the Montana border. I'm not sure how it slipped my mind; it is certainly noteworthy. I had heard about the construction a couple days earlier from some locals, so I knew that it was there. They said that it had been pretty ugly a couple weeks earlier, but they assumed that it would be in better shape by the time I got there. When I arrived at the town of Marmarth, ND, I saw the first part of the construction. They had taken a short stretch of the road going into town all the way down to dirt in both lanes. The cars and trucks had worn very deep ruts in the dirt where they had been driving, and the rest of it was basically mud. I asked the flagger how far the construction went, and she said this stretch was just a couple hundred feet, but there was more on the other side of town, basically to the Montana border. She said the conditions were much better on that side, and that they had already painted lines on it over there. I tried to ride through the softer stuff between the wheel-tracks, but it was pretty sticky, so I dropped into one of the ruts. At that point, my pedals were hitting the sides of the ruts. I ended up making it through, but it wasn't easy. When I got to the other side of town, the road was pretty nice. Then about a mile out of town the road disappeared and I was riding on packed mud. The traffic was one lane, so their was a lead car. I couldn't keep up with their pace, so I just put my head down and pushed as hard and as fast as I could to avoid dealing with any more traffic than I had to during this stretch. At one point I had a water truck coming at me in my lane that was spreading water over the whole road. It appeared as though I was going to get soaked, but he shut the valve before he and I met. This certainly explained why the road was so wet. I'm sure they had a reason for soaking the road between traffic surges, but it sure made for some crappy cycling. If my tires had been any narrower, I would have been stuck. As I pushed onward, I realized that I was working way too hard for how slow I was going. The loud machinery had masked the noise made by my tire rubbing on all of the mud caked into my front fender. I knew that some had built up, but I didn't realize how bad it was until I stopped and scraped some of it out. It felt like I had just released the parking break and the last 1/4 mile of the construction was a whole lot easier. My parents had tried to check out the construction and then come back to give me a ride, but I made it into the construction before they could get back through it. Eh, I made it through.

Anyway, that gap in the story filled, I'll get back to the narrative of my journey, picking up with leaving Billings and my luggage toting parents. The morning of their departure we hung out for a while during breakfast and I got off to a planned late start for the day. I pedaled a few more miles of interstate before turning south towards Cody, WY. As usual, I stopped a few times to fill with water at rest areas and got the usual responses when I told people what I was doing. I pressed onward to eventually arrive in Belfry, MT, just north of the WY/MT border (On a side-note, their high school mascot is a bat. They are the Belfry Bats.). There's not much in Belfry. I stopped at the bar to ask if there was a place to set up a tent, and they told me about some BLM (Bureau of Land Management) land that was south of town that I could probably camp by. I decided that was my plan, but then it started to rain a bit. The area as a whole looked pretty dry, so I was assuming that the rain wouldn't keep up very long. I sat out of the rain in front of the grocery store next to the Coke machine. As I sat there, several locals looked at me real funny, but never stopped to ask what I was doing. Eventually a pickup pulled up and two men got out to use the Coke machine. They asked what I was doing, and I told them about the trip and where I planned to camp for the night and why I was sitting in front of the grocery store. When they heard this, they looked at each other, looked back at me, and told me to throw my stuff in the truck. Both of their names were Dave. One of the Daves lived in Red Lodge, MT, and the other Dave was from somewhere in eastern Montana. He didn't bother saying the name of the town. He's a school teacher in a one room school house. He said he has 4 students this year. Teacher Dave was out visiting Red Lodge Dave to do some hiking before the school year started. Red Lodge Dave owns a few properties in Red Lodge and is also a guide. Apparently he "guides" wherever people want to go. It sounds like he's been just about everywhere. Some of his stories seemed a bit like he was embellishing a bit too much, but he was a good enough story teller that often I wasn't entirely sure what was fact and what was skewed or inflated fact. Either way, both Daves were great. We got to Red Lodge and they showed me my room for the night and then we went out to eat. The next morning Teacher Dave was working on breakfast for us, after which I went with Red Lodge Dave to run a few errands. The Daves gave me a few wildlife pointers about Yellowstone as they drove me back to Belfry to pick up where I had left off.

I did a little bit of climbing between Belfry and Cody. It was a good little warm up before getting into the more serious stuff. In Cody I picked up a package I was expecting from my sister with some of my cold weather gear that I had left at her place when I passed through at the beginning of July. Without that gear, I would have been one miserable cyclist going into Yellowstone. Before leaving Cody I visited a bicycle shop. I didn't really need anything, I just like visiting bicycle shops. The man there told me some stories about cyclists that had come through and offered a few tips. As I left town, I soon encountered an awful headwind. I think the canyon I was going through really funneled the wind into something awful. I've had some windy days on this trip, but I don't think I've ever encountered anything quite like that canyon. It was exhausting. I ended up camping in the lawn by an inn near Wapiti, WY, for the night. They had nice grass and a fire ring, so it was a pretty decent place to spend the night, though there was no shower.

The wind kept blowing all evening, through the night, and all morning. It was a real pain to get my tent packed up with all of the wind. I stepped inside the lobby before hitting the road and made small talk with the owner and some guests. The owner thought I was headed out of the park, and when he learned that I was on my way in, well, he said that he's seen a lot of cyclists come through and they don't make it far when the wind is like this. He told me that if the wind drops down, I might make it to the east gate of the park, but no further (which would be 9 miles short of Sylvan Pass, the big climb for the day). I told him I intended to make it to the gate regardless of the wind, and then over Sylvan Pass and down to Bridge Bay, if not further. He told me I had high aspirations and that I should look forward to camping just before the Yellowstone gate. I think his lack of faith in me made the day go much quicker. The wind didn't stop blowing (though it wasn't as bad as the previous day) and I made it into the park without a hitch. The woman at the gate looked at me with a little disbelief and asked if I knew that I was about to gain about 1,000 ft in the next 9 miles. I told her that it was closer to 1,900 feet in about 8.5 miles, according to the topographical information on my GPS.

As I descended into the park on the other side of Sylvan Pass, I saw some buffalo just hanging out in a pasture. It was eerie to see these giant animals with no gate or windshield between us. I pulled off at a little rest area to use the restroom and encountered a tour bus full of Germans. One woman asked me (mostly through gestures) what I was doing. Another woman eventually translated for us, which then led to a crowd of Germans around me, gawking in disbelief at what I was doing. As I got closer to the first main intersection in the park where I would have to choose right or left, I stopped at a little store and asked people where I should head. I wanted to turn north and go to Canyon Village, but I heard that there were a whole lot of buffalo on the road there. I decided to go left. When I actually arrived at the intersection, there were several buffalo right beside the road and one standing on the shoulder where I wanted to ride my bicycle. I gestured to traffic that I was turning. There was not a turn yet, so they looked at me with a slightly confused and maybe irritated look. I scooted over to the center line and used an RV to block between me and the buffalo. At this, the confused/irritated driver behind the RV started chuckling a little bit. He seemed to get it. I set up camp at Bridge Bay and made myself some beans and rice.

After stuffing myself with protein and carbs, I got on my bike to head for the campground entrance where I had seen a pay phone (no cell coverage) so I could let my parents know that I had made it into the park without getting broken by a buffalo. As I started rolling down the hill from my campground, a group of three children were in the road, waving for me to stop and be quiet. It took me a second, but I soon saw what they were gesturing at. There was a HUGE male elk walking right through the campground. I stopped quickly and tried to get my camera out. He stopped walking, looked at me, walked a little further, looked at me again, then kept walking. I got one picture taken, but it was completely unrecognizable, so I deleted it.

That night it got pretty cold. I was very glad that I had received that package from my sister and that my parents had brought me my down sleeping bag to replace my warm weather bag. It was tough to get motivated to get out of the bag that morning. Eventually I did and then headed for Grant Village, just south of Bridge Bay. I got there before noon, set up my tent and put my bags in the bear box, and headed for Old Faithful. The previous day I tried to get a room near Old Faithful. I was hoping to find room in one of their more primitive options available for under $100. When I asked at one of the other lodges, they said that there were only two rooms available in the whole park, and they were both sweets: one at Mammoth and one at Old Faithful, both running about $600/night. This left me commuting over to Old Faithful. Between Grant Village and Old Faithful the road crosses the Continental Divide twice. Out and back, I crossed the Divide 4 times. In one day. Thank goodness I had dropped off my gear. One very interesting thing I found at the top of one of the Divide crossings was Isa Lake. It's a very small body of water that is on the continental divide. When it rains or snow melts into it, water runs out both ends. It drains into the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans. And because of how the Continental Divide twists and turns through that area, it actually worked out that the west side of the lake drains into the Atlantic, and the east side of the lake drains into the Pacific. It makes sense if you see it on a map. I don't know about any of you all, but I thought that was pretty sweet.

When I got to Old Faithful, I was just in time to wait 10 minutes for it to erupt. I think that the wait made things pretty anti-climactic for me. When it's not spewing water, it's a hole in the ground. The process that is going on under the surface is absolutely fascinating, but what's happening above ground was just OK. After seeing Old Faithful do it's thing, I cruised up and down one of the boardwalks that allowed bicycles and checked out some of the other geothermal activity. I was much more impressed with some of the less regular geysers that had created impressive looking structures around their spouts, and the colors in some of the pools were almost hypnotizing to stare at for a while.

When I had checked in at Grant Village, I met two women that were checking in for a large group of people that were on a guided trip that involved camping, cycling, kayaking, hiking, etc. The organization was called Backroads. When I got back to the campground that evening, I wandered around mingling with other guests in the hiker/biker section of the campground and ended up back at their group campsite. They had saved me some leftovers, as they had said they would. I sat at their table while they cleaned up and prepared for the following day and gorged myself on delicious cold food. Burgers, fruit, potato salad, chips...definitely beat another night of beans and rice. They even gave me fruit for the road and told me to stop by in the morning to see if there were any breakfast leftovers. They said they almost always have leftovers and would much rather feed a hungry cyclist than throw them out. I won't argue.

The next morning I woke up to find three bodies lying on the ground in my campsite, and another tent. Four more people had joined me while I slept. They must have arrived after dark, so they may not have seen my tent, because they looked about as confused as I felt when I climbed out of my tent. I got most of my stuff packed up before they were really up and moving, so we didn't interact much. One of them got up earlier than the others and we made some small talk, but it was short lived. It seemed as though none of us were "morning" people. I headed over to the Backroads campsite to see if they were done with breakfast, but they had just served. I waited a couple of minutes to see if I could find out when they may know about leftovers, and one of the women brought be a breakfast sandwich so I wouldn't be delayed any further.

Thad morning I departed for Grand Teton National Park. This meant crossing the Continental Divide one more time, but it was hardly a climb from the elevation I had been camping at. The previous day had been much more difficult. This is about where I started following the Snake River. I stopped at a turnout to read the information post, and apparently I was in part of the park that got burned up during the fires in 1988. The trees were a lot smaller there than they had been further north. Go figure.

While riding into the Tetons, I met several nice people along the way. There were motorcyclists, RVers, and just day trippers in rental cars. Again most thought I was nuts. I sat and talked with one couple for a while, and they even fed me some of their lunch leftovers and contributed a little bit of cash to the "Feed Neal Fund". Again, the people I've met in person have been fantastic.

The ride into the park was made more difficult by a South wind that I had to fight, but it was an easier ride than Dustin and I had two years ago. We climbed Togowatee Pass (9,658ft) and then were led into the park by our waitress from the diner we stopped at for lunch. We were loaded down and she was on a nice light bike built for speed. She led us into the park at about 18-20 mph if I remember right, and neither Dustin nor I had the humility to ask her to slow down. We both pushed so hard to keep up. Seems a bit foolish in hindsight that neither of us asked her to ease up a bit. Anyway, I went straight to the same place Dustin and I had camped two years earlier: Jenny Lake. All of the signs say that the campground is full every day. It is always full. The nice thing about traveling on a bicycle is that they have a hiker/biker section that's never full. There was one other tent there. And yes, Jenny Lake is just as cool as I remembered it. I suppose that could be taken literally as well. The water is mostly snow melt, so it's really cold, even in August. I wasn't sure when my next shower would come, so I jumped in. Refreshing would be the nice word for it.

After my little dip, I made some beans and rice. In Yellowstone they had specific sinks where they want people to wash dishes. I wasn't sure what they expected here, so I asked some people in the regular campground area. First I chatted with people from southern Utah that told me I should use the website www.warmshowers.com. It's kind of like the Mennonite Your Way directory that I've been using, but specifically for touring cyclists. I just created an account, so we'll see if I can get some use out of it. Later I met a nice couple with several children (can't remember how many) that were from near Salt Lake City. I chatted with them for a while and roasted a marshmallow over their fire.

It was close to dark before I got back to my part of the campground. There I met my hiker/biker neighbors for the first time. It was a young man and woman from California. The next morning I got up to take some pictures, packed up my stuff, and when I was ready to leave, they gave me some of the food that they weren't going to eat. They had flown out and couldn't bring the food back with them. I'm pretty well set for a while now. I hadn't thought about how easy tuna packets travel until I got 4 of them from this couple.

Heading out of the Tetons was pretty windy and it looked as though I was going to hit some bad weather. A few miles down the road I was proven right. I took a long lunch break in Jackson, which may have been a bad idea. I think I could have beat the storm if I had just biked on. When I got to Hoback Junction it started to pour. I sat there for a while and commiserated with some motorcyclists about the weather. Eventually they took off in the direction I was headed. They got my cell number and said that they'd call me from the other side to tell me what to expect. They called and said that they got soaked in the canyon, but it was clear on the other side. They figured I'd be good to go after about 20-30 more minutes. When there was a break in the rain, I took off. I made it about half way through the canyon and pulled off at a little campground (National Forest territory, so there were several options) for the night. Again, I made friends with the neighbors because I had to share a bear box with them, and they thought I was a little bit nuts for going on this bike trip. It drizzled most of the evening and stormed pretty good during the night.

The morning started off a little overcast, but not precipitating. I stopped for a break just before noon just past the Palisades Reservoir dam. The place was called The Dam Store. On their sign, it said, "When you cuss, think of us!" How could I not stop at a place like that. The woman working there had the movie Happy Feet on, and I sort of got hooked. While I was watching, the sun suddenly went away. I went outside to look, and some nasty clouds had moved in. I jumped on the bike and hauled down the road, hoping to get out of it's way. I found out that I had been pretty lucky already. The Dam Store had hail before I got there, and the canyon I was camping in got hail after I left. I booked it about 10 miles to the next convenience store where I pulled off to think about the situation. I ended up sitting outside with 7-8 motorcyclists on a long bench, watching the storm move across in front of us. As I thought about what that lineup of us looked like on that bench, the Sesame Street tune, "One of these things is not like the others" came into my head. Black leather and boots, black leather and boots, black leather and boots, black tights with a neon yellow jacket? Must have looked funny.

When things looked better in the direction I was headed, I made a break for it. That "break" didn't really get me very far. About 3 miles down the road I got a flat tire and it started to rain a little bit harder. As I sat on the side of the road in the rain, changing a flat tire, a man pulled up in his car and told me that when I got things fixed, I should pull off at the next right about a quarter mile down. I did as instructed and met Dan (Dan-o as his co-workers called him). Dan is the chef at the South Fork Lodge in Swan Valley, ID. It was still kind of early in the day and I had hoped to push on to Idaho Falls for the night, but when he offered me a dry place to sleep and a hot meal, I decided that my cycling for the day was done. I got all of my stuff situated in a shed behind the bait shop, changed into some dry clothes, and eventually made my way up to the lodge. The food was great, all of the employees were fun to chat with throughout the evening, and I even got to do laundry. Bob, the guy in charge out there, was also a pleasure to meet. He offered me a room for the night, but I knew that I needed to get moving the following day and that if I had a room in a place like this, I would never get out of bed. And besides, they already gave me a dry place in the shed, fed me, let me do laundry, and gave me a place to hang out for the evening. Bob is good at what he does. As I saw him interact with the guests at the lodge, he knew everyone's name. Beyond that, he was very active in helping things run smoothly by taking food to people and whatnot. Beyond that, he treated me like I was one of their high-paying guests. It was neat to see someone in a position like his seeing people instead of dollar signs.

The next morning I headed back over to the lodge for breakfast, as instructed by Dan-o and Bob. While I was eating there, an employee (not sure what her specific job was) found me in the dining room. Bob had told her about me. She told me that she had already heard about me from her brothers. Apparently I met her brothers a while back (a couple weeks maybe?) while I was traveling. They were on a motorcycle trip somewhere, and I must have been making small talk with them at a gas station or something, then they told their sister, this woman, about me. I'm glad she came to say hi. Funny world, eh?

After breakfast I climbed out of Swan Valley and pedaled through a headwind to Pocatello, ID, where I am staying in a Motel 6 tonight. This is the first shower I've had since Grant Village. It's more than 120 miles to get to my friends' place near Filer, ID, so I'm going to try to get a really early start tomorrow and see if I can knock it out in one day. I'm guessing I'll have to split it into two, judging by the forecast. Hopefully I'll find internet a little more frequently in the near future.

(oh, and yes, I did change my route. I decided to take a more southerly route through Idaho, following the Snake River eventually to the Columbia River. Kind of a last minute decision.)

SAG Wagon through Montana

2010-08-22T08:20:00.000-05:00

Just after I ended my last post, a storm had just moved through and I managed to stay dry while posting on here. When I got outside, I found a moderate and consistent tail wind. It was great. It helped me knock out the final 40 miles of my day in about 2 hours 20 minutes. For a loaded touring bike that's gaining in elevation, that's pretty good. I got to Bowman, ND, in good time to bum around a little, grab a bite to eat, and find a hotel room. I had gotten into a rhythm with the whole camping thing, but my parents were on their way and I don't think they came prepared to stay in a tent.

While I was waiting for the parents to arrive, I chatted with my neighbors, Gary and Norma, who were outside of their room enjoying the cool evening air. I told them about the trip, and when I said I was going through Cody, WY, they told me that they lived there. They invited me to stay with them if it worked into my plans and gave me their number. Unfortunately, it is looking like it would be too far to get to their house in one day and too short to break up into two days.

When the parents arrived, it was getting kind of late, so we hit the sack. The next morning we woke up to a very dense fog, which had me dragging my feet about getting on the road. We took our time with breakfast and the fog got a little lighter, but it was still thicker than I prefer to ride in. I saddled up and headed out anyway. It was nice to ride without all the bags on again, as my parents toted them for me. I made pretty good time to Baker, MT, where we stopped for lunch and discussed the road ahead.

Lunch is worth mentioning. This little bar and grill place we stopped at had an interesting special that day. It was a burger topped with bacon, colby cheese, and peanut butter. Dad and I were both curious enough to order it. Mom just wanted to try a bite and ordered off the menu. As odd as that burger sounds, it was delicious.

As we discussed the road ahead, the next stretch of road was a 70ish mile stretch of road with nothing on it. Shortly after Baker, MT, was the small town of Plevna, followed by a long stretch of nothing. The scenery was nice, but the point is that there were no services. Since I had the benefit of a SAG Wagon (general term for "support and gear" vehicle) for this stretch of the trip, we decided that I'd bike half of it. At that point, we would load up my bike, drive ahead to the next town for the night, and in the morning they'd drive me back to where I left off.

At about the half way point there was a rest area (no running water) where we met. There was a very helpful woman there that gave us tips about the roads ahead and also some suggestions about getting through Yellowstone without getting killed by the bison. Bears? She said good luck, and that she'd never sleep there without walls around her.

After loading up the bike, we drove ahead to Miles City, MT. It sort of felt like cheating to see the terrain that was to come before I actually biked it. The next morning was another late start, this time due to my own desire to sleep in coupled with the 40 minute drive to take me back out to the rest area where I had stopped the day before.

As I believe I will always claim, the scenery was better from the bike seat than it had been from the car. I snapped a few pictures, but tried to keep moving, since it had been a late start that morning. When I reached the junction of hwy 12 and I-94, I started riding on the interstate. In Montana it's legal. It's also a lot less scenic. That night we stayed in a little place in Forsyth, MT.

From Forsyth, I got back on the interstate for a long and hot day in the sun to head towards Billings, MT. This time the parents and I made sure we got out the door early to get on the road. I had covered more than 50 miles by 10:30am. Things had gone quite well during the morning when it was cool. At about this time the temperature started to climb. By the time I stopped for lunch, it was almost 100F outside. I only had 24 miles to go for the day, so after finishing the sandwich my parents had brought me, I hit the road. The temperature ended up hitting 104F I think, and I ended up going through more water than I had planned on, so I had to stop to refill with less than 10 miles to go. About 4 miles from the hotel for the evening, I ended up with a flat tire. About 1.5 miles from the hotel my chain slipped off the front chainring (very rare occurrence).

When I got back to the hotel, my mother had been pacing, imagining the worst. Flat tires happen. I wheeled my bike to the elevator and brought it up to the room to work on the bike a little and check out the condition of the tires.

In a few days I should be arriving in Yellowstone National Park. For those familiar with the area, I intend to go down to Cody, WY, and enter the park from the east, not the northeast through Beartooth Pass. I'm not entirely sure how long I'll spend in the park, or what direction I will head out of the park. I'm still unsettled on which route through Idaho I will take.

When I was checking out the forecast for Yellowstone, it looks like they have a chance of snow tonight. When I'm in the park, the low is somewhere in the mid 30's each night. It's a darn good thing my parents brought me my other sleeping bag. I should also have a package waiting at the post office in Cody, WY, with some more cold weather gear I left at my sister's place in DC when I passed through.

Still in the Dakotas

2010-08-18T12:59:00.001-05:00

When I got on the road on Friday out of Freeman, my friend Doran came over to pick up my bags so he could tote them to my stopping point just north of Mitchell, SD. It was a pretty easy 50 miles without the bags on the bike. Before I left I received some tips to avoid hwy 44 when heading to Mitchell. Apparenty the James River is running a little bit high. That may be an understatement. Were I crossed it looked like the Platte River (non-Nebraskans may not get that one: mile wide and an inch deep). When I got to Mitchell, I took a couple pictures of the Corn Palace (not worth going out of your way to see) and met Doran at the campground. We went out for Pizza, and I figured that'd be the last familiar face I'd see until Oregon or so.

When I left Mitchell, I didn't come across a decent place for breakfast until about 20 miles down the road where I found a gas station that would fit the bill. I really hate starting the day on an empty stomach, but I hate backtracking even more, so going back into Mitchell after I was already north of town wasn't an option. A little further down the road in Woonsocket, SD, I had a nice long chat about my crazy trip with a gas station clerk and an older gentleman while I filled my water. They seemed to agree that I was a little bit out of my mind, but that the trip sounded pretty neat. The clerk bought me a bottle of Gatorade before I headed out the door.

Somewhere down the road I was just kind of zoning out, pedaling through some familiar looking terratory, though I had never actually been there (more corn), when I realized a pickup had pulled up next to me with his window down. "You look like you're working pretty hard. You want some Gatorade?" he asked. I kind of chuckled and pulled off. As he handed me the bottle of Gatorade, he asked where I was headed. When I told him about my trip, he agreed that I probably needed that bottle of Gatorade more than he did.

That night I ended up in Redfield, SD, at a nice little campground with lots and lots of children. It was the weekend, so all of the campsites were full, but a few of the campers said it would be fine if I just threw up my tent just about anywhere. I set up camp and went to bed to the sound of lots of children running, playing, arguing, and yelling for their parents to settle the argument. I just put in some earplugs and went to bed. I did NOT want to be that crabby guy that comes out to tell the kids to keep it quiet. I get to camp out nearly every night, this is probably a special event for them.

When I left Redfield the next morning, there was a pretty strong wind, but it was mostly a cross wind as I headed north. The temperature had dropped during the night and it was very cool outside. I rode north for just over 40 miles before turning west. At that point I realized just how hard the wind was blowing. I stopped at a little cafe near Aberdeen, SD, and checked the weather on my phone, just out of curiosity. The Weather Channel's website reported that the wind was currently 24mph WNW. I was hoping to make it past Ipswich, SD, but by the time I reached that point in my day, I was spent. I threw up a tent in the city park and was ready to call it a night.

As I was setting up camp, a man pulling a tiny little "camper" pulled up and asked if it was alright to sleep there. I told him that a few locals I had asked on the street had said it shouldn't be a problem, so he parked there for the night. I'm not sure what to call his sleeping arrangements, but my Aunt Vernette has something very similar. It's basically a bed in a little trailer shaped like a raindrop. The next morning Ron offered me some coffee and we chatted about our travels for a bit. It's really a shame I'm not going further north in Washington, because he offered me a place to crash for a night if I were traveling through, and I'd really like to see more of the Washington coast.

From Ipswich I continued west on hwy 12. I got to a little gas station along the road and went in to fill with water. When I came back out, there was a fellow touring cyclist eating what appeared to be about 4 slices of white bread. I didn't see anything between the bread, but I'm sure he had something. It turns out he's from Germany. He said he was going from Vancouver to Toronto. I asked him how he liked that 24mph tailwind from the day before, and he told me that with the general downhill and the huge tailwind, he had made it from Baker, MT, to Mobridge, SD. As you read this, you should look at a map. That's incredible. I don't care if there's a tailwind, that's amazing. That's 209 miles. Even if he was mistaken with his 'B' towns and meant to say Bowman, ND, that's still 163 miles (after traveling for a while, that kind of thing can easily happen).

After being humbled by the German and his mileage, I continued on down the road. In Selby, SD, I stopped for ice cream. There was this little place on the side of the road, and I just couldn't bring myself to pass it. I was a little curious about their rhubarb shake, so I ordered one. Think rhubarb crisp without the crisp and blended into ice cream. It was awsome.

As I pedaled past Selby and on towards Mobridge, a few scattered fluffy white clouds rolled through. The whole day the sky had been completely clear, so the occasional shade of these fluffy clouds was nice. The first big break from the sun came from this big white cloud that looked like the ghost in the Ghostbusters logo. Maybe I'm spending too much time in the sun...

In Mobridge, I was very thankful to find a nice campground with laundry facilities. The night before I hadn't gotten a shower and then in the morning had to put on an unwashed set of cycling clothes, so I felt grungy.

The next morning I crossed the Missouri River into Mountain Time. I set out with every intention of biking to Lemmon, SD, no matter what the weather. Luckily, the morning was almost completely windstill, and all afternoon I had a crosswind, which can be irritating, but it's not a headwind. The sunflower fields started before Mobridge, but there were SO many more after I crossed the river and onto the Sioux reservation. The fields seemed to stretch on forever.

I stopped a few times just for the sake of stopping, and in McIntosh, I met a young man that was currently working on putting six 15" subwoofers in his truck. I don't know what to say about that. I think his truck is going to fall apart.

The next town down the road was Watauga, SD. Google maps doesn't even label it on the map, but they have an inn, a cafe, and a feed mill. I asked the woman at the cafe what the population was, and she thought for a moment (must have been counting) and answered: 12. A town of 12 people could support three businesses. She said that her record number of people served in one day was more than 80. I don't understand.

From there I pedaled the last 30 miles to Lemmon, SD; the last town before entering North Dakota. I found a bite to eat, then started looking for a place to sleep for the night. The city park looked like a decent place, but as I was about to start setting up, a woman on a bike pulled up and invited me to eat with her and her coworkers. I joined them even though I had already eaten my fill. They were engineers working at the Shadehill Reservoir. Cindy was just getting into cycling and had a few questions about gear and whatnot. As we parted ways she made a contribution to the "Feed Neal Fund".

The grass in the park was very nice and made for good camping. I was a bit surprised at the number of mosquitoes this far west, but would later learn that even out here they've been having a very wet year. It had been a long day, and I was really wishing I could get a shower, but settled on rinsing as much of myself in the bathroom sink as I could before changing into street clothes. As I prepared to climb into my tent to escape the bugs for the evening, Cindy came by with a bottle of fruit juice for me. It was probably the most healthy thing I had put in my body that day, so I was grateful.

As I was setting up camp, I got a message from my dad saying that they got rain, meaning the parents are going to come visit me! It's a bit of a drive for them, and mom is just getting back from California, so I probably won't see them until tomorrow afternoon or so. This is a very welcome surprise, as I was preparing myself for a long and lonely road from here to Oregon. It'll still be long and lonely after they leave me, but I'm to the point that I think I can maintain my sanity through it. Now we'll see how the Rocky Mountains treat my body.

Today I pedaled out the first 25 miles pretty quickly, but saw some ominous clouds ahead. I'm currently stopped in Hettinger, ND, where the storm has passed and I should really get back on the bike. I think I'm only covering about 40 more miles today to Bowman, ND. Baker, MT, is probably out of range, especially with this unexpected stop in Hettinger.

On a side note, I think that I will be hitting 5,000 miles about the same time I cross into Yellowstone National Park. The half-way mark is coming up!

West to the Dakotas

2010-08-13T11:07:00.000-05:00

When I left the McDonald's in Algona, I cruised north a couple miles to a very nice little campground by Lake Smith. The evening cooled off nicely, and I actually used my sleeping bag, which has been rare this summer. Many nights it doesn't get cool enough to make me want to be inside of it. Given the relatively cool temperature that night, I had a heck of a time getting out of the tent in the morning. I just wanted to stay in my sleeping bag.

When I did get on the road, the cool didn't last very long. When I rolled in to Pocahontas, Iowa, at about 12:40pm, a thermometer read 99 degrees already. At that point I just wanted to get out of the sun, so I found a little diner for lunch. I think the waitress got sick of refilling my ice tea. I had a hard time deciding whether I should just hit the road in the heat of the day to get to my destination, or if I should wait a bit. Remembering how the humidity holds the heat through the evening, I decided that it wouldn't be that much cooler, and I really wanted to get to Storm Lake to possibly take a swim before settling for the night.

With 32 miles left to go, I hit the road at 2pm. I didn't want to know what the temperature was. At the 16 mile mark, there was a small spot on the map called Varina, IA. I don't know if it's actually a town, or just a small collection of houses. There was a Catholic church there, so I sought refuge from the heat in it's shade. I'm very glad that small towns don't feel the need to lock the doors to their churches. I filled my water bottles, drank them, and filled them again while sitting by the front doors.

The last 16 miles were just as hot and humid as ever, but I made it to Storm Lake, IA. Right when I got to town, I went straight to the first grocery store I saw (which happened to be a Wal-Mart) and bought a peach and a fruit tray and ate them in the air conditioned entry way of the store. Yes, I bought a fruit tray and ate the whole thing. It was delicious. From there I pedaled through town towards a place to camp on the east side of the lake near the water park.

I arrived at the campground, paid the $11 for a site, and started to set things up. After my tent was standing, the host of the campground came by and said that there was some inclement weather on the way with some high winds. I called my parents to see if they could give me an update on how things looked on the radar map. After some deliberating, we decided that 70+ mph winds may not treat my tent very well. By looking at the animated weather map online, my dad estimated that I would have 30 minutes to tear down my camp and get to a motel. This was the fastest I've ever taken down camp and packed my bike. I ended up tearing the screen next to the door of my tent a little, but I got things packed up as it started to drizzle. I pedaled as fast as I could towards the nearest motel. The sky was getting very dark.

The Lighthouse Inn (kind of a fitting name, given the situation) was the first place I came to. I found the owner outside talking to some other guests. He understood my situation before I even spoke, seeing the ominous stormcloud backdrop beyond me, with my loaded bicycle. We walked to the main office and he said, "You may want to park your bike in that corner, I think some wind is coming." Just as we stepped inside, all of his lawn chairs disappeared from in front of the office. The wind had arrived. He got me checked in and led me to a room where I could keep my bicycle inside with me. From in my room, I called my parents as I watched the lawn chairs blow back and forth across the parking lot, the owner close behind.

As I was looking out the window, I saw a very bright flash as the power went out. At first I was wondering where the "boom" was, expecting it to be a lightning strike. It turns out a tree fell on the transformer right beside my room. The owner came by my room and knocked on the door to ask if I could give him a hand. He gave me a flashlight and we went towards the basement. I stood at the door as he went around to the other guests. The storm left us almost as abruptly as it had arrived, and we got to see a little bit of sunset on the horizon while the sky overhead was still black with storm clouds and thunder was booming from the east, where the storm was headed.

After chatting with the owner of the inn for a bit, he gave me some food and then we got in his truck to go survey the damage. The wind had blown across the length of the lake and nailed the campground where I had previously been set up. One of the campers was tipped over, two trees were uprooted, and one giant tree was broken off about 6' off the ground. Much of the town was without power.

The following morning I went out and snapped a few pictures of the damage near the campground before hitting the road for Sioux City, IA, where I would stay with my cousin Amber. The weather forecast called for another blistering hot day, but I lucked out and found clouds all day. It was still hot and humid, but not nearly as bad as the day before.

Several relatives of mine live in the Sioux City area, so for supper after I arrived, most of us gathered at my cousin Justin's house for supper, just outside of town. I really enjoyed seeing this group again, as it had been a while since I'd connected with most of them. Laundry and a comfortable home to stay in were also nice perks of my time there.

The following morning I set out across the river into Nebraska, where I would meet up with some family and friends that were coming up from Henderson. I had an awesome tailwind for the first part of the morning that put me in good shape to beat their van to our meeting place. I decided to kill some time in Ponca, NE, at a little coffee shop. I ended up talking with the employees and two of the patrons about my bicycle trip as I sipped my coffee and waited for the Henderson van to get closer.

The sky had started to darken by the time I left the coffee shop. I made it about a third of a mile before the sky opened up. I quickly pulled off to a picnic shelter to wait it out a little. After the brief storm passed, my tial wind was gone, but I wasn't far from the intersection where we were going to meet.

When I got to the intersection, my mom, grandma, grandpa, a few aunts/uncles, and some friends were waiting. I had the opportunity to ride a different bike for a few miles at this point. My uncle Mike has tuberous sclerosis (I'm pretty sure that's what it's called) and can't walk or communicate very well. The home that is caring for him recently acquired a bicycle with a seat on the front where Mike can ride while someone sits on the back to pedal and steer. We got Mike strapped in and I rode with his bike for a few miles across the South Dakota border. My friends Adam, Jay, and Mike rode along side for this stretch of the road as well.

Once in South Dakota, I switched back to my regular bike. Adam and Jay then continued to ride with me to Vermillion, where the whole group of us stopped for lunch at The Roadhouse. Several of the people present contributed a little something towards the "Feed Neal Fund" before taking off back towards home. They did a lot of driving for not a lot of time spent with me. It was nice to see that kind of support.

When I left Vermillion, Jay continued to ride with me, and Adam drove ahead with my gear to Swan Lake Christian Camp near Viborg. At 38.5 miles, I believe taht this is the longest stretch that anyone has ridden with me to date. When we got to camp, we took a dip in the lake right away. It was great. I've spent countless hours in that lake over the years that I was a camper, counselor, staffer, or Bible leader at camp. It was a great way to cool down at the end of a pretty long day of cycling. Shortly thereafter we dried off and raided the camp refrigerator for leftovers. Everyone loves Mary's leftovers. Best camp cook. Ever.

After eating, Adam and Jay hit the road for home. They had to get back to their jobs. Hmph....jobs.

That evening my friend Doran picked me up and took me to our mutual friend Nathan's place to hang out for the evening. There was a small group of people there intending to have a campfire, but the bugs were too awful. We stayed inside and played boardgames instead. I didn't end up getting to bed until close to 2am, which is 4-5 hours after my usual bed time.

The next morning I slept in and then had lunch with Mary, the camp cook. It was a hot afternoon, but it was less than 30 miles to get to Freeman, my next stop, so it wasn't a bad afternoon. I got to my friend Stacey's house in time to see her and her husband Jeremy head out the door to go to a wedding. I spent the evening hanging out with their children and their baby sitter. By "hanging out" I mean I played around on the internet while the babysitter babysat.

Yesterday I took the day off and went to Sioux Falls, SD, with Nathan and Doran to run a few errands. I picked up some new inner tubes for the bike, some water purification tablets in case I get caught in a pinch out west and need drinking water, and a Camelbak to carry more water so that I don't end up in a pinch out west. I also went to a thrift store and got two shirts to replace two of the shirts I've been carrying. One of my shirts (a snap shirt) doesn't stay closed any more because I was wearing it when I got bumped off the road by the flatbed trailer, causing me to play "slip-n-slide" with the pavement.

In the evening, I did a little stitching on my tent to close up a small hole in the screen, put new tires on my bike, and visited with my friends Brad and Bethany that stopped by.

This morning I got up and looked at the weather, and I decided to wait for a front to pass. They said there was an 85% chance of rain at 12pm. Now that I'm taking the morning off, the chance of rain has dropped to 15%. Oh well. I'm getting blogging done. I'll leave after lunch.

The last town that I'm going to see in South Dakota is going to be Lemmon, SD. Lemmon, SD, is about 400 miles from here. I'm going to be in South Dakota for a very long time. We'll see what the internet situation looks like out west. I'll probably be relying mostly on public libraries, which could make internet access spotty.

Corn, Soy, and the Rolling Plains

2010-08-07T18:40:00.000-05:00

After posting my last update, I ended up at Big Foot Beach State Park for the night. I pulled in and got the site mostly set up to my liking, then wandered over towards my neighbors, Tim and Amy, to ask if they knew what Mother Nature had in store for us that evening. As a lone cyclist pulling into a campground, that's always the easiest way to strike up a conversation with the neighbors. After listening to the weather radio for a while, I ended up sitting with Tim, Amy, and their two daughters around the campfire. They fed me a couple of pizza-like sandwiches that they prepared over the fire and provided me with good company for the evening. As the weather radio had suggested, the evening was cut a little short by the rain.

The following morning I hit the road after grabbing a bite to eat at a local cafe. On my way out of town, I found another fearless deer by the side of the road. This one wasn't even in the trees, it was just standing out in the open about 20 yards from the road. I stopped, got out my camera, and took a couple of pictures while it stood very, very still, maybe hoping I wouldn't see it while I was busy playing with my camera. How do deer like this live long enough to pass along their genes? I was tempted to pick up a small rock from the side of the road to see if I could actually hit it. I didn't want to hurt the animal, I just wanted to know if I could actually hit it with a rock. I refrained, put my camera away, and kept on cycling.

Eventually I arrived at my friend Claire's house in Madison, WI. It was a very welcome sight, as a shower sounded wonderful at that point. We hung out, saw the sights around Madison, and ended the evening catching up with some mutual friends that also live in the area.

The following morning I started heading towards the Minnesota border. Not really knowing good bike routes, I just jumped on hwy 14. It worked fine enough for my liking, but I found out later that there's a better way to go. Just outside of town I was riding along, glanced down at my GPS, heard a rustling in the grass right next to me, immediately followed by an awful scream. Anyone reading this ever hear the sound an injured rabbit makes? It's an awful noise. I'm pretty sure that's what came out of the brush near the road, RIGHT next to me. I just about pissed my pants, then started laughing, not because a rabbit was being attacked, but because I just about pissed my pants.

The terrain out of Madison started off very VERY flat, but towards the end of the day I was going up a fairly long climb (for southern WI, that is), followed by a long flat, followed by a long descent, another long flat, and repeat. It was not too bad, but by the end of 90+ miles, I was ready to be done when I got to Viroqua, WI.

I was pedaling through town towards a camp ground when a fellow cyclist crossed paths with me. He turned around, caught up to me, and offered me a place to sleep for the night. I rode with Bjorn back to his place where he double-checked with his housemates if it would be alright if I crashed there. Cecil and Sonya seemed to have no problem allowing a guest into their home for the evening, so I had an unexpected roof over my head for the night. After my shower, Bjorn showed me around town a bit. I was really surprised at how cool of a town Viroqua is. There are remnant buildings in town from the old tobacco growing days, before the government stopped subsidizing it. Now the historic buildings house small businesses. The ground formerly used for growing tobacco now grows mostly organic vegetables. Bjorn's job has him working with a lot of organic farmers in the area. He told me there are something like 222 small organic farms in the county. He also took me to the food co-op in town, which was very cool. They had signs by all of their produce, telling exactly which farm it came from. The signs were color coded to distinguish between local, regional, and everywhere else. Obviously their peaches weren't coming from a local farmer in Wisconsin, but you could just look at the tag and know exactly who it was that grew those peaches. As we headed back to the house, we happened to bump into the owner of the one bike shop in town. It looked like they had a really cool shop already, but they were in the process of putting in a coffee bar. It doesn't get much better than that.

The next day I headed out of town the way Bjorn told me to go and headed for the Mississippi River. The route he put me on involved a little more up and down than I would have had the other way, but it was beautiful and had a whole lot less traffic than where I had been. As I approached the last bit of climbing before coasting towards the river, I saw a bunch of cyclists up ahead. When I got to where they were, I found out that they were doing time trials up the hill. I think a local bike shop or some other organization was putting on a bit of a clinic or something to help these people become better cyclists. I got there as they released the last one up the hill (released in 15 sec. incraments to keep them separated, but still time them). I followed the last guy up the hill and lost a bit of ground on him as we climbed, but I did pretty well. I got to the top while they timers were still parked by the road. They had seen me at the bottom and I think they were surprised to see me at the top already, right behind their last rider. They jokingly asked if I wanted to know my time. I'll be honest, it was not an easy thing to try to keep up with the guy in front of me, but I'm carrying a whole lot more weight on a much heavier bike, so I'm ok with that. One of the guys snapped a picture of me as I came up. We made small talk for a bit, they thought I was out of my mind when I told them about my ride, then they had to go back to address the riders they had just timed. As I rolled past this mixed group of young and old riders participating in this thing, they all basically looked at me like, "Is he nuts? He just climbed that hill we just came up with all of that crap on his bike..." This stretch of Wisconsin actually reminded me of the Appalachian Mountains, except a whole lot easier to ride.

After a brief stop in La Crosse, WI, to check out my route on a computer, I took Bjorn's advice and headed for the Root River Trail. The trail was mostly lined with trees, protecting me from the 18-20 mph winds that had picked up by this point. It took me on a quaint little path through the hills of southeastern Minnesota through a lot of farm country amidst a lot of tree covered hills. I found a campground along the trail near Preston, MN, where I spent a pretty uneventful night.

The next day I continued to move southwest into Iowa. At about this time I started to think about how much corn I had seen so far. I remember the vast expanses of corn starting somewhere in New York and continuing the whole way to Iowa. I know what's west of here. More corn, occasionally rotating with soybeans. I kept rolling into Iowa until I got to a town with a library (Osage, IA), where I started writing this post until the library closed. As I headed out the door, I asked the woman working at the desk if she knew a laundromat in the area. She told me where one was, and then asked how long I had been traveling. She thought it was very cool, but didn't have time to talk. I went to the laundromat, and the same woman swung by on her way out to tell me about an event at the fairgrounds.

While doing laundry I chatted with a local fellow for a bit, explained a little bit about the different kinds of Mennonites and why I didn't have a beard or black hat. After laundry, I headed towards the fair grounds to see what was happening. They had an event called "Friday Night Out" going on with live music and food. I stopped to grab a bite to eat and listen to some music. The librarian saw me and insisted that I meet a woman from the Chamber of Commerce (unfortunately I have forgotten her name). She was very excited to have me stopping through and immediately drug me on stage and introduced me to the crowd. It was a little awkward, but a very nice gesture. I stuck around for a little while and a few people stopped me to ask some questions.

When the sun started to set, I got back on the bike and headed west towards a campground several locals had mentioned. They said it was just a mile or so out of town, so I didn't think I needed to leave too early. I put my flashing rear light and my headlight on and started out of town. I really don't like riding at dusk, so I was not moving very fast and was looking behind me quite regularly to try to avoid traffic. Most of the shoulder was gravel, so I was basically on the white line the whole way out of town. Most of the traffic was being very cautious around me and slowing way down, waiting for the opposite lane to open up, then passing. One truck, however, decided that there was room for us both on the road. He had slowed way down, but decided to pass. I was a bit startled to have his rear view mirror a couple inches from my shoulder, so I stopped pedaling and focused on staying on the very edge of the pavement because the gravel was pretty thick and I was moving too quickly to safely handle the transition. The truck got past me and for a split second I thought I was in the clear. Then the fender of his flat bed trailer caught my front pannier (bag), thus changing the direction of my bike. For the second time this trip, I found myself flying over my handlebars, only this time it was not my inattention that caused the event. Like last time, I'm not exactly sure what happened with the landing, but both my hands, my chest, both my knees, and my chin hit the pavement. Lucky for me, I kind of just landed and there wasn't any sliding involved, so the road rash is almost non-existant, but my jaw is sore. I suppose I'll give the driver the benefit of the doubt and allow them to plead ignorance of how to drive when a bicycle is present, rather than call them a jackass. And I'll give them the benefit of the doubt and assume that they didn't see their trailer knock me off the road into a tumbling mess rather than accuse them of a hit-and-run. Regardless of what was going on in that person's head or in the cab of that pickup, I really would feel safer on the road if they did not have a lisence. I picked my crap up off the road as traffic continued to pass, reattached everything to my bike, bent some stuff back into place, and kept going to the campground. I set up camp as quickly as I could and just went to bed, soon enjoying the sound of rain on my tent.

This morning I got up at a decent hour and headed straight west. There were a few sprinkles in the morning, but nothing major. The wind picked up during the afternoon and blew mostly out of the south all day. A headwind is obviously not a lot of fun, but after several ours of fighting to keep your bike on the road with a 14mph cross wind while trucks pass. I got just outside of Algona, IA, and found a little bar on the side of the road. I needed water and a break from the mind-numbing wind. I stepped inside and was quickly greeted by a couple at the bar. When they heard what I was doing, they immediately gave me directions to their house in Algona and told me to go there. For a couple of reasons, I am going to a camp ground north of town. The people seemed nice enough, but I did not feel comfortable just walking into their house where the only person that was home was the woman's daughter. The woman called the daughter to tell her that I was coming. I got an opportunity to speak to the daughter (in her 20's). She made it very clear that she did not want me in the house, no matter what her mother said. The rest of the conversation was a mix of their sense of humor and reality that I could not distinguish between. I feel bad not accepting their hospitality, but it just didn't sound like the kind of place I would get a decent night's rest.

Now I'm at a McDonald's, about to use that 14mph south wind to push me 4 miles north to a campground. I should be arriving at Sioux City on Monday and riding through the northeast corner of Nebraska on Tuesday on my way into South Dakota, which will likely be the last place I find familiar faces for quite some time.

The Not-So-Windy City

2010-08-02T17:28:00.000-05:00

So, if I post more frequently, maybe I won't have to rack my brain so hard to come up with details from my travels! Profound thought, eh?

After my last post while I was still in Goshen, IN, I pedaled around town for a while. I rode through the campus of my alma mater, Goshen College, and past the church I attended during those two years, Assembly Mennonite. It was quite the trip down memory lane. I was quite familiar with just about every square inch of that campus after working with the grounds crew out of the facilities department. I could guide you to every outdoor trash receptacle and every indoor plant that needed water around campus.

The next morning, I woke at 5am to make sure I could be packed and ready to go to breakfast with my friend Charles at 6am. After grabbing a bite to eat at The County Seat, we hit the road in a light rain. That's right, we. Charles rode with me for a while! We rode to his parents' place, where we took a break and we went our separate ways. Luckily the rain didn't stick around for long. I pressed onward through the drizzle in time for things to clear up near Lake Michigan. I followed highway 12 around the south side of the lake through some heavy industry and really awful roads. As I entered the city, I let my friend David know that I was close, so he came and met me on the bike path that follows the lake shore and we biked to his place, where I spent the night. That is, only after a quick dip in the refreshingly cool waters of Lake Michigan. It was nice to have that kind of cooldown after a 111 mile day.

The next morning I got up earlier than necessary because my body doesn't like to sleep past 6am so much any more. After lying around for most of the morning, I finally left the apartment to go meet Zach, a current Hesston College student, for lunch. We met at Millennium Park, so I got a chance to take my obligatory picture with the big silver thing. Everyone that visits Chicago needs a picture with the big silver thing (officially titled Cloud Gate, but popularly known as The Bean. I prefer The Big Silver Thing. It reminds me of the classic 80s movie Flight of the Navigator). This was my first touristy visit to Chicago. I drove right past the south side dozens of times while attending Goshen College, but never really visited the city. Zach and I decided we should get deep dish pizza while I was in town, since it is Chicago and all.

I pedaled around the city a little more and got to see my friend Morgan that just happened to be traveling through town a that same time. That was a nice surprise. Eventually I had to ride back south to David's place to get my gear, then back north again to head towards the current residence of another friend, Erini. While there, we decided to use her Wii to weigh me, because they said I looked little (relatively speaking). We told it my height and age, and after stepping on to the Wii balance board thing, it told me that I am obese. I think I'm a living argument against using BMI (body mass index) for anything. At one point my health insurance was hiked 10% because of my BMI. I kind of wanted to ask the insurance agent if he wanted to go for a bike ride.

After my encounter with the Wii and catching up with Erini and Travis, I headed towards my friend Lowell's new place. Yes, this is the same Lowell that I stayed with in Michigan. I got to join him on his first night in his new apartment in Chicago.

This morning when I pulled out of Chicago, Lowell joined me for a while. Lowell and I were cycling buddies while I lived in Kansas, and I would join him occasionally when he would bike from Newton to Wichita State University for class. On this occasion, he did not have his road bike with him, so he was riding an old mountain bike. I know Lowell is a fully capable cyclist, but he really had to work hard to keep up on his creaky bike that wouldn't shift into some of it's gears. I felt bad for him, having to work so hard, but I appreciated the company and the escourt out of the city.

A ways down the road after leaving Lowell, I pulled over to refill water and make sure my GPS wasn't taking me on to any roads that would make me unhappy later. As I was paying for a beverage, the clerk struck up a conversation with me about the whole cycling thing, and ended up donating a little to the "Help Feed Neal" fund.

Now I'm off towards a campground just on the other side of the Wisconsin/Illinois border for the night.

By the way, I am trying something new with pictures. It's a pain to upload them one at a time to the blog, and an even bigger pain to upload to facebook, so a friend suggested using Google Picasa. Below is a link. I just put everything from my camera on there, so there are a lot of very similar pictures. Sift through and only pay attention to the good ones. If there are any.

http://picasaweb.google.com/109453829912116812581

A Needed Day Off

2010-07-30T17:32:00.001-05:00

Well, it's been a little while since I've posted. I've been busy biking. I spent 20 straight days on the bike from Akron, PA, to Goshen, IN, in an effort to make up some lost miles, and blogging was not the first thing on my mind at the end of a long day. Generally I was looking forward to a shower or food. Anyway, now I'm in Goshen, I'm rested, and I'm working on trying to get my fill of familiar faces while I can. Anyway, I should talk about the last week and a half to catch you all up on my travels.

I believe I left off in Canastota, NY, while my mom was visiting and driving her U-Haul truck rental with my cycling gear in the back (By the way, you can hear about these few days in some detail from another perspective by visiting http://muchadoaboutnancy.wordpress.com/ where my mother, Nancy, wrote about these few days). Without all of the weight on my bike, I was a little more bold about varying from my GPS directions. I actually ended up just wandering in a general westerly direction. I didn't expect something called Turnpike Road to end up turning to gravel. Gravel may not quite be the right word for this road. It was about wide enough for one vehicle (probably not mom's U-Haul) and the "gravel" was a mix of rocks ranging from pea to golfball size. There were innumerable pot holes, most of which about 6-8" deep that I had to manuver around while riding on the lane of golfballs. The road curved around a couple of times, went up and down a little, and eventually went straight up, still covered in golfball rocks. I shifted into my lowest gear and pedaled hard but carefully, as my back tire was spinning at a much faster rate than I was moving, shooting golfball rocks back down the hill with every pedal stroke. It was quite a feat of balance to stay on my wheels the whole way up, and would have been absolutely impossible for me if the bags had still been attached to the bike. My slick road tires didn't really help much either. When the road eventually went back to pavement, there were some construction workers there that said nothing, but looked at me coming off of that road like I was out of my mind. From there I continued on to the town of Victor, NY, where mom and I got a hotel room for the night.

The next day I got on the road a little later than I generally like to, and it sort of came back to bite me. The wind picked up and fought me the whole way. After stopping for lunch and trying a local dish called beef on weck (a kind of bread), I eventually made it to a suburb of Buffalo to stay with John and Jean for the night. The headwind made it feel like a longer day than it actually was.

The next morning we got up and headed for Niagra Falls. During this stretch, I encountered one of the worst roads I've ever ridden on. Rather than repave it, their was layer after layer of repair that made nearly unbearable to ride on. On the crazy gravel road I could at least avoid the pot holes. Here the entire road surface was disgusting. I rattled my way to the falls and found mom's U-Haul to lock up my bike while we were tourists. Everyone has always told me that the view of the falls is so much better from the Canadian side of the falls. I mean, it's true. The Canadian side was also much more packed with tourists. I don't blame them for going to the Canadian side. It looked cooler, and U.S. customs can be a pain in the ass.

After pulling away from the falls, I made my way towards a couple of campgrounds I had found on the internet. One was KOA, which are generally pretty nice and moderately priced. When I got to the campgrounds, they were all in the $50/night ballpark. Which is ridiculous. I saw several little trashy motels with signs advertizing $35 per night, so I found one of those.

The next morning it was raining. There are few things more demotivating than stepping into the rain from a dry motel room. Most of the day it drizzled off and on until the early evening. The clear sky to the west was an incredible sight. About that time I was getting off the bike. I pulled into Tillsonburg, ON, looking for a campground that I believed was nearby. After a bit of looking at maps and whatnot, I pulled over and asked a group of men where the cheapest place to spend a night could be found, whether it be in a tent or otherwise. They gave me directions to another cheap motel, but also asked some questions about what I was doing on my bike. After mentioning Mennonite Disaster Service and handing them a card with my web address and name on it, they lit up a little bit and said, "Friesen? You're a Mennonite!" Apparently these men had grown up outside of Mexico City in a conservative Mennonite colony and now lived in Canada and used cars. I ended up in the cheap motel they suggested.

The next day it was raining again. Pretty exciting. This was just for part of the morning, then it warmed up and got humid, all the while with a headwind. Towards the end of the day I saw a sign for a campground that hadn't come up on my GPS, so I pulled off to look at my maps. As I looked, another cyclist (not touring) pulled up on a recumbent trike with a windshield and shell around it. He apparently also had mounted a small electric motor to assist as he pedals. It was quite the impressive rig. After a brief chat about cycling and my trip, he suggested this campground and not the one a little further down the road I had intended to ride to, as this one probably had more room. It was right on the coast of Lake Erie, so I ended up walking along a small beach to get my feet wet and cool down a little before showering.

The next morning my watch alarm went off at 6am, which was about the same time it started raining. It sounded like it was coming down pretty hard, so I decided to wait it out. Three hours later I put on my rain gear and packed my stuff up in the rain and was on the road at about 10am, just in time for the rain to subside. It wasn't a long day to get to Leamington, ON. A friend had given me contact information for Martin, who graciously offered me a place to rest for the night. I even got to tag along with his family to catch some bluegrass music in the park that evening.

The next day I made the quick ride from their place to the ferry that would take me back to the U.S. My hosts also rode the first ferry that took us all to Pelee Island, ON, where they have friends. I caught a few of the sights on the island, then got on the ferry that would take me to Sandusky, OH. U.S. customs was actually quite quick on a bicycle. They asked a few general questions and waved me thorugh. The vehicles coming across had a few more hoops to jump through. Upon landing, I booked it west as quickly as I could to cover some miles before they day ended. The ferry ride took until 3pm, so I didn't have very much time to ride that day.

I ended the day in Gibsonburg, OH, at a little campground on the south side of town. I think there was only one other campsite that was occupied for the night, so I made sure to chat with my neighbors a little before turning in for the night. They offered me some sweet corn they had prepared over the fire, still in the husk, and it was delicious. I chatted with the husband for a while while the others were inside the camper to get away from the bugs. After telling him a little about my trip, he shared that when he was 17, he decided he wanted to start walking. A few months later he called his mother and asked her to wire him some money. When she asked where to wire it, he said he was in Tampa, FL (from Ohio, I believe...). He also shared some stories about a particularly adventurous nephew of his that had done some traveling abroad, and upon returning to the states, lived for a few months with a community of people that live in tree houses in the red woods in California to protect them from being cut down. He insisted that I try to find the tree people when I get to California. I assured him that I'd try.

The following morning I got on the road and headed the 95 miles to my friend Lowell's place in Michigan. It was an incredibly easy day. There was very little breeze and it didn't feel too hot out either. It helped that I got a relatively early start. I stopped for a break in Archbold, OH, and got interviewed by the Fulton County Expositor news paper. That break was a little longer than I had hoped for, and by the time I got back on the bike, my legs weren't too excited about biking the last 30 miles. Once I got warmed up, things went by fairly quickly. Once at Lowell's house, we chatted for a while, ate a giant amount of pasta (ok, so I ate a giant amount of pasta), and watched some TV before heading to bed. The next day I woke up a little late, because I thought I was going to have a shorter day getting to Goshen, IN. It was a little shorter in milage than I had been averaging, but there was a pretty stiff headwind and some ominous clounds looming in the west. The storm was moving in from the northwest, and I was really pushing hard to try to beat it to Goshen. I made it past a particularly nasty looking cloud with some cloud-to-ground lightning completely dry and not electrified, but behind it was another. I was pushing hard to get to my destination, but 7 miles from town the skies opened up and giant rain drops started to fall. I wasn't too excited about pushing through the rain, and I saw a barn with the doors wide open. As I passed, I saw movement inside, so I decided to ask if I could seek shelter for a bit while the worst of it blew past. Upon arriving at the barn, I found 4 small Amish children. I asked of I could wheel my bike inside, and they said I could. They didn't really say much else. I tried to ask some innocent, open-ended questions about the weather and how their day was going, but they didn't really want to speak much more than one word responses from the eldest boy among them. They just kind of looked at me as though they were unsure what I was-possibly not even human. Eventually their father, Marlin, came to the barn through the rain. He was a little surprised to see me there, but had no problem with me taking shelter. He was eventually heading out to collect eggs with the children. While watching the huge rain drops fall, Marlin and I chatted about farming, the weather, the economy, Amish/Old-order/Mennonite differences, last names, and whatever else came up. The children continued to look at me, puzzled. They did find my GPS to be fascinating. Marlin told me of a couple of Amish guys that had taking bike a bike trip a few years earlier from their area out to Colorado and back. In this area as well as the Akron, PA, area, I saw lots of Amish people on bicycles.

After the rain eased up, I thanked Marlin for his brief hospitality and headed on my way towards Goshen. My friend Josiah told me I could crash at his place, even though he was not there. He is actually spending the week riding his bicycle across Iowa as a part of RAGBRAI. Apparently he did not tell his brother that I was going to be coming to the house. I showed up and he looked a little puzzled. I unloaded my stuff and headed straight for the shower.

It's been a relaxing two days off the bike here in Goshen. I counted that I had been on the bike 20 days straight, from Akron, PA, to here. A couple of those days were shorter, but it still meant putting on the cycling gear and pedaling. Tomorrow I will head towards Chicago and towards another rainstorm on the radar map. We'll see how far I get, but I should at least cross into the Central Time Zone. At that point, I will be done with the Easter Time Zone for the duration of the trip. That's right, one time zone down, three to go. Also, the state of Indiana makes 25 states down (plus Ontario and Washington DC) and 23 states to go. Unfortunately the 23 states I have left are all huge and I have 2/3 of the miles to go. I will try to update the blog a little more frequently.

Lobster, the Green Mountains, and beyond

2010-07-19T20:37:00.001-05:00

All in all, my stay in Nashua, NH, was pretty uneventful. I got to bed too late, so I woke up a little later than expected, but I had already decided that I was stopping at the beach in Maine, so it wasn't going to be a long day. After a crappy bagel sandwich from Dunkin Doughnuts, I pedaled off. My mileage for the day was going to be somewhere in the 60s, so I made sure to get more than half knocked off before I got off the seat for a break. The little convenience store I stopped at was not a busy place. The woman working at the counter asked about the trip and offered me a slice of very greasy pizza while we talked. It accented the Dunkin Doughnuts breakfast quite well.

I saddled back up and pushed on towards my final Atlantic coast state. When I got across the bridge that brought me into Maine, a man that had been out for a run stopped to chat. Apparently this man, Tim, had ridden across the country in 1975. That was before it was the cool thing to do. We chatted for a while, and he took my picture by the sign announcing my entry into Maine. The man even offered me a place to crash for the night if I was interested, but I had been pretty set on the idea of camping on or near the beach, so I declined.

Everyone I met that heard I was going to Maine said I needed to eat lobster when I was there. Tim pointed out a place called The Hebert Brothers Seafood and said it was the best place around, and probably the best price, too. I walked in and told the man at the register that I had never been to Maine and I had never had lobster. I'm pretty sure they cut me a pretty good deal, but we don't need to discuss numbers. I got a bowl of chowder, a big pile of steamed clams, and two lobsters. Holy crap, that was a lot of food. The guy even showed me how to eat all of it. This guy ended up being one of the Hebert Brothers (namesake of the restaurant), and the other brother had been in and out a bit too. Seriously, the food was excellent, I saw them pull the lobsters out of the tank, and they were just all around great guys. As I was on my way out the door, they came outside and we got a picture, the two brothers and I, in front of the restaurant (I keep promising pictures, but that takes a while on my little computer! I promise they're coming!).

From the Hebert Brothers, I went on (slowed a bit by the seafood filling my stomach) to York, ME. I knew that the campground my GPS was directing me to was right on the beach, so I was going to see the Atlantic (which I had already swam in while in Delaware), but when I came over the last rise and was face to face with the Atlantic Ocean, knowing that the next morning I would no longer be heading in a northeasterly direction, but turning west, felt strange. On the rare occasion that people would shout to me while I biked past, "Where you headed?", and I didn't have time to explain where all I was headed, I would just say, "Maine" so we could both go on with our lives. I suppose now I'll have to answer, "the Pacific" when that happens.

The campground was beautiful. From my tent I could have thrown a rock and hit the ocean. I mean, I'd have to be warmed up, but you get the idea. Pretty close. Other sites at this campground were literally feet from the water, like if they threw their rock and tripped, they'd fall in the ocean themselves.

As I was setting up camp, a woman named Ann came wandering by. We exchanged pleasantries, and she asked where I was coming from. I ended up at her campsite enjoying a cold beverage and talking about traveling. Eventually we went out to supper, where I enjoyed another part of the local cuisine: Haddock. I used to hate fish, but I think that was when the only fish I had ever had was from a box and in the form of a stick. The restaurant was pretty cool, too. The lobster tanks were right where you stand in line to order, and you can reach in and pick one up if you want.

The next morning I departed from the beach on my first day headed west. One thing that always rough about leaving the beach on a bicycle is that everything is uphill from there. The first day of climbing away from the beach was pretty mild. As I was meandering through the woods of southern New Hampshire, I happened upon a fellow touring cyclist. This was pretty exciting, considering I have cycled well over 2000 miles without seeing any other bikes with bags on them. Katrin is a German school teacher, who was using her 6 week summer vacation to tour around the northeastern U.S. She flew into Boston and was just kind of riding wherever she felt like going. I rode with her for a few miles, but she stopped at a campground a few miles before I intended to call it a day.

I pressed on to the Oxbow Campground in Hillsborough, New Hampshire. I was pretty shocked to find that they only had one site available upon my arrival, but it worked out well for me. They had a small spring-fed pond with a small beach on it, so I went for a dip. While enjoying the cool spring waters, I ended up talking with Eric and Leann about my travels. They, like the crystal ladies, gave a little towards the "help feed Neal" fund. I'm amazed at how freely some people have handed me cash to support me in my journey before even hearing that the ride is intended to raise money/awareness/whatever for Mennonite Disaster Service. I have seen how the recent economic condition has affected many of these places, and how it isn't getting too much better for some people, yet when people hear about me voluntarily leaving my job, choosing to be unemployed and travel around on my bicycle, they take cash out of their pockets and hand it to me. Eric and Leann told me to think of them as I enjoyed a nice big burger with their money. I'm certainly not getting rich or even breaking even off of the money people have handed me, instructing me to go have a nice meal, but I hope people are also throwing some money in the direction of MDS. When I passed through there a couple weeks ago, I think a little over $1400 had come in. I don't really know how to set a fund raising goal for this trip, but I think that sounds like some pretty good money so far.

When I left Oxbow Campground, I knew I had a heck of a day ahead of me. Everyone kept telling me that Hogback Mountain was coming up, and that it was going to be a heck of a climb. Along my route, Hogback basically started my travels through the Green Mountains of Vermont. Just before Hogback, I took a long lunch break in Brattleboro, Vermont, outside of a grocery store. I just sat, enjoying the shade, and made small talk with passersby and employees coming out for a smoke. Out of curiosity, I checked the weather in Wilmington, Vermont, (my intended destination for the day) and it was almost 10 degrees cooler there. Since it was a hot day, that was motivation to get to the top. I jumped on the bike and headed out of town. The climb started gradual, but consistently up. Eventually it got steeper, with a few switchbacks that allowed for a brief break from the climb. Near the top, there was a brief descent before the final ascent to the peak of my journey for the day. When I reached this first, lower peak, a storm cloud seemed to appear out of nothing. As I made this short and steep descent towards the final climb of the day, giant raindrops pelted me. As the drops stung my face and arms, I thought back to the good ol' days on the farm, and how much it sucked to get caught out on the 4-wheeler in the rain. At this point in the day, however, I had just climbed 1600 feet without getting off of my bike and I was dead set on getting to the top of that mountain, rain or shine. I'm glad that nobody was within earshot except a few cars, who obviously didn't have their windows down. If anyone would have heard me during this part of the trip, they would have thought I was out of my mind. I would compare my behavior to that of Lieutenant Dan in the movie Forrest Gump when they're out on the shrimping boat in the storm, you know, where Lt. Dan is on top of the mast, yelling at God and the storm and laughing. I don't think I was yelling and laughing at God so much as just the storm. I was dead set on making it to the top of that nearly 2000 foot climb without getting off of my saddle. The intensity and momentum that I had gained from that brief storm was stripped by the anticlimactic dissipation of the storm and my chain slipping off. I got off the bike, put the chain back on, and pedaled the last couple hundred feet of vertical.

When I reached the top, there was a small gift shop where about 30 motorcycles had stopped, all of which had passed me going up that long climb. They were all preparing to pull out, but as they saw me approaching the summit, several of them started cheering me on. A couple of them seemed impressed with the climb, and then thought I was completely out of my mind when I told them I started in Louisiana. At the gift shop I enjoyed some ice cream and the spectacular view before descending to Wilmington, Vermont, which is apparently somewhat of a ski town in the winter.

Luckily, the first two places I stopped in search of lodging were full. The third place I stopped was the Old Red Mill Inn, and it proved to be a great place to stop. The room was very small, but it was a cozy kind of small. I mean, anything bigger than my tent is living the high life for me. On the main floor they had a restaurant that seemed to be their primary source of income. It was a fantastic little place. The bar area was open to the outside, and they had space heaters hanging from the ceiling for spring and fall patrons. I settled up to a bar stool in search of a bite to eat, and ended up sitting next to Katherine and Miller. Katherine didn't stay too long, as she had a concert to get to, but Miller and I talked for a while. Apparently he had a minor bicycle accident earlier in the day and ended up with some stitches in his elbow and a jammed shoulder. Miller ended up covering my meal and providing great company for the duration of the evening.

The next morning a journalist from the local paper came to the hotel to get a picture and ask me a few questions about what I was doing. It pushed my start time back a little, but it's good publicity for MDS and the ride.

Coming out of Wilmington, there was one pretty steep but relatively short ascent to start things off, but after that it was mostly down hill. There was actually one very long down hill, but it was stripped of some of its entertainment value because of the headwind. It was an 8% grade for more than 3 miles. I'm pretty sure it was an 8% grade in Virginia or Kentucky that got me my current speed record of 49.5, but on this fairly windy day, I was holding steady in the mid 30s the whole way down. After things started to level out, I came across another touring cyclist at a gas station. He was on his way from Oregon to Maine, and had even taken time to ride B.R.A.N. (Bike Ride Across Nebraska) when he got to the plains. We ended up chatting for nearly 2 hours in this gas station. Our conversation moved around from cycling to philosophy/theology to science and eventually to some of the reasons for taking a long solo bicycle trip. He asked me why I'm doing this, and wanted a better answer than, "For MDS" or "I felt like it". I know that a better answer to the question, "why" is out there, behind this journey, but I haven't really found it yet. I've got a couple different answers I tell people, but I'm still trying to figure out why I'm out here. Paul, not a particularly religious man, said that maybe there were a few people along the way that he was supposed to meet. One of those people that he had encountered, a man in his mid 70's, told him, "That's what's wrong with people, they're afraid to try things." Not an incredibly profound statement on it's own, but in the context of the conversation Paul and I were having, I believe it caused us both to pause for a moment. The conversation encompassed much more, but that's not for this blog. He's helped me formulate a few questions I should try to answer over the next few thousand miles.

A little ways down the road I came across a couple of Surly LHT's (same model as my own ride of choice) parked outside of a McDonald's. It was a father/son duo that was working on finishing a two month ride from Oregon to Maine. It's nice to see other touring cyclists up north after such a drought of them through the south and east.

At about the time I met these two cyclists, my mother called me. She had just landed in Albany, NY, with the intention of renting a car to come drive with me for a couple of days towards the Niagra Falls. Apparently Albany (yes, the whole city) had no cars to be rented. They were all out because of the horse races in Saratoga. I ended up finishing for the day in a small town called Amsterdam, NY, so mom caught a bus to come there. I asked the guy at the hotel desk where the bus station was. He remembered me as the cyclist, and asked how my mother was going to get from there to here. When I had no answer, he gave me the keys to his truck and said I could use it to pick her up.

This morning I got up, got packed, and hit the road on my bike. My mom still didn't have a way of getting out of there, but she said she'd work on it. A couple hours later, she pulled up beside me in a U-Haul truck. I couldn't help but laugh. Apparently renting a U-Haul is cheaper than renting a car by a considerable amount. That's one of those things that I'm going to have to remember. After lunch (and a bit of a rain delay) I threw my bags in the back of the truck and rode on without them. It actually felt like someone was pushing me after I got rid of the bags. It was amazing to feel how quickly I move with each pedal stroke after ditching all of the gear. A headwind did pick up, and it reminded me that the plains states are coming, and they're not that much easier than the mountains. No amount of climbing can prepare you for a headwind, and no amount of headwind can train you for climbing. The particularly irritating thing about a headwind is that you can't even psychologically prepare for it. I know when I'm going to hit a mountain range. Wind is one of those things you find out after you're in the saddle.

At this pace, I think we will get to Niagra Falls in two days, at which point I will cross into Canada for a couple of days. Hopefully everything stays working and I can keep making up the ground that I was behind. By the way, in the last 7 days, I've covered 568.4 miles, including crossing the Green Mountains. Forgive me for not blogging sooner, I've been busy. Again, have patience on the pictures. Right now I need sleep, so you all have to wait on those a little longer.

I've hit 20 states!

2010-07-14T22:21:00.001-05:00

Well, I left the last post in Middletown, NY. That morning I got up to continue my trek east, and it was clear and sunny. For a while. It was very strange. The sun was out and shining, then I passed through a wooded area that was less than a mile long, and when I came out on the other side, I think the visibility was less than a half mile due to very thick fog. It stayed like that the whole way through this river valley that I was following. I hate riding in fog. I can't wear my glasses or sunglasses because they fog up instantly and stay that way, visibility is low so I'm paranoid, and humidity is at 100%, so I am soaked in minutes with perspiration.

As I was following this river valley, I came around a corner and saw a deer standing in the middle of the road. I was able to snap a picture of it before a car came by and scared it away (sorry, pictures to come later, crunched for time). As I pedaled past where the deer had been standing, I looked to my right where the deer had bounded up the hill, and it was still standing there, maybe 40ft away. I stopped, got out my camera, and the thing just kept looking at me. There was a small tree in it's line of sight, so it kept bobbing it's head back and forth around the tree to figure out what the heck I was doing. I got a couple more pictures of the thing, all the while thinking about how I need to get a hunting license in the state of New York if this is how the deer behave.

As I continued on, the terrain just continued to roll up and down all day. None of the hills are worth mentioning on their own, but collectively they were enough to basically demoralize me at how slow my pace was going, and I didn't even have any mountains to blame.

Eventually I crossed into Connecticut, but I hadn't planned ahead very well as to where I would rest for the night. There were not any campgrounds nearby (down south there were RV campgrounds EVERYWHERE), and my GPS was only showing me a couple of bed and breakfasts in the area (which are generally out of my price range). I went to one of the bed and breakfasts to just test the waters, and the woman at the counter said that their nightly rate was $359. That's dumb. I asked if she knew of any more modestly priced lodging available, and she suggested that I call a woman named Marie that lived down the street. Apparently Salisbury, CT, is very close to the Appalachian trail (which I think I've crossed 5 times now), and Marie likes to host hikers for a small fee. Marie is an older woman from northern Italy that loves company. She seems to be loving life, but wishes she were 20 years younger so she could host hikers for another 20 years. This woman is fantastic. I got there and she showed me right in to my room, gave me a cold drink, and said that she was taking a couple of hikers to the laundromat a little later and offered me a ride as well. While our laundry was in, we ate pizza at this awesome little place that was basically connected to the laundromat and chatted about the Appalachian Trail and cycling. Marie hosts so many hikers throughout the season that she wouldn't cook for them, but she said each of us could have 3 eggs, a bagel, a banana, and a glass of orange juice in the morning. She sleeps in. I couldn't have asked for better lodging. Even if the ridiculously overpriced bed and breakfast would have let me stay there for free, I believe Marie's place trumps it.

The next morning I got up a little later than I wanted, but the bed was just too comfortable. I made myself breakfast and chatted with one of the two hikers that had also spent the night. Sidenote: apparently hikers on the A.T. have nicknames they go by. All of them. Cheese and Sticker were the two that stayed at Marie's place that night. Anyway, Sticker was up early with me and he had done some touring himself in the past, so we talked about gear and miles and how much climbing sucks.

When I pulled out of the driveway, I was feeling pretty good. As I rolled on for the day, miles were adding up quickly and I was making good time. Then sometime near 11:00am I hit a little snag. I was just riding along, minding my own business, staying as far right as I deem safe out of respect for the very light traffic on that particular road. The grass in the ditch was pretty tall and had been brushing my right leg most of the morning, but that wasn't a problem. It became a problem when I was glancing down at my map (on top of my handlebar bag) and the grass camouflaged the start of a guard rail. Since I was so far to the right, the guard rail went between my right front bag and my front wheel. This, of course, stopped my bicycle very quickly. I, however, did not stop, and over the handlebars I went. It all happened quite quickly, so I don't know exactly how I managed to get a hand down and sort of turn myself and end up in a seated position looking back at my bike. Somewhere in the process my left knee hit the ground, so now it looks like it's trying to digest a racquetball. That was my only injury, and it's pretty minor. It hasn't had an impact on the riding. My bike is also fine, but the front rack is quite bent. It is functional at the moment, but I should really find a way of getting it bent back into shape. Now if I hit big bumps, my right front bag sort of swings in and rubs my spokes a little, but normal riding is fine. I should also mention, that the first thing I saw when I landed from my trip over the bars was a white car that was close enough that the driver had to have seen me wreck. The jerk didn't even slow down, she just drove right around me and kept on her merry way. As I dusted myself off and wheeled my bike a little further down the road to a safer place to check for damages, I could only think of how mad I was at that person for not stopping. Granted, I ended up walking away, but what if I had been injured or my bike was rendered unrideable? It would have been nice for her to at least shout out the window, "You ok?"

At this point, I realized my day wasn't going to be as long as I had hoped. I adjusted my fender so it wasn't rubbing on the tire and started looking at the route ahead for lodging and a bike shop (with the aid of my sister and her internet connection). I ended up pedaling on without making any major decisions.

I got to the town of Ellington, CT, and figured I should look for a place to crash for the night (Ha, crash. Get it? Whatever). I pulled over and sought aid from my sister and her internet again, and this time I thought I was just on the sidewalk in a residential area, but I was in front of a small business called Thistle Glass Crafts. "Crystals, Minerals, Stone Jewelry, Herbal Products, Books, Labyrinth, Reiki Energy Sessions" is what it says on their business card. I don't know how else to tell you what kind of shop this was. One of the two women in the store came out to see if everything was ok and offered me air conditioning. I took her up on the offer. While we were inside, I told them about the whole trip and why I'm doing it. They got out a box with some rocks in it and told me I should take one. They said that they have healing properties. They also gave me a bar of soap that one of them made. It's the old fashioned stuff made with lye. When they told me that, my mind immediately went to the movie Fight Club, but I thought it inappropriate to bring up. As I was leaving they offered to fill my water bottles, but they didn't do it at the shop. They said that the well water at their house was better. I do have to say that it was a lot better than most of the city water I have drank along the way. While the one was getting the water, the other asked if I was taking donations. I told her that I was encouraging people to donate through the website, as that goes straight to MDS, thus simplifying everything. She said they'd go to the website, but made a cash donation to the "help feed Neal" fund. Now, I don't know what exactly to think about the healing power of rocks or Reiki energy stuff, but I definitely will not forget the generosity and eagerness to help that these two women exuded.

We're supposed to love our neighbor as ourselves. Who was my neighbor today? Certainly not the woman that passed by on the other side of the road. We didn't talk at length about beliefs, but I'm guessing the two women in the crystal shop and I don't have a whole lot in common spiritually, but honestly, who was my neighbor?

From their little shop, I headed up. It was a bit of a climb (for Connecticut standards) to get to Stafford Springs, where I stopped for a pizza. When I left the restaurant, it was raining. I climbed another 600ft or so in the next 6 miles to the top of the ridge and wheeled in to the Ashford Motel. There were flash flood watches for the whole area, so camping seemed like a bad idea.

When I got up this morning, my stuff was still wet, including my shoes. I had dry cycling gear to wear, of course, but putting on wet shoes in the morning just isn't fun. When I got out the door, it was still drizzling, so the rest of me got wet anyway. It was hard to get motivated out of the hotel room, especially with the rain. I continued through Connecticut, up in to Massachusets, back into Connecticut, into Rhode Island, back north into Massachusets, and eventually to the town of Westborough, MA. It had been a pretty hilly and very wet morning, and I was ready for some real food, which I hadn't really had any of yet. I pulled up to the first people I saw outside and asked them where a good local place to eat would be, and they pointed me to the building they just came out of: The South Street Diner. I pulled up to the bar to order a burger and some coffee (being wet and in the air conditioning, a hot beverage sounded great), and a guy behind the counter asked where I was coming from. Of course, I got to talking about the trip again (I hope I don't sound rehearsed by now). When I was about done eating, my waitress told me that the man I had been talking to was the owner, and that my lunch was on the house. Soon thereafter, he came by and told me that a guy from the newspaper was on his way over to take a picture and ask me a few questions. We went through the whole interview business and I got on the road. I looked at my maps when I was inside and had decided to stop at a campground about 20 miles away. Once I got to riding, things were just going too well to stop at that campground. The terrain had flattened out, my stomach had real food in it, and it was overcast but not raining. I decided to keep on going. Eventually I stumbled across this trail that had formerly been a railway. These are like gold for a cyclist. Trains can't go on anything steeper than 3% grade. This trail was very nicely paved and absolutely flat, maybe even a little downhill. I hit that trail and I was moving. I kept looking down at my GPS for updates on my speed, and I think I was rolling about 20 for my entire time on that trail. I ended up missing my turn, but I didn't really care, I just kept going because it was so gratifying to be covering so much ground. The trail ended up dumping me out in Nashua, NH, not very far from a Motel 6. I figured that since I had touched 4 states with my bike that day and that I was probably over 100 miles for the day, I could go for another hotel room.

As I rode, I reflected on how my travels have gone thus far, and what seemed to make the difference between a good day and a crappy day, or even a good hour from a bad hour. I think I'm an extrovert to the core. I'm not saying I'm always the most outgoing person, but an extrovert in the sense that I get energy from being around people and having positive interactions with people. The morning after staying with Maria and the A.T. hikers I was buzzing up and down the hills I was cursing the day before. After speaking with the crystal women I climbed another 1000 feet, half of which in the rain, and I was smiling when I got to the top. I had a rough morning going through Connecticut and Rhode Island, but when I stopped for lunch and enjoyed the hospitality of The South Street Diner I proceeded to rock out another 50 miles and get to another state. I can certainly see the strength and weakness in this. Right now I'm alone in a Motel 6, about to set out towards Maine, and I'm having a hard time motivating myself to just get out the door. But once I'm on my bike, things get a little better, and if I get a chance to interact with some random stranger along the road, even better. Now I just need to figure out how to overcome the weakness and utilize the strength in what I'm learning about how I operate. I know my body can do this, I just need to get my mental game in order.

Now I am heading to Maine. I intend to camp on the beach. I don't really care where, but I want to be on the beach. It should be a shorter day. This will be a pretty big landmark for the trip, as I will transition from a northeasterly trajectory to straight west. I'm not exactly sure how I'm getting through New Hampshire and Vermont en route to the Great Lakes, but it's looking like it's going to be some rough going no matter where I go. Oh, and I'll cross the Appalachian trail for the 6th time when I turn back west.

I didn't have as much time as I hoped for. I thought it was more important to write another entry than to upload pictures. I promise I'll get some up here soon.

Rain delay and rolling terrain

2010-07-11T20:40:00.000-05:00

I got up in the morning at my friend Wendell's parents home and got ready to pedal towards New Jersey. I was all dressed and had my bags locked on to the bike when I felt a few drops on my arm. I figured it would be a good idea to take a minute to look at the forecast. While I was inside, it started to pour as I read that most of eastern Pennsylvania was in a flood watch or warning. There were parts of the storm that were dumping almost 2" in less than an hour. I had gotten out of bed early in hopes of making a long day, but the rain delayed my start time to 1:00pm.

As I left Pennsylvania I found a welcome to PA sign to take my picture by, since I had missed it on my way in. On the other side of the bridge, New Jersey did not welcome me. I was following the Delaware River, which makes up the border between Pennsylvania and New Jersey, for most of the day and I couldn't find a sign welcoming me to New Jersey. I took a break for supper in Phillipsburg, NJ, and talked with a traffic officer for a while. He gave me lodging suggestions for the area, ranging from squatting under the bridge to a Holiday Inn Express on the edge of town. I didn't think I had covered enough ground for the day, so I ended up pushing on. He also told me that the hotels in the area might be priced a little higher than usual because Thomas the Tank Engine was in town. I didn't know that would draw a crowd. And I didn't know that Thomas the Tank Engine made special appearances.

I pressed onward to Belvidere, NJ, and stayed at a little hotel above a restaurant just across the river on the Pennsylvania side. It has 6 rooms, and I don't know when the last time anyone slept in this one would have been. It was a nice little room, but definitely felt as though it had been dormant for quite some time. I think the owners' primary source of income is the restaurant, not the hotel.

This morning I got off to a pretty early start, but made a wrong turn within the first 5 miles that didn't add any mileage on to my ride (may have even made it a little bit shorter), but it sure did add some elevation change. I was a little bit displeased with myself for that one.

From there things went pretty smoothly until I got to Delaware Water Gap, PA. I was supposed to cross the river, but it took me forever to figure out how. The only bridge I saw was I-80. After some riding in circles (up and down the same hills), I asked some locals, and they told me that there was a footpath along side the interstate that is apparently part of the Appalachian Trail. On the bridge I caught up to a hiker who was traveling with his dog. I was impressed at how well the dog was trained, but a language barrier prevented me from expressing that to the owner.

The stretch of road through Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area was probably my favorite part of the day. The whole time I was riding I was in the shade because the road was very narrow and the trees connected above me. There was very little traffic and several other bikers, though none with touring gear on their bikes.

A particularly long lunch break in Layton (understaffed diner) set me back a little further. When I did get back on the bike, I was seriously lacking motivation. I was sick of the constant rise and fall of the road that prevented me from getting into any kind of rhythm and it was getting hot. I kept thinking about how many miles behind schedule I am and pressed onward. Near Montague, NJ, I made a brief wrong turn that actually led me to a "welcome to New Jersey" sign, so it wasn't a total loss.

A stop in Port Jervis, NY, for a strawberry milkshake and one more in Cuddebackville, NY, to check the weather (ominous clouds and a change in the wind ended up being nothing) and I was on towards Middletown, NY, where I have settled in at a Super 8. The man checking me into my room and two bystanders were pretty shocked/impressed to hear about my cycling endeavor. It was good to have that kind of reaction, as it's been several days since I've talked to anyone that really seems to care much about the idea of cycling around the country. I mean, people have generally said, "Huh, that's pretty neat" and then stopped talking. It's motivating to meet new people that really think I'm doing something interesting enough that they want to ask more questions.

Tomorrow I should be at least close to the Connecticut border, if not in the state. I didn't get a picture with a sign welcoming me to New York, so I'll have to make sure to find one on the way out.

Akron, PA; Kalona, IA; and Souderton, PA

2010-07-09T20:08:00.000-05:00

Well, I got out of Greenwood, DE, before sunrise on Monday the 5th. It was a nice ride away from Tom's house that morning. I got to see every bit of the sunrise as I rode, and as it came up, the whole area was blanketed by a light fog that was hovering about four or five feet off the ground in most places. There were almost no cars on the roads; I'm assuming most were still enjoying the holiday weekend. Given the beautiful sunrise through the light fog and the incredibly flat terrain of the Delmarva Peninsula, it was shaping up to be a great morning. Just as this thought passed through my head, I was quickly distracted by an awful noise from my rear wheel, accompanied by the introduction of a whole lot of drag that slowed me to a halt. I was really hoping that I had a broken spoke. Most cyclists won't make that statement most of the time, but that would have been the easiest fix at that point. I dismounted the bike and began to try to diagnose the problem. Unfortunately, the spokes were all fine and in tact. When I picked up the rear of the bicycle and tried to spin the wheel, it didn't really want to cooperate. I pulled the wheel off to have a look at the situation, and the axle wouldn't turn. I used a pliers to make it turn a few times, but I knew this was not something I was equipped to deal with on the side of the road. I called my friend Tom, who I had been staying with, and explained my dilemma. As I learned during my weekend with them, Tom and his family keep very busy, but his father TJ took the time to come get me and my bike and drive us to Newark, Delaware, where we found a bicycle repair shop. He dropped me off, wished me luck, and headed back to the hectic life of running his pallet business.

I had some time to kill before the bike shop opened, so I found the Sugar Rush Cafe just down the street and sat there for a while. I told the man working (I'm guessing he's the owner) about my bike ride and how my morning had gone thus far, and he told me that if I was still around for lunch, it was on him. I was genuinely hoping that I would be gone before lunch, as the bike shop opened at 10am, but it was a very nice offer.

When I got to the bike shop, I told the mechanic what had happened, and his first suggestion was that I may have a broken spoke. When all was said and done at the bike shop, they had pulled a wheel off of one of their bikes in the showroom and put it on my bike because the hub in my rear wheel was completely shelled out. Now, that's not a normal thing to happen to a bike. If you've been following my travels, you may remember when I had my wheel looked at when I was near Americus, Georgia, or when I brought it in to another shop in Blacksburg, Virginia. I knew something wasn't right, and both of these shops assured me that "that's normal". Well, now I'm out $150 and whatever I paid those other shops to misdiagnose the problem. Whatever.

I went back to the Sugar Rush Cafe and had a good lunch on the house and hit the road at about 1:00pm. It was hot. I kept hydrating myself, but my water was hot because it was out in the sun, too. A few times I had to pull over to sit in the shade, not because I was tired, but because I started to feel a bit queezy and I've been told that's a sign of heat stroke. After passing through the quirky and awkwardly named town of Intercourse, Pennsylvania, I arrived in Akron just after 6:00pm, 13 hours after I pulled out of Tom's driveway in Delaware.

While in Akron, my friend Tim made arrangements for me to sleep and also found a bike shop in the area that had time to give my bike a tune-up. I also found out that some of my friends were in town for training/orientation before they leave the country to serve with Mennonite Central Committee abroad. Andy and Emily were both students at Goshen with me, and Luke and Sarah attended New Creation Fellowship Church with me while I was living in Kansas. I'm very glad I got a chance to see all four of them before they left the country.

I got a ride to the airport in Harrisburg, PA, to fly to the funeral of my friend Jason Marner. I thought I would mention it in the blog, but I'm still thinking a lot about the last few days and I haven't really come up with what to say, except that I know his friends and family would appreciate your thoughts and prayers. As you drive, please keep an eye out for motorcycles (and bicycles).

I returned to Akron to find my bike all tuned and ready to ride, new brake pads and all. I got to bed at a decent hour and woke up a little later than usual, but I was still very drained from my two days in Iowa with so little sleep. It was hard to climb out of bed in the morning. It was a very easy 60 miles to get to my destination, passing through yet another awkwardly named Pennsylvania town: Blue Ball.

Along the way I stopped by a particularly hospitable bike shop in St Trappe, PA, called Bikesport where I caught the end of today's stage of the Tour de France and purchased a new cassette for my bike and sought out suggestions for where to grab lunch. As I cruised through the last few miles to my destination, I passed Franconia Mennonite Church and saw a produce stand on the side of the road. Generally that is not something of note, as they are everywhere around here, but at this particular stand, as I happened to pass by, I saw my friend Brooke drive up and get out of her car. We both just kind of laughed at each other for a minute before actually saying hello. From that very unexpected interaction I proceeded on to the house my friend Wendell grew up in. His parents graciously agreed to host me for a night.

Tomorrow I will be meeting up with the Atlantic Coast route from Adventure Cycling Association. Hopefully I will find a few bicycles going my way that I can ride with for at least a day.

A day on the bike ahead, then three more off...

2010-07-04T19:48:00.000-05:00

Another quick update for those following the blog. Tomorrow morning I'm going to get on the road very early and ride more than 100 miles to Akron, PA. I'm staying with my friend Tim, who lives basically next door to the MDS offices. I plan to visit the MDS offices on Tuesday morning, then I will fly out to my friend Jason's funeral later that afternoon. I should be returning on Thursday evening, and back on the bike Friday. I will be very far behind schedule, so I will probably be in a mindset to cover more miles than to see fun things like baby tigers. There will be some rough terrain through New Hampshire, Vermont, and New York until I get near the Great Lakes. After that, I should be rolling through relatively flat terrain until Montana. I know I will make up these miles that I am behind, I just don't like the feeling of being behind or the lack of freedom that it affords me.

By the way, my internet source is the computer at the house I am staying. My pictures are on my personal computer. When I am able to connect my own computer to the internet, I will update the blogs with pictures.

Quick Update

2010-07-03T11:07:00.001-05:00

Well, I headed out of DC on New York Avenue, which was fine for a while. Eventually there were fewer and fewer cross streets and more on- and off-ramps. It wasn't labeled as an interstate and I never saw any signs saying I shouldn't be there, but I kind of figured it wasn't a place I was supposed to be. I was making good time until I caught up to a police officer that had a car pulled over. He told me I wasn't supposed to be on that road. He seemed a bit puzzled about how I had made it that far from DC without getting pulled over, but just told me to take the next exit. I meandered around until I arrived at the bay bridge to wait for my ride across it. I knew good and well that the bay bridge was not a place I wanted to be riding my bicycle. My friend's father was on his way to DC that morning, so he gave me a ride across he bridge. It wasn't too much further to get to the Maryland/Delaware border. I stopped to take my picture by the Maryland sign as I entered Delaware because I don't recall seeing a sign welcoming me to Maryland out of DC. The road I was on, however, did not have a sign welcoming me to Delaware. I'll have to catch that one on my way out of this state as well.

My next destination is the Akron, PA, area to visit the MDS headquarters. The problem is that we are in a holiday weekend, so they're not in the office until Tuesday. Now I'm trying to figure out what to do with myself between now and then. Yesterday I went to the beach. Today I'm watching Germany walk all over Argentina in the quarterfinals of the world cup and will meet a friend for lunch. It's one very long day or two shorter days to get from Greenwood, DE, to Akron, PA, so I might leave tomorrow (Sunday) and split the ride, or I could leave really early Monday and knock it all out in one day. I'm getting a little bit impatient as I sit here and fall further behind in m bike trip. I took two days off in Harrisonburg, three days off in DC, and already two more here in Delaware. That's 7 of the last 9 days off the bike. I know I can catch up from this, but it's still a little stressful.

On a very different note, when I arrived in Delaware and turned on my phone, I received a voicemail from my former employer, the Dean of Students at Hesston College. He informed me that Jason Marner, one of the Resident Assistants that I worked with during my first year working at Hesston College, had died that morning in a motorcycle accident. He has been living in Harrisonburg, VA, lately, but he was not in town when I came through. As I look at the task ahead of me and the miles that I need to cover, I am also exploring options of attending the funeral service in Iowa. I don't know if it is possible for me to attend.

Some Down Time

2010-06-30T17:19:00.087-05:00

So, when I left Lexington, VA, I was pretty excited to get to Harrisonburg, VA. I hadn't seen any familiar faces since Americus, GA. Being out of the mountains and all, I was moving pretty quickly and made it to town by 11:00am. I didn't really know what else to do, so I pedaled around town a little bit, then over towards Eastern Mennonite University's campus to find Rudy, another Hesston College Disaster Management graduate from the same class as Alyssa (friend in Americus, GA). After lunch I found a couple more former students to hang out with until supper. During supper, I got a call from the Daily News Register, the newspaper in Harrisonburg. We made arrangements to meet the following day. That evening I made my way over to Clark's place where I would sleep the next three nights.

The following morning I was visited by a reporter from the DNR. We chatted for a while about the trip, Mennonite Disaster Service, and the Disaster Management Program at Hesston College. When we finished, I had brunch with Joe and his family. Joe and I took Probability and Statistics class at the same time in high school. It was a good time. I suppose you just had to be there. Anyway, Joe's family now lives in Harrisonburg and not Henderson, obviously. It was nice to talk with people that I have a longer history with. After brunch I went to an awkward little photo shoot with another reporter from the DNR. That evening I met up with my friends Eric, Beth, and Steve for tea.

The next day I hung out at the farmer's market with Clark, where I found out that the article in the Daily News Register was already out. I did a little bit of sight seeing around Harrisonburg on my bicycle that morning, then watched a little bit of World Cup soccer that afternoon. Honestly, the World Cup was the main reason I took a second day off. It was a little disappointing to see the US lose to Ghana, but all in all I'm pretty excited to see US citizens actually caring about soccer. I watched the first half with Clark, then headed over to my friend John's place. John moved away from Henderson during late elementary school. It was good to connect with him again and reminisce about the good ol' days and compare college stories. That night I watched a movie at Clark's place and got to bed way later than I intended.

The following morning I was moving quite slowly. I reluctantly rolled out of bed 40 minutes after my alarm had gone off, and by now the sun was already up and shining. I had some cereal and grabbed some brownies and cookies for the road, and set out towards Washington DC. I knew it was more than 130 miles to DC, so I had looked for campgrounds between the two locations the night before. I found a few options through Google and decided that the one right before my only moderate climb for that leg of the journey would be the best idea. It would be about 85 miles in, leaving a fairly short day to follow as I entered DC. I got to riding on Highway 11, heading northeast and basically paralleling Interstate 81, and things were going very well during the morning. By the time I stopped for a break, I had covered about 70 miles and it was only 11:15am. At this rate, I would be stopping to camp just shortly after noon. As I thought about it, I only had 60-65 miles left and I was feeling really good. At this point, I decided to just bike until the turnoff for the campground and think more when I got there. Well, the campground turnoff came rather quickly, and it was right at the foot of the one climb I had between Harrisonburg and DC. At this point, it was extremely hot and I was feeling a little rough because I had just started to climb. I started to think about how nice it would be to get off my bike at that point and set up camp and just relax for the rest of the afternoon and evening, with a pot full of beans and rice to keep me company, and how much more work it would be to bike the last 45-50 miles to DC. Then I started thinking about air conditioning and a bed. The air conditioning and bed won out. I got back on my bike and pressed onward up the mountain. I was reminded again of how much I hate climbing, especially when approaching 90 miles for the day. Looking at the elevation change and the number of miles in which I climbed that elevation, it wasn't a bad climb, but it really did take it's toll on my legs. I was no longer feeling as fresh as I had been that morning. The rest of the ride was a lot of the same stuff I had seen all morning: rolling hills with moderate grade. When I got to about mile 100, I ran out of water. At that point I really started looking for places to fill up, but since it was a Sunday, a lot of places were closed. The first place I came to that was open was called The British Pantry and Cafe. I was kind of wondering why there was this little British cafe and store out in the middle of what felt like nowhere, but I was more focused on getting water than I was finding out the history of the establishment. I asked the woman that was working if they had anything in their fridge that was not carbonated, and she pulled out a small $5 bottle of blood orange juice. I'm generally a tightwad, but at this moment I didn't care how much it cost, I wanted it. It was delicious. I ended up filling my bottles in the restroom sink and taking a seat outside to let my legs relax a bit. The woman at the counter seemed to take pity on me and gave me another bottle of the expensive blood orange juice. After a while off the bike, I went back in to refill my bottles one more time and the woman remembered that some energy drinks in the cooler were about to expire and that she would have to throw them out. She asked me how many I could carry. I took 4 of them (and drank all of them by the time the day was over) and thanked her again. When I got back on my bike, my legs had a little bit of renewed energy in them and I was able to make it to the outskirts of the city before stopping for another rest. At this time I knew I was very well hydrated, but my legs felt like they were constantly on the verge of cramping, so I went to a grocery store and bought a large bottle of v8 (Sodium). I drank about half of it and kept on cycling. As I got closer to the actual city limits of DC, I noticed that my GPS didn't really seem to understand that I'm on a bicycle. I had told it to avoid highways, but Garmin doesn't seem to understand the seriousness with which I meant "AVOID". Garmin just couldn't get it through it's head that I was not supposed to be on I-395 coming into DC. I looked for another way into the city, but Garmin was not helpful and I was too tired to bike back and forth looking for a bike lane. This was not a proud moment, and with my actions I probably gave some of the citizens of the area a worse view of cyclists, but I decided to go ahead and break the law and bike on the Interstate. Believe me, if I would have known a better way in, I certainly would have taken it. I-395 also happened to have construction underway, so there was no shoulder. I was on a bridge with a barrier on my right and in the midst of two lanes of traffic trying to get into Washington DC. Survival instincts were enough to get my legs (which had already cycled just under 130 miles for the day) to pump like crazy to keep from angering the drivers into smashing me into the guardrail. The bridge was pretty busy, which was a good thing because it slowed traffic considerably. I was still pumping out just over 30 mph the whole way across this bridge on my loaded touring bike. As soon as I got across I took the first exit I could and just slowed way down to a crawl. I picked a low gear and just kind of putted through town towards my sister's place. Upon arrival, I did some mapping and calculating, and figured out that it had been a 133 mile day in the heat.

When I got to Tiffany's (my sister) place, she and JR (her husband) had not yet returned from a weekend camping trip. Lucky for me, she has some kind neighbors. Christina invited me in to her place for a drink and to get out of the heat. We talked cycling for a while because I saw her new cyclocross bike and mountain bike in her living room. When Tiffany and JR returned, we didn't really do much that evening. My legs didn't really want to do much other than sit.

The next morning Katie, one my fellow Resident Directors at Hesston College, came over from Delaware to spend the day in DC. I tried not to show how tired my legs were as we walked around. I also knew it was good for me to be on my feet so that my legs wouldn't completely tighten up. The National Geographic Museum was our first stop after lunch. They had two primary exhibits going: Design for the Other 90% and Da Vinci - The Genius. They were two very different, but very interesting displays. Design for the Other 90% showed some simple yet brilliant solutions to issues like getting clean drinking water and cooking without electricity to providing internet communication to very remote locations for educational purposes. Da Vinci - The Genius had a lot of models of his crazy ideas for inventions that were centuries ahead of their time and some replicas of his artwork, including a section devoted to The Mona Lisa.

Our next major stop was at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History. That's always been one of my favorite parts of the Smithsonian. Currently they have special exhibits on Darwinian Evolution and Masterworks of Yup’ik Science and Survival. Apparently the Yup'ik are a group of native people in Alaska. Both exhibits were pretty cool.

I find myself really enjoying the museums in DC when I go to them, but I don't go to them alone. If I'm ever out here visiting my sister and I have down time, I don't generally find myself exploring much, I tend to just wait for my sister or a friend in the area to get off work. Even when I'm cycling on this trip, I come across things that look like they may be interesting to see or explore, but I tend to bike past them, as though the mileage for the day or the destination are more important. Maybe this realization will cause me to take more initiative to explore on my own, even though it's generally more fun with a friend.

After the museum and a little more sightseeing around the Mall area, Tiffany, JR, Katie, and I went to Granville Moore's for supper. Apparently the chef at Granville Moore's bested Food Network's Bobby Flay on a mussel cook-off. Bobby Flay apparently has a TV show where challenges chefs to a cook-off on their home turf. I had the mussels and they were pretty tasty. The evening ended with a visit from my friend Hilary and a late evening of catching up since my last visit to the area.

Tuesday I decided to spend the morning being a tourist again, so I biked around by the mall for a while in the morning, snapping a few pictures that don't have me in them because I was the photographer. I met my friend Jen for lunch after a jaunt on the bike across town to a restaurant/bookstore called Busboys and Poets. The afternoon got hotter than I really wanted to experience outdoors, so I then headed back to my sister's place to enjoy the air conditioning. In the evening, my friends Joe and Jocie came over for a while. Joe has recently moved to the city, but Jocie has been here for a while and I have managed to miss her each time I come out, so I was glad to have connected with the two of them this time out. Due to a work schedule that demands Jocie wake up at 4am, the two of them did not stay late. My friend Hilary ended up stopping in just after they left, and we ordered Ethiopian food from a little place just down the street. I love Ethiopian food. When I was at Hesston I would have the occasional privilege of a kitchen full of Ethiopian students. They repaid the use of my freezer and kitchen with some of the food that they made. I really think I came out ahead on that deal.

Today I slept in. My intent was to wake up and work on my bicycle a bit, just cleaning and making sure everything is running smoothly. I sat around the house and started to write this blog until Tiffany called and invited me to join her for lunch. After eating with her, I called up Jonathan, one of my former RAs from Hesston, and we met for coffee. Now I'm looking forward to going out for Thai food with my friend Veloris who is headed to town from Baltimore this evening. I intend to hit the road early tomorrow morning headed east towards Maryland and Delaware (I should be hitting two states tomorrow!). Another former RA from Hesston has agreed to meet me at the bay bridge to transport me and my bike across, as it is illegal for me to ride across. Probably about as bad of an idea as how I got into DC, only on a much longer bridge. I will try to be better about blogging as my travels continue, but when I actually have people to talk to, I find it more difficult to sit down to write about my travels.

More pictures from DC:

NEBRASKA!

Pre-4th of July fireworks safety demonstration at the mall. NEVER look inside!

Surly visit's Capitol Hill

Virginia, West Virginia, and back to Virginia

2010-06-23T20:02:00.001-05:00

I got out of Claypool Hill, VA, at a pretty decent time, even with a stop at a little diner for breakfast. The morning was relatively cool and there was patchy cloud cover. According to my GPS, it was not going to be a climb-filled day like the past several had been. It was basically a straight shot through a valley to get to West Virginia. At the start of the day I was about 95 miles from a Mennonite Your Way home that had agreed to host me on Tuesday night, so I knew I was breaking that 95 miles up into two days. Knowing that there wasn't as much climbing to do, I was a bit energized. I moved quite quickly towards West Virginia and entered the state at the town of Bluefield. The sign welcoming me to West Virginia was actually in town. I suppose they were technically two different towns, since they were in different states, but that's where I crossed. I stopped only long enough to take my picture, then I kept going.

So, a while back I thought my GPS was trying to kill me when it was routing me through some hilly cities. I think that it may have learned it's lesson, and now I'm the idiot. I saw a road on the map that was more of a straight shot to where I was going (south of Princeton, WV), so I thought I'd take that and shorten my mileage a little bit. As soon as I started descending into this valley, I knew it was a bad idea. I've learned that the further you go down, the further you have to climb back up. It wasn't the worst climb I've ever experienced, but on a day when I thought I was going to have none, it was not a pleasant experience. I climbed out of this valley to a point where I crossed with Interstate 77, then descended into another valley. I would really like to know the last time a bicycle rode on this road. I can't imagine they get many cyclists, being in the middle of nowhere and all. I came upon some construction, which was just a bunch of dump trucks dumping rocks off the edge of the road into the river to help prevent erosion from taking the road out from underneath. The truck drivers looked at me like I was a novelty. Another reason I think cyclists are rare around here. The picture here is not even of the construction zone. There was nobody working on this one, they just marked it off with orange barrels. This is what happens if they don't dump loads of rocks off to prevent erosion under the road. Nebraska doesn't get pot-holes like this. At least not where I'm from. Another short climb later I was out of the valley and continued for another few uneventful miles before crossing back over to Virginia.

Just after crossing into Virginia, I found a small campground by the river in Glen Lyn, VA. It had been a relatively short day, but I was about 35 miles from the Mennonite Your Way house for the following night. As I rolled in to the campground, I didn't see any place to register. I saw a group that was setting up camp, so I asked them how it worked. They said someone would come around and collect the money that evening. They invited me to set up camp next to them, and maybe we could split the cost. Dwight was certainly the most talkative of the bunch. He told me a couple different stories about 5 or 6 times each throughout the evening, including his boxing career, his martial arts training, and repeated examples of how great a guy he is. Aside from the one brief anti-Semitic rant, he seemed like an alright fellow. They got their grill going and offered me supper, so I jumped at the opportunity to have a burger instead of my beans and rice. After we got done eating, I offered to help them clean things up, mostly because it looked like rain was coming. They told me that it wasn't going to rain and that they'd clean it up later. At this point, it started to sprinkle. I asked them again if they wanted help cleaning up, but they continued to say that it wasn't going to rain and that they'd clean it up later. I got in my tent and mother nature proceeded to dump on us. From what I could hear, their tent blew over and they just threw all of the wet equipment into the trunk of the car. At this point, I put in my earplugs and tried to sleep. The wind and rain did not make for a quiet tent, and when the rain stopped, my neighbors got out of their car and started a fire. I drifted in and out of consciousness as the four of them enjoyed their night life. In the morning a woman came around while I was packing up to collect camping fees. My neighbors on the other side were in a small camper that looked as though it had been by the river a long time. They pulled the collection woman aside and complained about the noise from the night before. The woman from the camper told me that if she had owned a cell phone, she would have called the police in.

I had slept in (if I slept at all) a little more than I had wanted to, so I threw things together and hit the road. I stopped at the first gas station I came to, which was about 9 miles down the road. My bike felt like it was riding difficult, so I looked things over and found that my rear wheel was loose. It was locked in place, but it was wobbling at the bearings. I took off all the bags and flipped the bike over to have a better look. Long story short, I got it functional again, but the bearing felt extremely rough and was even sticking at some points, so it wouldn't spin freely. This made what would have been a short day with a couple of decent climbs into a crappy morning.

I made it through the climbs and arrived at Mariann and Bob's house just after 12:00. They fed me lunch, pulled a vehicle out of the garage so I could work on my bike in the shade, and even lent me their car when I needed to go to the bike shop to have them look at my wheel. The bike shop adjusted my bearings for $2 and told me of another bike shop in town where I could find the tires I was looking for. At the other shop, I dropped $80+ on new tires for my ride that shouldn't give me 3 flats in a day like my other, worn out tires did. I had been hoping to make it to DC on those tires.

After a wonderful supper and some conversation at a bit of a higher level than an inebriated Dwight was able to give, I headed to bed. I rose early to get on the road before the rain that had been forecast would begin. The weather people were wrong. I started the day at around 7am in the rain. It wasn't heavy, but enough to get me wet, and with the humidity, I didn't dry off. The cloud cover that came with the rain did stick around until early afternoon, which was nice. I pushed pretty hard and didn't stop very often. It was nice to be out of the rough part of the mountains. The road just rolled.

When I got within about 15 miles of my estimated end to the day, I passed a zoo. It seemed a bit off the beaten path, but it was there. There was a sign advertising that you could have your picture taken with a baby tiger. I passed it. I got about a mile past it before I decided that I needed my picture taken in my cycling gear with a baby tiger. This is the one time that I have actually backtracked on a bicycle tour for anything unnecessary. I don't like to cover the same ground more than once, unless it's to get to food, water, or shelter.

After the picture, the clouds were gone and the heat had come. It wasn't too bad when I was moving and had a breeze. As I pulled in to Lexington, VA, I saw an ice cream stand in a parking lot. It sounded too good to pass up. I had a peach shake. It was amazing. When I finally got to my final destination just north of Lexington, I had ridden about 90 miles on the day. I was a bit surprised. I only expected 75-80. Now Harrisonburg is just that much closer for my ride tomorrow. Again, chance for rain in the afternoon in Harrisonburg, so hopefully I'll beat it there.

Virginia, Kentucky, and back to Virginia

2010-06-20T17:05:00.000-05:00

Well, the day's ride out of Baileyton, TN, started off pretty well. I didn't have breakfast, but it was a pretty quick ride to get to Kingsport, TN. I stopped on the edge of town to fuel up a little, then rolled north through town towards Virginia. The day was going quite well. Then I got to Virginia. I wasn't more than 2 miles across the border when I got a flat tire. That happens. I stopped on the side of the road, found some shade, and got things rolling again. Just a couple of miles later, as I was pulling in to Gate City, VA, I got another. At this point I was getting a little bit irritated. There was glass everywhere. I pulled off on their main street, just a half block from a bike shop. I walked over there to get an extra tube (I'd eventually need another, and this saved me from digging for one of my spares in my bag). Now, I try not to let this taint my view of a bike shop, but the guy had never heard of a Surly. I expect most people won't recognize the brand, but this was a bike shop. The guy in the store was polite enough and I got my tube and headed back over to get things going again. When I did, I decided to alter my route a little to avoid some hard climbing in the afternoon. As it turns out, both directions had plenty of climbing; I chose the direction that had less shade. I was one good climb away from my destination for the day, Big Stone Gap, VA, when I heard hissing coming from my rear tire. Again. Three flat tires in one day. These tires had survived the mess that are the Louisiana roadways, but I got THREE flats since entering Virginia. This time it was a small piece of wire (steel belting from a shredded car/truck tire). I dug through my bag to find an extra tube and got myself going again.

I pulled into Big Stone Gap, VA, and set up camp for the night at Jessie Lea RV Park. The owner and several of the guests were quite friendly, and the camp site was great. There was a nice little river that I pitched the tent by and walked around in when I would get hot while setting up camp. They told me where I could get a cheap breakfast in the morning, so I took their advice. If you had a member card for their grocery store (the owner of the RV park gave me his old one), you can get 2 eggs, a biscuit with gravy, sausage, and coffee for $1.99. I don't know how they can make money on that.

I started the day off with a full stomach, which was good, because the first thing I was doing right out of Big Stone Gap, VA, was climbing a mountain. It was a pretty awful climb. I got to the top and took a break at a scenic overlook. A family had stopped there as well, and I struck up conversation with the husband while my legs rested and the rest of the family wandered around. They were on their way to a family reunion and had come from Asheville. They had a German woman with them (I'm assuming a foreign exchange student) that took my picture. She said she was going to put it in her scrapbook. We parted ways and I continued pedaling. I cruised along the top of the ridge I had just climbed for a while, then headed back down on the other side. The descent went FAST. I don't know what the grade was on this downhill, but it was long and straight, so I just tucked and rode it all the way down. I don't know if it was on this descent or the next one, but my new speed record is 49mph. I was keeping up with traffic pretty well. When I'm coming down like that, I don't even try to stay on the side of the road. It wouldn't be safe. All the crap that can give me a flat tire is over there, and a flat doing 49mph sounds like a bad idea.

My next big climb came all too soon. It was at the Virginia/Kentucky line. When I got to the top, I looked at the warning sign they put at the top to let trucks know they need to use a lower gear. Sometimes they say what percent grade the slope is. 8%. Not fun. It took a long time, and I stopped to rest a couple of times, but I made it to the top to take my picture by the Kentucky sign. Just on the other side of the ridge, before descending, there was a place to pull off. I thought I'd take a rest before speeding down the ridiculous slope into Kentucky. There was a car there with two people looking at maps near the back of it. I stopped and asked where they were headed. That part of the conversation didn't stick in my memory. What did was that when I said I was riding for Mennonite Disaster Service, the woman gave me a high-five (I think she didn't know what else to do, because I was a dripping sweaty mess). Her name was Barb Sheats, and she said that MDS had helped her ex-husband out a while back when they had some big hospital bills. She also said that he had worked with MDS after one of the hurricanes (can't remember which one she said) and they were impressed at the efficiency and organization of MDS compared to everyone else. Needless to say, an amazing interaction like this helps to encourage me when I'm pedaling up an awful climb like the one I had just come up. Honestly, the majority of people I come across generally respond to me with, "Mennonite...you mean with the black hats and beards?" occasionally followed with, "So, the bike is ok, but no car?" If I've got time, I will occasionally give a brief Anabaptist history lesson and explain why some Mennonites don't wear the plain coat or a head covering, but most times I just smile and nod.

From my interaction atop the Virginia/Kentucky line, I kept pedaling until I got to Breaks Interstate Park. It's not along an interstate highway, it's a state park that lies in two states. It was an unpleasant climb to end the day with, especially with 94 degree temperatures. I was again disappointed when I entered the park and it was a couple more miles to my camp ground. I ended up camping on the Virginia side of the border, so Kentucky is the first state thus far that I have ridden in but not slept in. The locals told me that was a good idea. No offense, Kentucky. I got to the campground, paid for site number 88 (very close to the restrooms), but when I got there to set up camp, people were already setting up their camp. I wasn't a big fan of this. I told them that I had just paid for that site, but they said that the woman at the counter had told them to go pick a site and to come back to let her know which one. It was unfortunate that they had picked number 88. Rather than stand and argue, I just went and picked another one. The rest of the sites were not nearly as nice. It was kind of busy since it was a weekend. I found a spot, and just as I was about to set up camp, it started to rain. There was a 20% chance of that. I hurried to get my tent set up, put the rain fly on, and get my gear inside. I liked the cool rain, so I stayed outside for a bit and eventually went to the bath house for a shower. I kept refuge in my tent after that until it quit raining, but nothing was going to dry my tent before morning when I had to pack it up.

The next morning I packed up my wet tent, threw the gear together, and hopped on my wet bike to get moving for the day. It wasn't a long descent out of the park before I started my first big climb for the day. It was a big climb. It wasn't that I got that terribly high, but it was just straight up. This was a small enough road that they didn't have signs posted saying what grade it was. This road hardly made the cut on my map (it was one of those light gray ones that doesn't have a label). Looking back at the topographical memory of my GPS, it looks like about 600 feet of climb in just over a mile. That's pushing close to 10% grade. That's disgusting. Pictured here you can see what I was about to descend on the other side. It was equally steep and had similar switchbacks. You can see a road on the left side of the image, and another one way down on the right. That's the same road. I think there is only one road in this county. I could smell my brake pads. If it weren't for all those switchbacks, I think I'd have a new speed record. Below is a picture of how my entire hand, fingertips included, has pruned up because of all the sweat running down my arms that has saturated my gloves and proceeds to drip from my fingers. It's hot.

After that climb, things weren't too bad. There were two longer and slower ascents later in the day, but they weren't nearly so painful. Now I've got a cheap hotel room in Claypool Hill, VA, for the night. I just did my laundry in the sink, so it's out on the balcony drying at the moment. Passing traffic gawked a bit at my clothes out on the railing. Whatever. The closest laundromat was about 5 miles back, and I'm done riding for the day. Tomorrow I should make it to West Virginia where I may spend the night, unless I get ambitious and want to make it back in to Virginia.

Baileyton, Tennessee

2010-06-17T20:25:00.001-05:00

I got up before dawn again today to hit the road early. Larry got up around dawn and saw me off. It was a big foggy in town when I started pedaling, so I got my bright flashing red light out of my bag and clipped it to the back of my helmet. It truly is an irritatingly bright light. I'm guessing drivers don't like me when it's on, but I'm pretty sure they see me. As I got out of town, the fog got more dense and it felt like I was sucking on the output of a humidifier when I was climbing the hills on the outskirts of town. On my sunglasses I have a little mirror that clips on to the frame so I can see if cars are coming, so I like to have those on at all times when riding, but the fog kept collecting on my glasses so I couldn't see. My sunglasses also have interchangeable lenses. I popped out the lenses and kept riding. When I see my sunglasses without the lenses, they remind me of those goofy looking glasses that the blue people wear when they fly on their dinosaur-birds in the movie Avatar. If you haven't seen the movie, don't worry about it. If you have and don't know what I'm talking about, look at them next time, and you'll know what my sunglasses look like without lenses.

When I was away from town, I ended up on a road that paralleled the French Broad River. It's a north-flowing river, so I got to coast down hill for a while out of Asheville. This was a bitter-sweet thing, as I knew the more I descended, the more I would have to climb later. It was nice to follow the river though. It was a very relaxing ride. Near the town of Marshall, NC, I started to climb out of my valley. I really expected things to be worse than they were. Coming back down was a bit unnerving. Hwy 208 and whatever road that turns into when it crosses into Tennessee is not a straight road. Coming down I had to ride my brakes pretty hard to keep myself on the road. When a sign says the speed limit is 20mph, that applies to loaded touring bikes, too. I'm sure a light road bike could handle faster, but when I pushed things a little faster around some corners, I knew I needed to slow down.

I climbed the last major pass of North Carolina and crossed over to Tennessee just in time to see two guys sitting on the side of the road. I was a little confused. Generally I'm the guy on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. I pulled over to see what their story was, and as it turns out, I was crossing the Appalachian Trail. These guys had just hiked about 4 days worth of it and were waiting to be picked up. The one that I was talking to mostly had also just biked from the Georgia/Florida state line to the southern end of the state. They seemed like my kind of people. I gave them my card, and maybe they'll see this post.

I got to Greeneville, TN, shortly after 12:15pm. This would have been too short a day if I had stopped there, so I found a McDonald's so I could get on the internet to find a campground. As I searched, the one that seemed within a decent range and still in the right direction was the Baileyton RV Park & Willowview Cabins. I am specifically mentioning the name because this one is worth mentioning. My last experience at an RV park (just north of Travelers Rest, SC) probably made me appreciate this experience just that much more. I checked in at the office, paid, then went to set up my tent. As I was setting up, one of the employees said that I needed to find a place with more shade than where I was at, so she took my bags up towards the picnic pavilion. I toted the rest of my stuff up there and ended up making small talk with a few other residents and employees as I went there. The Restrooms were about as clean as any campground I've seen in my travels thus far, and when I checked in, the woman at the desk told me that if I ever found anything a mess, I needed to call her so that she could make it right.

When I had camp set up, I checked my messages and I had one from my sister saying that I should call a guy at the Greeneville, TN, newspaper. I called him and he sent someone out to get a picture of me. I'm guessing that they'll run a story in the paper. If they do, and anyone from Greeneville reads this, thanks for checking out my site.

As I set up camp, a man that had been mowing and trimming eventually came over to chat with me, and he offered to take me to supper. He just moved to the campground and will be here for the next 5 years as he works as a surgical tech in the area. We chatted and eventually got on the topic of religion (which can get interesting here in the "Bible Belt", as one woman in McDonald's bragged to me). When I got back to my campsite, I found that the owner of the RV park had refunded the charge to my credit card, and had included a note saying: "Thank you for caring for others." The last RV park I was at was made a positive experience by Jeff and Joyce. This experience has been all around positive.

Tomorrow I should make it into Virginia, followed shortly by Kentucky and eventually West Virginia. We shall see what terrain awaits for me there. I'm looking forward to the Shenandoah Valley after West Virginia. The worst (terrain) should be behind me then.

Climbing Made Easier

2010-06-16T21:34:00.001-05:00

I woke up yesterday morning ready to climb into the Appalachian Mountains. I got a great breakfast at The Coffee Pot restaurant, right next to the RV park, and headed towards my climb. As I headed upward, climbing was just as unpleasant as I remembered from my trip 2 years ago when we rode through Colorado and Wyoming. As I continued to climb, it felt like things were getting worse. I haven't done any real climbing on a bike in the last 2 years, so I just chalked it up to either not remembering how bad it can be, or just being out of shape. I came around a curve and it appeared as though the percent grade decreased, but I was still cranking really hard to get up. I hate to stop mid-climb (I'd prefer to make it to the top, then rest before enjoying the ride down) but I got to the point were I just couldn't go any further. Upon dismounting from my bicycle, I realized that my rear tire must have developed a slow leak a while back, because now it was completely flat (at this point, I can hear my former cycling companion, Dustin, muttering "dumbass" under his breath). It had to have happened very slowly, or I would have noticed. Anyway, I proceeded to replace the tube, re-inflate the tire, and continue on my way. It's amazing what a difference a tire full of air can make! And, yes Dustin, I did feel like a bit of a dumbass.

After making it to the top of that climb (about 1/3 of a mile later), I was officially in North Carolina. It was mostly just rolling terrain after that. I pedaled through a few small towns, but the one that stuck out was Hendersonville, NC. They had a neat downtown area that kind of made me want to stop, but I knew that stopping just meant more time in the sun later. I kept on going until I got to Asheville, NC. I pulled off at a Starbucks to see if they had wireless internet access. They do, but only if you have AT&T. They will have regular wi-fi in July. Until then, I'll keep looking for McDonald's. At this particular coffee shop I got to talk to a man (unfortunately I don't remember his name) that had been a hiker back in the good ole days. He hiked (in sections) from Florida to Nova Scotia, including the Appalachian Trail. He pointed out a bike shop across the way, so I hung out there for a bit. One of the employees was preparing for a tour from the Atlantic to the Pacific, so she asked me all kinds of questions about gear and whatnot. Another employee was very helpful in discussing which way I should head when I leave town to get to Tennessee.

After leaving the bike shop, I rode further into Asheville and found a McDonald's. This particular McDonald's was having issues with their wireless. I was trying to figure out where to stay that night, so long story short, I found out there were 2 Mennonite churches in town, so I called one (Mennonite Fellowship of Asheville), the interim pastor answered, fed me supper and found a home for me for the next two nights. I had been interested in taking a day off here, and it has been great. Larry and Jane have been two of the best hosts I person could ask for, and I'm not just saying that because of all the fresh peaches they fed me. Their home has been a comfortable place to rest my weary bones and to wash some laundry somewhere other than in the shower with me. Larry gave me a mini tour of town while we were out running some errands this afternoon. Asheville passes my "Could I live here?" test. They've got good bike shops, cars that are used to seeing bicycles on the road, and a little Mennonite contingency that would welcome some strange guy on a bike in, not just for one night, but a second as well. Well done, Asheville.

Tomorrow I'm off towards Greeneville, TN. Could be another rough one. I'll be looking back at my tires a lot more this time.

South Carolina and Sweet Tea

2010-06-14T19:25:00.003-05:00

I tried to get up and on the road as early as possible again, but I wasn't moving as quickly this morning. I rolled out of the campsite and headed towards the South Carolina border, just 7 miles down the road. I didn't really know where I was headed for the day, other than just sort of north. Again, each time I stop at a gas station to refill with water, people ask me where I started. They seem a little dumbfounded when I ask them, "You mean today, or before that?" or, depending how they word their question, "Where am I from, or where am I coming from?" Outside of cycling culture, people can't seem to grasp riding a bicycle more than around the block for an evening stroll.

As I looked at the map, a little town north of Greenville, SC, jumped out at me called Travelers Rest, SC. I thought that sounded like the place I needed to go. I got there and there were two moderately priced hotels (not the dirt cheap ones with cowgirl sheets I look for) and not too much for campgrounds. After making a couple phone calls, I ended up riding another 8 or 9 miles further down the road to an RV park. En route to this RV park, I saw a free-hand painted sign advertising local South Carolina peaches. I had to pull over. Inside the woman working the register rang up the two peaches I picked out and asked for $0.70. In this heat, that was an incredible bargain. We talked cycling for a bit, and I learned that the Greenville, SC, area is a pretty popular place for triathlon training. While we chatted, I glanced at the beverage cooler along the wall and saw Blenheim Ginger Ale. If you've never had this stuff, you've never had ginger ale. Hesston students used to bring it back to college with them from Ohio. The stuff is amazing. There are two colors of caps to denote how "spicy" the ginger ale is. I had to have a bottle.

With my two peaches and bottle of ginger ale in hand, I continued down the road to the RV park. I pulled in, called the number at the front desk, and Mark came to meet me. Now, I've come to accept that tent camping can be an expensive (relatively speaking) thing to do out here, but generally the amenities are worth it. At this RV park, I paid $20 for permission to throw up a tent somewhere out back by the propane tanks and the dumpster. The previous night I paid $19 and got water, electric, and (unintentionally, I'm sure) wireless internet! Here I was about a quarter mile from the restrooms and a decent source of water. Fortunately for me, I stopped to ask a fellow patron of the RV park about the weather forecast. I definitely picked the right camper to ask! Jeff and Joyce proved to be excellent company for the evening. Joyce kept refilling my glass with some of the best sweet tea I've had since I've been down here! They even got me a small hose adapter that would allow me to utilize the water source of one of the unused RV sites. Yes, I was camping by the dumpster while there were several empty RV sites. Anyway, Jeff, Joyce, and I talked until close to dusk, at which time I dismissed myself to go make supper on the camp stove. Beans and rice! Now I see it as the more of that beans and rice I eat, the less of it I have to carry through the mountains! And from the sound of things, tomorrow I will be climbing.

Early Start, Early Finish

2010-06-13T15:48:00.001-05:00

In response to the brutal heat and humidity out here, I got up at about 4:45am to get myself packed, fed, and on the road at about 6:30am (sunrise). I cranked out about 54 miles before stopping in Royston, GA, for a bite to eat at Subway, where the clerks genuinely thought I was out of my mind when I told them where I had started for the day (Monroe, GA). They haven't heard of bicycle touring in general. They didn't know people rode more than a mile unless they were in the Tour de France or something.

Before getting there, I had to go through Athens, GA. I've biked in a lot of different places (if you include my last trip out to Idaho), but I haven't been to very many places as hilly as the city of Athens. Maybe my GPS is just trying to kill me and took me on the worst streets possible, but I think biking through Athens took me just as long as it took me to bike to Athens from Monroe. I wish I had reset the data on my GPS, because it would be interesting to see what kinds of speeds I hit coming through that town. I could have gotten a speeding ticket on some of those hills. Then there's the obvious down side, if you go down, you have to come back up again. I refused to shift into my lowest gear, but I probably could have used it. When I was in Americus I boxed up some of my gear that I didn't think I would need for a while and sent it ahead to my sister Tiffany in DC, and after those hills in Athens, it's tempting to make another cut-back.

Anyway, after Athens and the Subway in Royston, I pedaled to Hart State Park, right on the Georgia side of the Georgia/South Carolina line. I picked out a campsite and was done for the day by 1:00pm. I set up the basics of my camp, then went to find a cold showers with my laundry. I didn't want to bike back to town to find a laundromat, so I did my own in the shower. Now it's hanging all over my camp site. I have a hammock that packs down very small that my friend Travis gave me, so I hooked that up and had a short nap already, and now it's doubling as a clothes line. I opened up my computer to just type something for the day and save it until I got internet access, but apparently the marina across the way has a pretty powerful router, so I'm online at a picnic table overlooking the lake. There are a couple of ducks about 30 feet away enjoying the shoreline. Soon I'll probably make a big pot of refried beans and rice, and probably compliment the meal with some beef jerky and some dehydrated applesauce. Sounds like a meal, eh?

Hot and Humid

2010-06-12T18:52:00.000-05:00

I rolled out of Americus, GA, at around 7:00am on Friday, after my friend Alyssa got up and made me breakfast. It's nice to get good food in my stomach to start the day off. All in all, it was a pretty uneventful day of riding. Depending on how I felt, I had considered trying for about 93 miles to get to Indian Springs State Park, but the heat and humidity really got to me. Each time I would pull off at a gas station to cool off or get a drink, at least one person would ask me what the heck I was doing out there in that heat. The last 24 mile stretch was pretty awful. I had pushed up and down the hills all day, and then I got on this road that just kept going. Every time I crested a hill, I thought I had to be getting close to Forsyth, GA.

When I did get to town, I collapsed into a chair at McDonald's and checked my email. After that I headed across the interstate to a KOA Campground. I had some great neighbors named Barron and Sarah that were on a weekend trip. They fed me, alerted me to the existence of a swimming pool at the campground, and engaged in some good conversation.

I went to bed right around sunset and got up a half hour before sunrise. I wnated to get an early start to try to avoid some of the heat I had encountered the day before. It was still in the upper 70's at dawn, and it just got hotter from there. When I checked the weather forecast on my phone, it said that the current temperature was about 91 degrees, but it "felt like" 103. Indeed.

When I stopped to look at the weather, I was in Monticello, GA, and there was a farmers market. It was amazing. I walked around looking at stuff, and came across a guy selling peaches by the bag. I didn't want a bag of them to carry, so I asked how much one would be, and he just gave it to me. There was a woman selling honey across the sidewalk from the peach vendor that struck up a conversation with me as well. She said her husband was actually at a cycling race (I don't remember where). She gave me a bottle of her honey for the road as well. Good quick energy.

I was hoping to make it to Fort Yargo State Park, but as I was pulling in to Monroe, GA, thunder started and I didn't want to get stuck in the last 14 mile stretch. If I didn't make it to Fort Yargo State Park, Monroe, GA, was the last place I would find lodging short of there. Now I'm in another cheap motel room, enjoying air conditioning. I'm really hoping to get good sleep tonight and to be on the road with a full stomach right at dawn. I would really like to be done by noon tomorrow to stay out of this brutal heat.

Two Days Off in Americus, GA

2010-06-10T16:26:00.002-05:00

Well, I've taken two days off in Americus, Georgia, now and my body feels fully recuperated from the last week and a half. I took my bicycle apart to clean it all up, and it turns out that the rear wheel bearings were in some rough shape. I think it was from the day riding to Pass Christian, MS, when I got sandblasted by the gulf winds coming across the beach at me. I got the rest of my bike cleaned up, but I had no way of taking apart the rear hub. Honestly, I didn't think it would have gotten in there. At any rate, I took the wheel in to the nearest bike shop (45 minutes away in Albany, GA), and they got it all cleaned up and ready to go. It turns out it was a good thing I was waiting on some mail here in Americus. If I hadn't gotten that hub cleaned up, I'm guessing that sand would have eaten my bearings in no time.

Should be back on the bike tomorrow morning headed north. Next state line to cross: South Carolina.

(Pictured above: Alyssa Hostetler, Disaster Management graduate from Hesston and excellent breakfast chef
Pictured below: me playing with my computer at the coffee shop)

On to Americus

2010-06-10T14:39:00.000-05:00

The day started off with four packages of instant oatmeal at my camp site in Kolomoki Mounds State Park. I'm OK with oatmeal, but it's not my favorite breakfast. I'm probably going to simply hate it by the time the trip is through. After packing everything up, I hit the road and didn't get out of the saddle until I was past Cuthbert, GA, 26 miles later. I found a little diner on the side of the road, so I decided to get a little more of a breakfast in me. While I was stopped there, a truck driver named Melvin Richardson (or maybe Richison?) that was headed from San Diego, CA, to Albany, GA, struck up conversation with me. When I told him what I was doing, he said that not enough people do good things for the world, and proceeded to pick up my tab. We chatted a bit, then parted ways. About eight or nine miles down the road he caught up to me, slowed way down so he could greet me through his window, and kept on rolling. A whole lot nicer than the guy that ran me off the road yesterday.

As I pulled in to Dawson, GA, I met a man on the side of the road that was just taking a walk during his lunch break. He asked if I was with the other two cyclists that had just come through town with bags on their bikes. Honestly, I'm in the-middle-of-no-where, GA, far from any kind of cycling route that I'm familiar with, and I just missed two loaded cyclists by about an hour? Apparently they came in to town the same way, but were turning south from there to go to Albany, GA. Anyway, I asked this man on the side of the road where I could take a break and maybe get a bite to eat for lunch. He directed me to a little buffet in town. I just biked 50 miles, of course I'm looking for a buffet! It was one trip through, as much as you can fit on your plate, for $6.50. That's a heck of a deal if you ask me. It even came with all the sweet tea a guy can drink. Needless to say, I left there a bit logged down with sweet tea. After that I only pulled over once to fill my water bottles and kept on going to Americus, GA, where I would have an air conditioned bedroom waiting for me.

Upon arrival, I introduced myself to the housemate that happened to be home and then jumped into a cold shower. After the shower, I collapsed onto the floor below a ceiling fan and waited for my friend Alyssa to get back from work. Lucky for me there was a potluck with other Habitat for Humanity workers that evening, so I was once again fed quite well.

The Habitat workers were a friendly bunch, and many of us went to a softball game that evening. Habitat has a team in the church league in Americus, so some of my new acquaintances were participating. It was an entertaining game, but unfortunately Habitat didn't come out on top. After the game I got to talk to some of the workers that are about to take a cycling trip organized through Habitat. I'm hoping to talk more with some of them tomorrow. There's a chance we'll both be in Washington, DC, at the same time during our respective trips. It'd be cool to bump into that group. Their trip is going from Niagra Falls, NY, to New Orleans, LA. I think their trip sounds like a lot of fun. They'll cover 70 miles a day for 5 days a week (gear carried by a truck/van) and there are currently 30 registered riders. I think it'd be awesome to have a group like that.

Now for a day (or two, depending on the U.S. Postal Service) off the bike in Americus, GA.

Alabama again, and on to Georgia

2010-06-10T08:43:00.011-05:00

I pulled out of the parking lot of my shady home for a night at a little before 6:00am. Locals had been telling me all day yesterday that today was supposed to be record highs. They might have been right; I never saw the temp. For the sake of time, I rode 18 miles before eating anything (no good food available in Bonifay, I would have had to backtrack 2 miles to get food). Biking on an empty stomach sucks. I eventually found a Subway and got the Orchard Chicken Salad. I recommend it. I made my way from there through Dothan, AL, and on towards Blakely, GA.

During one stretch of road a bunch of logging trucks kept going back and forth. Most of the local traffic and most of the logging trucks responded well to the presence of a bicycle on the road. There was one jerk amongst the logging truckers. When he was about a half mile back, he just laid on his horn and made it clear that he was not going to move anywhere or slow down, and I had to take the ditch. Size wins. I was tempted to respond with a fairly universal gesture of disapproval, but my conscience won (aided by the MDS logo on my back).

On my way from Dothan, AL, to Blakely, GA, I crossed the Chattahoochee River (State #5). Sometimes when I'm out biking and I see something that reminds me of a song, even a song I don't know well, that song sticks for a while. I was down yonder by the Chattahoochee, and it was hot, though I can't speak much to the analogy Alan Jackson uses to describe the heat. Several days ago I rode through a town called Pascagoula. It was close enough to the name of the town in that one song with the squirrel that gets in, runs amok, and starts a revival in a baptist church. Well, if no one else knows what I'm talking about, I think my parents should. They have got to be the only reason I would have ever heard that song.

When I pulled in to Blakely, GA, I didn't know where I was going to sleep. It took me a heck of a lot longer than I thought it would to get from Dothan to Blakely, but later I realized that the Chattahoochee River also marks the line between Central and Eastern time zones. I ended up calling a state park 6 miles north of Blakely just after they had closed, but a woman was still in the office. She said that if I'd hurry, she'd wait for me. I told her I was on a bicycle and that it'd probably be 30 minutes. She said she'd stick around until I got there. The camp site is very well kept and quiet. I don't think people come camp out here much. I do have some neighbors that are quite friendly, even though their chihuahua isn't. Tomorrow I should make it to Americus, GA, where I will visit a friend and Hesston College Disaster Management graduate Alyssa Hostetler. I intend to take a day off the bike to clean it and let my legs rest before delving further into the rolling terrain of Georgia towards the ominous Appalachian Mountains. Seriously, they scare me.

And here's the camp site.

And the view.

And here's my spacious home.

A Long Day in the Rain

2010-06-10T08:42:00.004-05:00

So, yesterday I rode through the rain in Pensacola to the far edge of town where I found a very pleasant man working at a gas station across the road from a Ramada Inn. I pulled off at this gas station to just take a break, but as soon as I pulled under the awning, it started to rain yet again. I figured I'd wait it out. I wish I could have gotten a picture of how hard it was raining. It was incredible. I couldn't see more than 30 feet out the windows of the gas station. At this point I thought it might be wise to call it a day. I went across the road to the Ramada to see how much a room would be. Their prices seemed reasonable (and I think she gave me a “Pitty the miserable soaked cyclist” discount). The people that came in after me didn't get my price. I used the laundry facilities and called it a night at about 8:30pm.

I woke up for the days ride at 5:00am. I got everything packed up, got dressed for the day, and headed to breakfast before hitting the road at around 6:30am. Almost right out of the parking lot I saw two cyclists up ahead, so I hurried to join them (they were not loaded with gear, so catching them took a bit). It was exciting to see cyclists heading the same direction that I was. They were headed to the Blackwater Trail to meet their wives for a ride. My route also had me taking the Blackwater Trail, so we stuck together until the head of the trail where they stopped to wait for their wives. As much as I enjoy having someone to ride with, I don't think I could have kept up too much longer with a couple of unloaded bicycles. I was keeping up OK I think, but it was tiring.

Once I got on the trail, I realized that I was probably going to run out of water before the next services. From the head of that trail in Milton, FL, to the town of Holt, FL, was 25 miles and I only had two full water bottles. I think a third one would have been just right. When I got to Holt, I pulled into a gas station and bought two 32 oz bottles of Powerade and drank them both immediately. Up until this point, it had been as hot and as humid as every other day down south has been. While I was at the gas station, it started to rain, so I waited a bit for it to calm down. When it subsided, I pedaled on to Crestview, FL, for lunch. There was a nice little diner on the edge of town that had a buffet, so I stuffed myself while talking with a married couple that was about to take a 6 week trip around the Midwestern US (not on bicycles). We talked a little about traveling and whatnot, and when I told them about why I was doing this trip, they gave me $20. I gave them a card with the website on it, so hopefully they get a chance to read this.

From Crestview, it was 30 more miles to get to DeFuniak Springs, FL; my intended stopping point. As I rode that 30 miles, it started raining again. I pulled off at another gas station to let it pass, and it did, but when I got back on my bike I think I caught up to it again. I kept riding and got right into the worst of it. When I saw the first thing that didn't look like a private residence, I pulled off towards it. This ended up being an AMVET (sort of like a VFW, I think), just outside of DeFuniak Springs. There weren't any windows facing the front, so I just stood under the awning of the building and cleaned my glasses and got my flashing tail light out so I'd be ready to get back to it. One of the guys from inside came out to use his cell phone and saw me and insisted that I come in for a bit. He signed me in as his guest and invited me to sit and have a drink while the storm passed. I took him up on his offer, and I chatted with the bar tender and one of the patrons for a while.

When I left the veterans, I had decided that I wanted to use the cool and cloudy weather to my advantage and cover more ground than I had earlier projected. I ended up riding an extra 27 miles past DeFuniak Springs to Bonifay, FL, where I found a pretty shady looking Economy Lodge. I just cycled 108 miles, I was wet, my shoes were wet, and I thought I earned a stay at a cheap motel. Now I'm lounging around, typing a blog entry, and eating dehydrated applesauce (like fruit leather) and beef jerky from the Henderson Meat Processor. Good stuff. Tomorrow I turn northeast.

Enjoy some pictures of the creepy Economy Lodge

In case you were wondering, those sheets do say something on them. Here's a closer look.

Farewell Economy Lodge!

From Louisiana to Florida

2010-06-05T14:09:00.004-05:00

It's been a few days since I've taken the time to update you all, but now I find myself seeking refuge from the rain in a McDonalds in Gulf Beach, FL.

The ride out of New Orleans went much smoother than the ride in. No need for hitch hiking this time. I was on highway 90 the whole way and saw several cyclists along the way. It's been consistently hot and humid, so the day was nothing out of the ordinary, though I must have been following a storm because there was water standing on the shoulder of the road where I was trying to ride. It really made my bike a mess. I had just cleaned up the chain on my day off, but by the time I was crossing into Mississippi it was black and gross. As I was crossing the Saint Louis Bay bridge I got my first flat of the trip. If you've ever seen a car or truck tire that has shredded, you'll see fine steel threads all over the place. These little steel threads eat bicycle tires. My tires are relatively puncture resistant, but these stupid little steel threads are the only things that have ever given me a flat. The bridge had a really wide pedestrian/bike lane, so it wasn't a bad place to be changing a tire (except for the lack of shade). I got things functional again and hit the road again. When I crossed the bridge into Pass Christian, MS, the wind was coming off the Gulf so hard that it was sand blasting my legs and getting all over my messy bicycle chain. Sand is bad for bike chains. I could hear it grinding as I pedaled.

Fortunately, I was getting close to a home that was listed in the "Mennonite Your Way" directory. They said that they did not intend to be listed, they just wanted a copy of the directory, but would host me any way. Matt, Heather, Kyle, and John welcomed me and my bicycle into their home for the night and where extremely gracious hosts. Not only did they provide me with a place and the means to clean up my bicycle, but their son John even gave up his bedroom for the night and slept on the couch. Heather made supper that night and Matt made breakfast. After spending two days at the MDS house in New Orleans and a night in Pass Christian with Matt and Heather, I was really feeling spoiled.

I hit the road after breakfast and found a calmer day to ride along the shoreline. As I was leaving Pass Christian, I tried to find a Mississippi map. I'm going to get a map in each state, regardless of whether I need one. Call it a memento. I stopped at a book store, thinking that would be a great place to find one. They had maps of just about every town in Mississippi, state maps of Florida, Georgia, Alabama, and Louisiana, but no map of Mississippi. Ridiculous. Eventually I bought a map at a gas station that would suffice and kept pedaling towards Dauphin Island, AL.

The day out to Dauphin Island ended up being about 89 miles total. At about mile 83 the bridge to Dauphin Island came into view. I came out of the trees, felt the headwind, and saw a very long bridge with a pretty steep hill in the middle to allow ships to pass through underneath. The headwind and the unnecessarily steep segment of the bridge were not pleasant things to find at the end of a long day. I made it over and stopped at the first gas station I saw. There, I purchased a quart of chocolate milk. To some, that sounds awful at the end of a pretty lengthy workout. I thought it was the best chocolate milk I'd ever drank. I don't know if I even came up for air; I just drank it in one shot. Then I went and bought a quart of vitamin D milk, shoved it in my bag, and headed for the campground.

There weren't a lot of people camping with tents in the area, but there was a group of Boy Scouts from Tennessee right next to me. I set up camp, took a shower, and headed towards the beach. I walked along the shore with my feet in the water for a while. Off in the distance I could see oil rigs out in the water, and it made me think about the oil spill. I walked a little further and saw a guy bent over on the beach, poking at something. He stopped me and asked if I knew what it was he was poking. It looked like runny brown silly putty. He said that clumps like that were the form the oil was in when it got to shore. "They say this stuff is pretty toxic, but I figure it's just oil," he said as he continued to poke it with his finger.

After I left the beach, I was just about to set up the camp stove for some more beans and rice when the scout troop invited me over to their camp site for burgers. Troop 4 from Trinity Christian Academy in Tennessee. They were a great group of guys and they fed me quite well. Much more satisfying than the beans and rice would have been. I sat and talked with the men that were leading the group of scouts for most of the evening. In the morning they even gave me breakfast before taking a group picture and sending me on my way in time to catch the first ferry of the day at 8am.

Today's been a pretty good day except for the pot hole. While riding through Gulf Shores, AL, I was cruising down the bike lane, looking at the expensive hotels, when this pot hole came out of no where. This wasn't a normal pot hole with jagged edges and broken pavement that you can see. This looked like a sink hole in the pavement, like when they were paving the road they decided to pave it with a hole in the bike lane. I slammed into the hole, one front pannier (bag) came off and bounced away, and I just about ate pavement. Fortunately I saved it and hit the breaks. The pannier's brackets that attach it to the bike were still functional, and I didn't see any holes in the bag at the time. I put the bag back on the bike, took a traffic cone that happened to be near by and put it in the hole, and kept pedaling. With all of my gear, not to mention my own fat butt, on this bike, I'm pretty shocked that I didn't fold the front wheel in half when I hit that hole. It still rolls true. As I mentioned earlier, I'm currently parked in a McDonald's, about to hop back on the bike to head for Pensacola. I'll probably stop there for the night. It's the first week. No point in burning myself out, right?

**Update**
I made it to the far end of Pensacola and got a hotel. The rain just kept coming and going, and I was sick of being wet. The Ramada here seems very nice. Friendly attendants at the desk.

The Day Off

2010-06-02T19:27:00.000-05:00

After retiring for the evening just after 9:00pm I found it easy to wake up at 6:30am, half an hour before my alarm. I slept like a brick. After breakfast, Mike, the project manager, took me to one of the job sites. There was a structural inspection to take place that morning, so we needed to make sure someone was there when the inspector showed up somewhere between 9am and noon. He showed up around 10:45 and spent about 60 seconds in the house. Apparently he had already been to this house before, but at that time something wasn't right with the building permit and the structure was fine, he just needed to make sure it still looked like it did when he saw it the first time.

From the work site we went on to the bike shop to pick up my ride. Bayou Bicycles (www.bayoubicycles.com) proved to be the right place to call when I picked up the phone book yesterday. They got my ride up and running quite quickly and were fun to chat with when I stopped in. They had a fellow Surly LHT owner in the house and another probable future owner, so I know they've got good taste in bikes! Mike covered the cost for the repair and even bought me a back-up set of brake pads (carrying as much weight as I am, I'll need them pretty quickly I'm guessing).

After we got back with my bike, the group of us at the MDS house got in one of their vans shortly before noon and drove down to Diamond, LA, MDS site. I remember hearing stories from Hesston College Disaster Management graduates that were stationed down there for 8 weeks a few years ago. Knowing the group that was there and hearing some of those stories, I really think that would have been a heck of an experience. I wish we could have gotten a boat ride out onto the bayou, but just seeing it from where we drove out to was a sight to behold. I tried taking pictures, but some things just can't come out right on film (SDcard?).

On our way back from Diamond, we stopped at Zydeco's Cajun Kitchen. The people I've met down here have been great and all, but I'm really going to miss the food! Now we're back at the house and I'm preparing for the ride tomorrow. I intend to ride to Pass Christian, MS, tomorrow (about 60 miles) and then on to Dauphin Island, AL. I'm pretty excited about that stop. I would like to get there early so I can enjoy the island. I'd like to see the Audubon Bird Sanctuary if I have time. I'll start the following day off with a ride on the Mobile Bay Ferry.

EMS to the Rescue!

2010-06-01T17:03:00.001-05:00

Don't freak out, mom, I didn't get hurt. I'll explain the title of this post in a bit.

Monday morning my parents and I enjoyed breakfast with the crew at the New Iberia MDS site before my official sendoff. The Hesston Disaster Management students decided that I couldn't just saddle up and ride away. I needed to prove myself worthy of wearing the MDS logo on my back for the next 6 months. They set up a little "challenge course" for me. First, I had to put on a hard hat, climb over some scaffolding (not so easy in cycling shoes), run over to some boards on saw horses that I needed to run three screws into while wearing a dust mask, run to another set of boards on saw horses to pound in 4 large nails while wearing appropriate eye protection, then off to the trailer with my bicycle where I threw on the helmet and peddled out and through the finish line. All in all, not a bad way to start the trip. However, earlier in the morning my bicycle had fallen over. As I pulled away from the MDS site, I noticed that it wasn't shifting very nicely. I believe I bent the rear deraileur hanger. The only gear I could ride in without the chain jumping was to cross-chain so that the chain was on the smallest front cog and the smallest rear cog. I proceeded to ride single-speed for the next 150 miles to New Orleans.

Aside from the mechanical difficulties, the first day started off pretty well. My parents tracked me down a few miles after leaving the MDS site to give me my towel that I forgot at the site. The morning was a beautiful morning to ride with only a slight breeze and patchy cloud cover to keep it cool (or cooler than it would have been). Early in the afternoon it got a bit warmer. I stopped at a McDonald's in Thibodaux, LA, to use their wireless internet, and while I was online it said that the temperature was 91 degrees and it was raining. I had just been out there and it was sunny and hot. When I went back out, it was indeed still 91 degrees and raining. In Nebraska it cools off when it rains. Not here.

I wasn't in too much of a hurry because I thought I only had about 9 more miles until the place I was going to set up camp. When I rode those 9 miles, the park that I had seen in my GPS was not there. I kept riding. I stopped at a gas station to ask where a guy could set up a tent. They didn't know. I kept riding. I asked some guy on the side of the road. Nothing. Eventually I came across an ambulance that was just sitting in a parking lot beside the road. I pulled up to ask them where I should go. They said that the safest place they could think of was near one of the truck stops across the river. As we got to talking I mentioned Mennonite Disaster Service and the driver perked up a little. When I told them what I was doing for the next 6 months, he made a few phone calls and told me to ride down the road a few more miles and pull off at the fire station. They let me camp in their back yard, use their shower, do some laundry, and enjoy the air conditioning of the station for the evening. I set up camp, enjoyed the amenities of their station, and made some refried beans with rice for supper. I looked at my cycling computer to see how far I had ridden on my first day of the trip, and it came out to 100 miles exactly. I hadn't ridden a century, loaded or unloaded, since RAGBRAI last summer. Not at all how I wanted to start things off, but things didn't end up so bad, thanks to the guys at St. John Westside Volunteer Fire Department.

I laid down to sleep that night, belly full of refried beans and rice and thinking I was well enough hydrated for the coming day. Then at about 12:20am I was jolted awake by both of my groin muscles cramping up simultaneously. Seriously, I thought my leg was going to rip itself off, or at least make me very unhappy while trying. There was no position that proved helpful. All I could do was wait for it to go away on its own. I don't think I've ever experienced a pain that sharp for that long. Eventually I was able to slide myself out of my tent and hobble over to the water hose on the back side of the fire station. I think I drank 60 ounces of water. I felt incredibly water logged, but I was hoping to avoid a recurrence of the last 20 minutes. I went back to bed. 1:40am rolls around and I am once again jolted awake in one of the worst ways possible. I repeated the events of an hour earlier and went back to bed. This time, my slumber lasted til morning.

I wanted to get an earlier start, so I packed things up and hit the road as soon as I was ready. I intended to find some dining establishment that would serve me breakfast along the way. After a few miles on an empty stomach and no sign of a restaurant, I ate a cliff bar. After a few more miles and still no restaurant, I bought a bottle of gatorade, a small bottle of milk, and ate another cliff bar. That turned out to be enough to get me through the 51 mile day.

As I approached New Orleans, I needed to find a way across the river. My GPS kept telling me to take the Hwy 90 bridge. I peddled that direction, but soon realized that this bridge was very high (especially with only one gear to pedal in), very long, and very busy. When I got to the on-ramp, there was a sign posted saying no pedestrians or bicycles allowed on the bridge. The next bridge was quite a ways down river, and I didn't even know if I could ride across that one either. What's next? Hitch-hike. I sat at the intersection, and every time a truck of any kind would drive by, I'd try to hail them for a ride. Eventually one nice young man pulled over and let me throw my stuff in the back of his truck. Once across the bridge, the riding was just kind of stressful, with lots of stopping and going. Eventually, I arrived at the MDS site all in one piece. We called a bike shop to get my rear deraileur looked at so I will have my other 26 gears to choose from again. They said it would be done tomorrow sometime, so it looks like I'm taking an unexpected day off already. Not a bad place to be doing it. Thursday off to Mississippi!

Southern Cuisine

2010-05-30T15:19:00.001-05:00

Just got to the New Iberia, Louisiana, MDS site. It was a long drive from Henderson, Nebraska, but we're here. We pulled onto the site on Saturday evening. Upon arrival, we found my parents a place to stay in Franklin, LA. The two hotels in town were booked up because two buses of National Guard had just pulled in and booked everything up. However, this encouraged my parents to get a room at a Bed and Breakfast place in town. The place looked amazing. There was a man and woman from Holland staying there as well. They were enjoying the evening on the back patio when we arrived, so we made small talk for a while and ended up talking exclusively about cycling once my trip came up. I kind of feel bad completely taking over the conversation when I bring up the trip I'm about to venture out on. It's been happening a lot lately and I feel bad for my traveling companions, as they end up hearing the same details of my trip about a hundred times over. Anyway, the man said that he had cycled from Amsterdam to Paris when he was younger, but thought Europe sounded like a much safer place to bike. My breadth of experience is limited, but I haven't found the U.S. to be that bad. Maybe I'm just used to it.

When we left our Dutch friends, we needed supper, so we ate at Landry's Seafood and Grill. It was amazing. The waitress showed us the quickest way to the meat. I had never ripped the head off of a crayfish before. I've got pictures. Actually, as I was taking pictures of my food, the waitress went and got two BIG crayfish and threw them on my plate. She seemed to find humor in a rural Nebraska boy learning to eat the local cuisine. She told us that the price of some of the sea food is going up because of the oil spill. The locals are saying that the New Iberia/Franklin area shouldn't be directly affected by the oil spill, but they're still concerned about the possibility of a tropical storm or hurricane blowing the oil inland.

We are spending Sunday in a pretty leisurely fashion. The day started off with a trip to Macedonia Baptist Church. It was a much more lively service than I'm used to at any of the churches that I've been a part of. One thing that stuck out to me was when the Reverend said he was thankful for today because we've never seen it before and we'll never see it again. Kind of an obvious statement, but I'm hearing it as I'm about to set out on a 6 month journey. I started thinking more in the direction of how I reflect back on a given day. DO I even reflect on my day? It's hard to be thankful for a day I don't even remember. Am I doing anything worth remembering? I mean, I think this trip is, but before that? Well, I'll ponder that as I go I suppose.

I'm working on some last-minute details for the next week or two of my travels and making sure I have everything I need for the trip and nothing that I don't. At the onset of this trip, my heaviest bag is my food bag. I don't think I'll ever have this much food on my bike again. I've got options though! Refried beans, black beans, rice, hummus, spaghetti with sauce, oatmeal, blueberries, raspberries, cherries, applesauce, peanut butter, beef jerky, Cliff Bars, and seasonings to keep it all tasting different each time. Most of the things listed above are dehydrated, so we'll see how they taste when I bust out the camp stove. Tortillas and/or flat bread will be a good source of carbs once I've got room to carry them.

I should be arriving in New Orleans on Tuesday afternoon and Pass Christian, MS, on Wednesday. We'll see how that goes!

What does cycling have to do with MDS?

2010-05-25T22:24:00.001-05:00

So, at the beginning of this academic year, I knew that on May 21st, 2010, I was going to be leaving my job as a Resident Director at Hesston College (Kansas) and thus also leaving my residence of the last 3 years. I got my BA in Bible/Religion/Philosophy from Goshen College (Indiana) just before coming to Hesston, and as I thought about leaving this position, my mind ran in several different directions when I would think about where my future may take me. As I pondered the next few years of my life, I thought back to two summers ago when I rode my bicycle with a friend (who was mid-way through the Trans American cycling route) from Hesston, KS, to Boise, ID. We did a fair amount of camping along the way and visited friends where we found them. The length of my ride was determined by how much time I had available at that point. In planning for my next transition, I knew I wanted to go on a big ride, I just didn't know how to set a goal for this trip. Then I spoke with one of my students at Hesston, Rudy Litwiller, who told me about his brother (and my former classmate at Goshen) Nathan “Chuck” Litwiller's adventure in his Volkswagen Bug. He and a friend got in his car in Illinois and ventured out to touch all of the contiguous 48 states in 8 days. When I saw a map of their route, I knew what I was going to do with my bicycle trip. Chuck, you have inspired me.

Now that I knew the “what”, “when”, and had a rough idea of the “where” for my first 6 months after leaving Hesston, I needed to answer another big question: Why? I'm walking away from what has been a pretty good job. I'm relatively financially stable, I have a matching couch/loveseat/armchair set, and a well furnished kitchen with table service for 8. I'm selling almost all of it, stashing the remnants with my parents, and disappearing on my bicycle for 6 months or so. Was there any greater purpose than just my own selfish ambitions of taking a 6 month vacation while I was unemployed? I didn't know if there was, but I knew there should be. After seeking council from various friends, and a bit of deliberation of my own, I decided that I wanted to do something for Mennonite Disaster Service. I'm a fan of Mennonites. They've got a pretty well established network of congregations and conferences, and I'm pretty well connected in the Mennonite world already, having grown up in Henderson, NE, gone to college at Goshen College, and worked at Hesston College. MDS became my focus because I like the way they do things.

I have spoken with and seen individuals from a wide range of theological/political/ideological philosophies that have worked with MDS in some form. Their ministry is practical. They don't go into an area that has been decimated by a disaster to beat people over the head with their Bible until they “convert”, rewarding the conversion with a new house. Their ministry IS building that house. Jesus says we're supposed to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, care for the sick, and visit the prisoner. MDS meets the needs of people caught in awful situations and empowers them to take further steps to increase their standard of living, all while not being shy or quiet about why.

Helping to meet the needs of individuals that have no other options after a natural disaster is something that I believe anyone of any faith background can get behind. I'm not saying that MDS is perfect or that they're the only ones doing things “right”, but they are definitely doing some great things for a lot of people.