Well, the title of this post tells it all-- we arrived in Seattle a month and 4 hours ago, and, frankly, I've been trying to remind (okay, convince) myself that it happened, at all.
And that's hard to do.
Sure, I can feel the physical difference; my legs feel stronger than they ever have, and when I've played tennis or gone for shorter bike rides (i.e. 30-35 mi.) I recognize that my stamina is greatly improved since May.
But another part of me feels like it was a fleeting dream, an insurmountable, ridiculous flight of fancy that came and went like so much else in life. My duffel bag's still sitting on the floor of my room, half-packed; my Thermarest's still snugged into one side, and my Camelbak has a stack of B&B business cards that I didn't get around to handing out. Bike jerseys and spandex are scattered about my floor. But these relics have no visceral connection to the summer that we all shared-- their presence is arbitrary, unrelated. I know it happened, and I'm so grateful that it happened, but I could very well have heard about the trip from a friend. Even when I see a picture of my face grinning idiotically out at me from the top of Teton Pass, it seems like the face of a stranger.
I think that's what was at the crux of my last post-- I want something to hold on to, a reminder that will stick with me. I need another way to remember the trip. And I don't know what that might be.
Lately, when people ask me about my summer I say that it was "fantastic." And each time I'm more deeply aware of the word's root:
Fantasy.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Fading
Hello all,Sorry I've been so long in writing again. Seems there's not much to write about on a blog about biking across the country when you've just finished biking across the country...
I've been home for 3 days now, after spending a week or so traveling w/ the fam: first up to Lopez Island in the San Juans, then through Seattle again (saw a Mariners game and then got to hang out w/ Terra and Erin one more time...), then to Mt. Hood for some hiking, then down to Portland, where we stayed with the Carrs, who may very well be the best hosts of all time. It was all fun, and I decided that I really (really.) like the Northwest, and will probably end up there at some point in my life.
Vermont is hazy, hot, and humid, although the thunderstorms crashing outside my window at the moment will probably pull all that from the air and leave everything refreshed, and a little bit deafened.
I miss all you B&Bers with an intensity and depth beyond what I was expecting. I've been thinking about you, and about the trip quite a bit, because there's not much else to do in Vermont.
I finally got my bike back yesterday, and put it together this afternoon in the yard. That fateful Puget Sound soaking wasn't the best thing I did to it this summer, but the briny crust came off easily enough, and it got me thinking.
As I pulled the last kelpy vestiges from my spokes, I considered the nature of reminders, of memory, physical and mental. This summer was, to use the cliche, unforgettable. That much is undeniable. But what do we have to remember it by? How has the trip marked me? How will it stay with me?
The ding in my downtube is from a wipeout in Columbus, on the way out of the JCC. It'll be there forever. The sand in my bartape is from the Golden Gardens beach, and it is somewhat less permanent. Marks on my flesh have been fading gradually since the 13th: the dull pain in my sit-bones was the first thing to go, thankfully. Scabs from wipeouts and construction mishaps have been flaking off of knees and hands, leaving a few scars but nothing else. My tan is fading, the stark lines on arms and thighs blurring perceptibly. The callouses on the base of my palms have withdrawn, and the tingling in my pinkies has subsided.
All of these were comforting reminders of a summer of effort, of hard work. I cherished each one, not because I have a morbid fascination with scars and scabs, but because they were physical links to the past, to a summer that seemed to stretch out to the horizon in June but ended, like all summers, much too soon. As they disappear, I fear, so will specific memories of the trip. Like bruises, the stories will fade, little by little.I used to wish that humans were blessed not just with a cerebral memory but also a more physical one, so that certain sensations-- a great hug, a deep kiss-- could stay with us in a visceral sense. So that when they came to mind we felt them all over again.
I feel the same way now-- I wish that we could hold on to our scars and tan-lines, and with them hold on to our summer. I know that, through pictures and conversations and my own fickle, inadequate memory, the trip will live on forever. I just wish that I felt more confident in that knowledge.
More to come, I hope. Thanks for reading.
Love to all,
Sam
Friday, August 17, 2007
Narration
Our arrival in Seattle was the same as many other Bike and Build arrivals: late.
We left Everett, a sketchy little port town North of the city, at about 10:30 am, after dallying around the church eating pancakes and getting “Mocha Monday” coffees at the espresso shack across the street. Our crowd of 17 or so meandered down Route 99, the local business strip, blocking a lane of traffic and laughing and screaming and generally being ridiculous. Eventually the groups split for bathroom breaks, then split again, and all of a sudden we were down to seven people, at the very back of the pack. We (Derrick, Terra, Amelia, Terra, Emily, Whitney, and I) narrowly avoided missing the turn that everyone else overlooked and made it to the agreed-upon meeting point for our triumphant ride down to the park, and found out from Logan (who was waiting at the top of the hill, bum knee and all back on the bike) that everyone else had skipped the turn and would be arriving “momentarily.” Now, momentarily can mean anything from ten minutes to 2 hours, so we hunkered down to wait. Some time later—I’m not sure exactly how long, because my adrenaline was so absurd and I’d had a triple iced mocha—a group of stragglers showed up, and then a few more came in, and then a larger group, and eventually we were all there, together, finally.
The ride downhill to Golden Gardens park was exhilarating and gorgeous. The weather was warm, breezy, and as we wound through dappled forest we caught glimpses of Puget Sound laid out like a red (okay, blue…) carpet. Our screaming grew more pronounced as we reached sea level, and when we rounded a corner to see our family with banners and bunting and champagne and clapping we sped up, hearts and lumps in throats. My family was front right, beaming like a beacon, and we could all pick out other parents from their incredible resemblances to their progeny. It was a spectacular moment, on par with the first time I really kissed a girl and getting in to college and graduating from said college, but it was so much more. We’d accomplished an immense physical feat and this was our reward; a visible boundary, a tangible experience, the counterpart to our “wheel dipping” ceremony in Providence some 2 months and 3 days earlier.
So what did we do?
We ran screaming, fully clothed, shedding Camel Baks and helmets and shoes (some of us…) in our wake, into Puget Sound, like four-year-olds.
It was cold.
But we were full of adrenaline and love and joy. And that canceled all of the cold out, at least for about thirty minutes.
All of the shrieking and champagne-tossing and jumping and hugging portrayed below happened, and gradually the realization that we’d accomplished what we set out to do so long before sank in. And then we pulled our bikes out of the salt water (I’m terrified to think of the ramifications of that dunking) and rinsed ‘em off and pulled the kelp from the spokes and hugged families and hugged each other and ate too many hamburgers and drank more champagne and grinned like idiots at the world.
And it was cold. Like, hysterically cold, teeth-chattering like maracas and huddling together for warmth in the burger buffet line cold, seeking out sun and Dad’s jackets and little brother’s sweatshirts cold. But we got over that, too, because we’d gotten to Seattle on our bikes and nothing, not even the Pacific Northwest’s finicky, salty breezes and bone-chilling water temperatures, could quell the fiery pride that sang in our hearts that afternoon.
Biked and Built, baby.
More soon. Stay posted.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
ARRIVAL
Golden Gardens, Seattle, an hour late but right on time in our books. Sorry 'bout the shaky camera work, I blame my brother (Joey "Blair Witch" Carmichael)...
WE MADE IT!!!!!
I mean, what, you didn't think we would?
Rode into Seattle on the 13th, an hour behind schedule. Lots of amazing things happened, all of which I'll write about very shortly. For now, internet access is spotty, and I'm traveling w/ the fam, so it'll be a lil' while. But I assure you, the next post will be extensive, nostalgic, and full of inspiring photography.
Love to all, and thanks for reading,
Sam
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Reality sets in...
Well folks, we've got four days left till we reach Seattle. Time really has a way of catching up to you when you're blissfully unaware that it's been passing.I've had a few conversations about what other riders think about when they're on their bikes. I've already talked about Terra's random mantras. Bronwyn says that she prays a lot. She also spends a lot of time thinking about farting, judging from the many conversations we've shared on that topic. Nate said "I don't think about anything. No... I take that back. I actually spend a lot of time thinking about what I've been thinking about." Candace sings selections from "Oklahoma" at high volumes, leading me to believe that she's not thinking about much at all.
Lately, I've been thinking about how bizarre the transition from fantasy to reality is going to be. Or, rather, from one reality to another. It's amazing to consider all the things we've come to accept as mundane, everyday occurrences. Before this trip, my earliest class was at 1pm, a pleasant fact that allowed me to wake up at about 12:30.
PM.
On B&B, there have been days when I've ridden 103 miles before noon. We get up at 5, or 6, and promptly rub any number of the following substances on our bodies:
-Butt-Butter/Chamois Cream/Vaseline/Gold Bond Cream on to the most private places you can imagine, in staggering quantities.
-Deodorant for the most considerate riders.
-Gold Bond Powder for those who prefer the "dry" solution to chafing.
-Sun-Screen, anywhere from SPF 15 to SPF 50 (for Emily and Greg, whose shared skin tone falls somewhere between alabaster and eggshell).
-Moisturizer/Aloe Lotion for those who have forgotten the above step and wish to retain their outermost epidermis.
We also pray to all that is holy that our spandex and jersey have managed to dry fully overnight. Putting on wet spandex, over cold (sometimes mentholated) butt-butter is second only to vicious plaque scrapings in my list of the most dreadful physical sensations I've ever experienced.I've already sketched out the ridiculous amount we eat in numerous postings. Coming down from our carbo/calorie-loading high will be tough, too. I think we've all got the metabolisms of gerbils by now. Save Logan, whose energy consumption is probably on par with most of the towns and cities we've visited. Combined.
I won't get into the initial crotchety creaking and cranking it takes to contort our bodies onto bike seats and into clipless pedals at 7am. The sounds that come from 30 people doing bike/person origami are often funny, and sometimes heartbreaking.
At some point in the day, we reapply gels and creams and lotions and ointments to our nether-regions, and often top it off by ingesting other similar substances, called "GU" or "Hammer Gel," or "Honey Stingers." These have the consistency of motor oil or whale snot. I would imagine. But they sure getcha up the hills.
When we reach our host site, we explode the contents of the trailer into the most sacred spaces of whichever church is generous enough to host us, and a fine mist of bike grease and butt-butter-vapor settles delicately over every surface. As soon as showers are located, we rush off, dropping socks and twice-worn boxers in our wake. These showers are usually communal, and Greg usually does something ridiculous. We've all become more... open? comfortable?... with our bodies and those of others on this trip, as seen from previous posts. After all, we've all got 'em, right?
After we've eaten about 3 gallons of food each, we fall asleep at 9:30. Now, I haven't fallen asleep at 9:30 since I was 8. But I sleep like a baby every time. And then we get up and do the same thing the next day.
It's bizarre to describe this insane routine and feel nostalgia, but that's just what it provokes in me. In all of us.
As I said before, time oscillates on the trip-- when on bikes, it passes incrementally and then, all of a sudden, the day's over.
Okay, in Nebraska time passes at the same lethargic pace no matter what you're doing.
Lately, when friendly strangers ask where we're coming from, I tell them "Providence. We left yesterday morning!" It usually gets a laugh, but for me that answer tells it all. That's how it feels.
We left yesterday, and tomorrow's here.
Monday, August 6, 2007
The many faces of Bike and Build
So, turns out that many of the people I'm surrounded by on this trip are ridiculously funny, and often make great faces in random pictures... witness below...
This is just thanks to Apple's "PhotoBooth" app. It's amazing. We were all slightly delirious, and laughed for about 25 minutes about the different faces people made.
This is a 6-scoop, 6-topping ice-cream sundae on a bed of caramel and brownies called the "Supernova" at the Big Dipper in Missoula. Terra and I ordered it, and when the scooper asked how many spoons we needed, I replied "two." Her eyes about bugged out of her head, and our fellow line-standers (there were prolly more than 30) all ooh-ed and aah-ed like circus-goers. Apparently no-one here has heard of the Vermonster. We polished it off handily, like most food that ends up around B&B'ers. And that was 30 minutes after a huge taco dinner and 6 popsicles. Mmmmm, I'm gonna miss this sort of overindulgence.
This is our dollar bill from the "Steak/Coffee/Bunkhouse" that saved our lives on that fateful century day. In the bar, it was customary to sign a buck and tape it somewhere. Most of them were marginally offensive. Ours sez "Buck The Headwind-- P2S 2007" and has a house around George's head. It's near the jukebox, look for it if you're ever in the area.
And this one? This is just funny. It was in Targhee National Forest, at the "Lower Mesa Falls" info station. I like this picture a little bit too much.
Also, for all the fam, this is awesome. I've never heard of this chain, but apparently they're all over the Northwest. I was a lil bit excited, and hoped they'd give me a free ticket, or at least a discount. No such luck, but it was still funny to see my name in lights. However abbreviated.
This is just thanks to Apple's "PhotoBooth" app. It's amazing. We were all slightly delirious, and laughed for about 25 minutes about the different faces people made.
This is a 6-scoop, 6-topping ice-cream sundae on a bed of caramel and brownies called the "Supernova" at the Big Dipper in Missoula. Terra and I ordered it, and when the scooper asked how many spoons we needed, I replied "two." Her eyes about bugged out of her head, and our fellow line-standers (there were prolly more than 30) all ooh-ed and aah-ed like circus-goers. Apparently no-one here has heard of the Vermonster. We polished it off handily, like most food that ends up around B&B'ers. And that was 30 minutes after a huge taco dinner and 6 popsicles. Mmmmm, I'm gonna miss this sort of overindulgence.
This is our dollar bill from the "Steak/Coffee/Bunkhouse" that saved our lives on that fateful century day. In the bar, it was customary to sign a buck and tape it somewhere. Most of them were marginally offensive. Ours sez "Buck The Headwind-- P2S 2007" and has a house around George's head. It's near the jukebox, look for it if you're ever in the area.
And this one? This is just funny. It was in Targhee National Forest, at the "Lower Mesa Falls" info station. I like this picture a little bit too much.
Also, for all the fam, this is awesome. I've never heard of this chain, but apparently they're all over the Northwest. I was a lil bit excited, and hoped they'd give me a free ticket, or at least a discount. No such luck, but it was still funny to see my name in lights. However abbreviated.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Goodbye Montana
I'll miss you so, Montana.
The headwind seems like a trifling memory, a brief squabble, a lover's quarrel. Your hills, in retrospect, seem like minute rumblestrips on our State Route to love. Your locals, two of whom flicked off members of our group, must have just been having bad days. Your rodeo patrons, many inebriated, possessed their own rugged, rough 'n tumble charm.
Because, in the end, you were a beautiful, rewarding state, and we've all left you for Idaho. Even its name is less appealing than your Spanish-derived syllables. In fact, according to historians, it's totally made up. Just look!
Missoula was a delight, full of cultural events, coffeeshops, ethnic food, and even The Simpsons Movie. Even Superior, despite its tiny population, was welcoming and intriguing, throwing in some local flair with a durn tootin' real rodeo and a "Milk Can Dinner." And our rides the last few days have been picturesque (one local described them as "panoramic, causing a bit of head-scratching from my fellow riders...) and lenient w/ the hills. Yesterday featured a 2-hour swimming-hole lunch stop and some hysterical riding maneuvers (more on that later, if you're lucky), and today's ride featured a gradual 40-mile uphill and a gratifying 20-mile downhill into Idaho, along a beautiful (and I mean beautiful) bike path. I'll post pics soon...
But for now, here's a little teaser. I don't know who took it, or who's in it, or where it is, but I've got a few guesses...
The headwind seems like a trifling memory, a brief squabble, a lover's quarrel. Your hills, in retrospect, seem like minute rumblestrips on our State Route to love. Your locals, two of whom flicked off members of our group, must have just been having bad days. Your rodeo patrons, many inebriated, possessed their own rugged, rough 'n tumble charm.
Because, in the end, you were a beautiful, rewarding state, and we've all left you for Idaho. Even its name is less appealing than your Spanish-derived syllables. In fact, according to historians, it's totally made up. Just look!
Missoula was a delight, full of cultural events, coffeeshops, ethnic food, and even The Simpsons Movie. Even Superior, despite its tiny population, was welcoming and intriguing, throwing in some local flair with a durn tootin' real rodeo and a "Milk Can Dinner." And our rides the last few days have been picturesque (one local described them as "panoramic, causing a bit of head-scratching from my fellow riders...) and lenient w/ the hills. Yesterday featured a 2-hour swimming-hole lunch stop and some hysterical riding maneuvers (more on that later, if you're lucky), and today's ride featured a gradual 40-mile uphill and a gratifying 20-mile downhill into Idaho, along a beautiful (and I mean beautiful) bike path. I'll post pics soon...
But for now, here's a little teaser. I don't know who took it, or who's in it, or where it is, but I've got a few guesses...
Thursday, August 2, 2007
A view from the top of Teton Pass
I'll write more about this shortly. This demonstrates the exhilaration and exhaustion we all felt. What a ridiculous day...
And now, to parrot my good friend Bridget's tactics, I'll be excerpting part of her blog, on mine. It's partly because I so greatly respect her writing style (and sense of humor) but mostly because I'm, well, lazy. And I think she captures the "Teton Pass Day" so succinctly.
From http://bridgetbikesacrossamerica.blogspot.com.
30 bikers. 3000 feet. 5 miles. 10% grade. 5 mph. 6am. Arm Warmers. Leg Warmers. Clouds. Fog. Sweat. 55 Minutes. One Motorcycle ride. Success! Tetons what?
When we finally all got to the top a bunch of us decided we hadn't done enough exercise so we took a hike to the top of the mountain. We were 9,000 feet up but the clouds kept moving in and out so we had to rush so we could actually see once we got to the top. Rushing and hiking wasn't really in Derrick's vocab however, as he is afraid of heights. When we finally did make it to the top luck was on our side because the clouds cleared and we could see for miles. It was gorgeous.
After our hike more bikers arrived and we all decided we would wait for everyone to get to the top before we descended the mountain. Everyone arrived in their own style. Sarah by motorcycle. Brianne in tears of joy and our sweeps Tommy and Eric sprinted through our victory line. Actually making it up the pass and then watching everyone else make it up, made what we call "Teton pass day" the best day of the trip for me thus far.
Thanks Bridget!
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
This State is Montana, M-O-N-T-A-N-A
Okay, okay, okay, Montana's not actually THAT bad. It's been beautiful, and, yes, one of the hardest states we've ridden yet.Montana's given us:
1. Two trips over the Continental Divide
2. 158 miles over two days of the heaviest, most consistent headwinds we've seen so far
3. Just to clarify, that includes a 55 mile ride in which we went down the West side of the Divide and encountered downhills on which we were pedaling vigorously to reach the thrilling speed of 12 mph.
4. One-foot-wide shoulders and double-long logging trucks-- that's a semi-truck, a 17' tall trailer full of trees, and then another trailer attached to THAT one whistling by behind it.
Despite all the above bitching, Bozeman, Helena, Lincoln, and Missoula have all been awesome towns (okay, small cities...). The ride into Bozeman from West Yellowstone was stunning-- 90ish miles up into Yellowstone Park (the only time we got to head through it, unfortunately, due to miscommunication...) and then down along the Gallatin River on rt. 191. For a better concept of just how cool this was, check out this Google map. The whole road was along the Gallatin-- we saw its headwaters up at the top of the pass near West Yellowstone, Idaho, and by the time we hit bottom in Bozeman it had widened and deepened substantially. The narrow, winding road was a bit sketchy, but nothing we hadn't seen before. And it was simply gorgeous. I kept saying "Wow" aloud and under my breath, until I got sick of it and had to switch to "Gosh." And Bozeman was a blast, too-- beautiful religious center on campus and one of the best Co-ops I've ever seen (it almost gave the Brattleboro Co-op a run for the money, and that's saying a lot!...). And, as described below, a great little cafe, where I think Marie and I convinced the barista to do Bike & Build next year. Montana blows me away because it's a gorgeous place full of beautiful, active people, and seems less overrun by tourists than, say, Jackson or West Yellowstone.
The next day's ride, from Bozeman to Helena, was our last, grueling century-- 103ish miles over tough, dry terrain in 100ish heat. Marie and I rode into first lunch--32 miles-- in about an hour and a half. That was great.
And then we tackled Montana's high desert. Or, more accurately, it tackled us.
There was a deadly climb up to a plateau that we managed just fine, but the 10-mile downhill was probably the most difficult bit of cycling I'd ever done. I called it "Teton Pass upside-down" because we were pushing 13 mph at the end of our wits. We ran into Amelia halfway down, stretching, and all teamed up to run a paceline against the wind. When we hit the bottom, we were thrilled to see a "Bunkhouse/Steakhouse/Bar" with a few locals hunkered down inside.
Wilma, our bartender, served up ice-cold fountain sodas for all three of us, and when we'd been adequately revived enough to tell her about our trip she gave 'em to us for free.
It was the best possible experience given our mental and physical state. Second lunch came just after that, and then a long haul into Helena. We played the 3-mile long question game, in which one rider asks a question (ideally an open-ended one) and the others have 3 miles to think about their answers. It makes the time go downright quickly. Even WITH the 3-mile-Q game the ride was tough-- we saw forest fires and were passed by a house on a truck, and we got rained on and hit by a 30mph broadside gust and damn near hit the wall a few miles out of the city. But teamwork and adrenaline got us through and to a beautiful little church on top of Helena's hill-top downtown. Here's a pic. I've gotta run to dinner here in Missoula, but will be back with much more after the jump. Love to all.
Epistle
7/29/07
Dear Montana,
I’ve only just met you and I think I’m in love. We first saw each other this morning, somewhere between West Yellowstone and Bozeman, and it was (forgive the cliché) love at first sight. You were cool and curvaceous, laying out lazily all along the Gallatin. We got along immediately, and all my friends liked you too—at first lunch everybody was talking about your looks and your style. I couldn’t believe my luck.
You’ll be in my dreams tonight. I can’t wait to see you again tomorrow.
xoxo,
Sammy-poo
7/30/07
Dear Montana,
The day started with coffee in Bozeman: a great beginning, or so I thought. The Rockford Café was a great little place, and with a belly full of French roast and our friend Marie tagging along, I knew that the next 100 miles with you were going to be unforgettable.
But then you totally dried up on me.
You blew a bunch of hot air in my face, something about the weather changing in our relationship, and then left me hanging. I felt like the rest of the day was interminably long—I had to struggle uphill against you and then when that conflict was resolved the decision was totally dissatisfying. Even when the fight leveled off I felt like it was an uphill battle, the same thing again and again.
I don’t know what to say, Montana. I had such high hopes yesterday, and things feel… different. When you’re not spitting wind and heat at me you’re cold and distant, desolate and teary.
I’m worried.
Sincerely,
Sam
7/31/07
Montana:
This is the last straw. I thought today was going to be short and sweet. I knew that there was a tough pass to navigate, but I thought we’d make it through unscathed. Little did I know that with you, even the easiest days can turn out deadly. We started the morning in a fight—that hot air from yesterday was even worse than before, and I was looking at a long uphill battle all day. You were beautiful as always, but inconsolable. I had to gaze upon you from afar. The distance was unbearable.
Even after the rough section I foresaw had passed, the conflict wasn’t over. It only got worse, because the end was in sight but I knew we had a long ways to go before we would rest.
I also heard a lot of nasty rumors—that a lot of cowboys have… ridden… you before, and that you’d even sheltered the Unabomber at one point. Now Montana, I’ve seen states with some pretty crazy exes, but that guy takes the cake. I don't want to think about what could happen if he gets out of jail.
Don’t get me wrong; you’re hot. Really, really hot. On fire. Literally. And you’re cool. Sometimes downright chilly. But I just don’t see this working out, for now or in the long-term. Besides, I was just out to get some tail. Wind, I mean.
All best in your future endeavors,
Samuel Cummings Carmichael
PS—I’ve been cheating on you with Wyoming.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
A few pictures from the camera-less ride
Both of these are from our ride over Togwotee Pass-- thanks to Bronwyn for her photographic skills...
The first was taken riding out from the pass, and the second from the Snake River Valley floor, looking up at the Tetons.
What a ride.
The first was taken riding out from the pass, and the second from the Snake River Valley floor, looking up at the Tetons.
What a ride.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Jackson, Wyoming
The Continental divide is marked by a small green sign at 9,658 feet on Wyoming's Route 26. It sits below two towering rock ramparts that look like castle tops, just past a glassy mountain lake frequented by fisherman and road-trippers. And tired bikers.
Yesterday we rode over the continental divide from Dubois (pronounced DOO-boys by the locals) in to Jackson. I swept with Elle. The day dawned bleak, with clouds and rain showers, and 50% chance of thunderstorms, all day. According to all the locals we talked to, this was TERRIBLE news-- we would miss the storied "300-mile view" from atop the Rockies, and the ride would be marked by muddy work zones and irate RVers.
Thankfully, all that talk was unfounded. When we left, the weather was indeed funky, with scattered sprinkles and a mountain-y bite to the air. But we had bellies full of good coffee (thanks to "Kathy's Koffee" in Dubois) and everyone in front of us seemed giddy and ridiculous, always a good mental state to be in when you're about to climb over the Rockies on a bike.
The first 30 miles were almost entirely uphill, and we had to be ferried over a 4-mile stretch of intense construction (absolutely NO bikers allowed, so we didn't feel like big cheaters). At about mile 30 we officially hit the continental divide, at the top of Togwotee Pass. We had cold pizza for lunch under a "BEAR AWARE" sign warning us about over-friendly grizzlies and then got ready for the descent.
Note (forgive the hyperbole, it's the only thing that works): for much of this ride I was overcome with an overwhelming, transcendent euphoria. It was probably the altitude, some 4,000 feet above our starting point, and the lack of food, and the residual caffeine in my system, but I was never desensitized to the surrounding landscape. I've seen big mountains before, but these were unreal. When we crested the pass, the valley opened onto the Grand Tetons, a vast purple wall in the distance. Most of us thought they were clouds at first. It was funny; I forgot my camera in my duffel in the morning, so I didn't have it with me all day, but I'm almost glad that I went without. It made me scrutinize the environment more than I would have if I'd been peering at it through a 2" screen. I was totally consumed by the Tetons, the jagged teeth in the "maw" that I mentioned a few days ago. It was staggering. Pictures don't work. Words don't either, apparently.
All that said, I'll be stealing pictures from other riders. And I'll be back here again, I promise.
Elle and I had a great sweep tenure, helping with flats and sharing chocolate and waiting for the van with a big ol' group and Lauren, who'd fallen on the way down from the pass because her seat bolt freakin' sheared off. It's a 1-in-10,000 flaw, I think, and we're all profoundly grateful that she emerged with a touch of road rash and nothing more severe.
The rest of the ride was mostly downhills and flats, cruising through the Snake River valley and into Jackson. From the valley floor the Teton Range marches southward. The mountains are close enough to loom but far enough away to resist comprehension. Valleys and peaks and snow-filled couloirs all seem tossed together haphazardly. The Tetons tumble up into the sky until they're lost in the low-hanging clouds. Tourists fall out of minivans at view spots, stare agape along mountain flanks, then clamber back in for another mind-numbing stretch of road. We bikers were lost in the landscape, specks in the tourist flood.
Our build day today in Jackson was great-- we worked on two Habitat homes in Jackson's South Park neighborhood, about 10 minutes south of downtown. The median home price here is $1.7 million. Habitat builds 2-4 homes a year, with an average cost (land/supplies) of about $150-200,000, a whole lot more than other cities. But in a place where a 1/4-acre lot can go for over $100k on the open market, that's pretty damn good. We worked alongside Americorps Vista volunteers, fellow college- and post-college students working for a year or two in the area on service projects. They were great, and our boss Trace was also great-- as Tommy put it, he had the "walking around, cracking jokes, and making everyone feel good" thing down, which is essential for Habitat crew-chiefs. We did some finish work and driveway-forming on a house that's being dedicated next Tuesday and most of the ladies in the group worked on a "Women's Build" site across the way.
We were also pleasantly surprised by a visit from Ken and Lisa Pelotti, who we'd met in Lander a few days earlier. They're the owners of Muscle Works (www.rebuild2.com), a sports/training supplement company based in Texas, and after they heard about our trip they both encouraged Elle, Bronwyn, and I to try their muscle recovery and electrolyte boost pills/powders. Today they pulled up to our build site with two boxes full of freebies, an invaluable gift for us, and for our muscles. I'm excited to see how the Rebuild helps with my recovery-- I'm expecting big things. Ken and Lisa: you guys rock!
According to Tommy, tomorrow will be our definitive climb-- we're going up about 4,000 vertical feet in 5 miles. For those of you who'd like to simulate this experience, try this:
1. Find your heaviest rolling pin.
2. Straddle a well-used sawhorse.
3. Start bouncing up and down on it.
4. Pummel your thighs spiritedly with the rolling pin for about an hour.
5. (Advanced) If you really want the whole package, have a friend flick flies into your mouth as he pours hot, salty water over your head.
Just kidding.
Kinda.
Once again, I'm creepily exhilarated to go up another honest-to-god mountain.
Wow, this post just crossed the line into loooooooooong territory. Sorry for the reading fatigue-- I'll upload more pictures shortly and I'll also be sure to fill you in on the spaceship-like organ from my previous post. That was quite the night, let me tell you.
All the best from 6200'
-Sam
Yesterday we rode over the continental divide from Dubois (pronounced DOO-boys by the locals) in to Jackson. I swept with Elle. The day dawned bleak, with clouds and rain showers, and 50% chance of thunderstorms, all day. According to all the locals we talked to, this was TERRIBLE news-- we would miss the storied "300-mile view" from atop the Rockies, and the ride would be marked by muddy work zones and irate RVers.
Thankfully, all that talk was unfounded. When we left, the weather was indeed funky, with scattered sprinkles and a mountain-y bite to the air. But we had bellies full of good coffee (thanks to "Kathy's Koffee" in Dubois) and everyone in front of us seemed giddy and ridiculous, always a good mental state to be in when you're about to climb over the Rockies on a bike.
The first 30 miles were almost entirely uphill, and we had to be ferried over a 4-mile stretch of intense construction (absolutely NO bikers allowed, so we didn't feel like big cheaters). At about mile 30 we officially hit the continental divide, at the top of Togwotee Pass. We had cold pizza for lunch under a "BEAR AWARE" sign warning us about over-friendly grizzlies and then got ready for the descent.
Note (forgive the hyperbole, it's the only thing that works): for much of this ride I was overcome with an overwhelming, transcendent euphoria. It was probably the altitude, some 4,000 feet above our starting point, and the lack of food, and the residual caffeine in my system, but I was never desensitized to the surrounding landscape. I've seen big mountains before, but these were unreal. When we crested the pass, the valley opened onto the Grand Tetons, a vast purple wall in the distance. Most of us thought they were clouds at first. It was funny; I forgot my camera in my duffel in the morning, so I didn't have it with me all day, but I'm almost glad that I went without. It made me scrutinize the environment more than I would have if I'd been peering at it through a 2" screen. I was totally consumed by the Tetons, the jagged teeth in the "maw" that I mentioned a few days ago. It was staggering. Pictures don't work. Words don't either, apparently.
All that said, I'll be stealing pictures from other riders. And I'll be back here again, I promise.
Elle and I had a great sweep tenure, helping with flats and sharing chocolate and waiting for the van with a big ol' group and Lauren, who'd fallen on the way down from the pass because her seat bolt freakin' sheared off. It's a 1-in-10,000 flaw, I think, and we're all profoundly grateful that she emerged with a touch of road rash and nothing more severe.
The rest of the ride was mostly downhills and flats, cruising through the Snake River valley and into Jackson. From the valley floor the Teton Range marches southward. The mountains are close enough to loom but far enough away to resist comprehension. Valleys and peaks and snow-filled couloirs all seem tossed together haphazardly. The Tetons tumble up into the sky until they're lost in the low-hanging clouds. Tourists fall out of minivans at view spots, stare agape along mountain flanks, then clamber back in for another mind-numbing stretch of road. We bikers were lost in the landscape, specks in the tourist flood.
Our build day today in Jackson was great-- we worked on two Habitat homes in Jackson's South Park neighborhood, about 10 minutes south of downtown. The median home price here is $1.7 million. Habitat builds 2-4 homes a year, with an average cost (land/supplies) of about $150-200,000, a whole lot more than other cities. But in a place where a 1/4-acre lot can go for over $100k on the open market, that's pretty damn good. We worked alongside Americorps Vista volunteers, fellow college- and post-college students working for a year or two in the area on service projects. They were great, and our boss Trace was also great-- as Tommy put it, he had the "walking around, cracking jokes, and making everyone feel good" thing down, which is essential for Habitat crew-chiefs. We did some finish work and driveway-forming on a house that's being dedicated next Tuesday and most of the ladies in the group worked on a "Women's Build" site across the way.
We were also pleasantly surprised by a visit from Ken and Lisa Pelotti, who we'd met in Lander a few days earlier. They're the owners of Muscle Works (www.rebuild2.com), a sports/training supplement company based in Texas, and after they heard about our trip they both encouraged Elle, Bronwyn, and I to try their muscle recovery and electrolyte boost pills/powders. Today they pulled up to our build site with two boxes full of freebies, an invaluable gift for us, and for our muscles. I'm excited to see how the Rebuild helps with my recovery-- I'm expecting big things. Ken and Lisa: you guys rock!
According to Tommy, tomorrow will be our definitive climb-- we're going up about 4,000 vertical feet in 5 miles. For those of you who'd like to simulate this experience, try this:
1. Find your heaviest rolling pin.
2. Straddle a well-used sawhorse.
3. Start bouncing up and down on it.
4. Pummel your thighs spiritedly with the rolling pin for about an hour.
5. (Advanced) If you really want the whole package, have a friend flick flies into your mouth as he pours hot, salty water over your head.
Just kidding.
Kinda.
Once again, I'm creepily exhilarated to go up another honest-to-god mountain.
Wow, this post just crossed the line into loooooooooong territory. Sorry for the reading fatigue-- I'll upload more pictures shortly and I'll also be sure to fill you in on the spaceship-like organ from my previous post. That was quite the night, let me tell you.
All the best from 6200'
-Sam
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
A Photo Blog, for now
Too tired to write much now, so I'm showing, not telling. Will have more details tomorrow, or the day after, upon arrival in Jackson (I can't WAIT)...
Monday, July 23, 2007
The Foot of the Rockies
Yup, here they are, as expected: looming at the end of a long, flat, hot road. Bronwyn and I crested a hill at about 9:30 this morning, and she shouted "I think I see snow!" The morning was hazy, so I held my judgment until we were a lil' bit closer. But she was right. There they were, the snow-covered peaks of the Wind River range (the start o' the Continental Divide) and they were there all day, at the edge of the horizon. The plains started rolling and bucking as we got nearer, then lay down worshipfully before them.
We're here in Lander, Wyoming, an awesome little town. It's home to NOLS headquarters and an avidly outdoorsy population. They've also got a few great little coffee shops (I scoped 'em all out) and an awesome local bar/grill where we got lunch at noon, upon rolling in.
The ride yesterday was a grueling litmus test of our cycling ability: 103 miles, at about 105 degrees, across Wyoming's high desert. We passed through "Hell's Half-Acre," a profound depression at the top of a plateau where they filmed Starship Troopers (whoop-dee-doo...). It was very cool-- see pics. That was our First Lunch stop, and we hung out for a little while before the intensity of the high-noon sun forced us back on our bikes. The rest of the ride consisted of a 40-mile cruise along long, gradual downhill canyons and then a grueling fight against a 10-mile headwind maelstrom in to Shoshoni. Ironically, the last riders and the sweeps were caught up in a brief rain shower and then coasted into town at 30 on a rain-cooled tailwind. Karma, I guess. Or another iteration of the Tortoise and the Hare (thanks for that one, Dad).
Our ride today was a much more pleasant affair, though I felt the entire time that I was willfully riding towards the maw of some gargantuan, cyclist-eating beast. The jagged peaks of the Tetons rise up behind the gentler, grassier Wind River mountains, and at the very top of a few there's the gleam of summer snow. Tomorrow's ride will be marked by a few climbs, but the next day's features a THIRTY MILE CLIMB over the top and down into Jackson.
You heard me right. Thirty Miles. Not three, not thirteen, but thirty. And it's my sweep day. I'm actually thrilled about it. Don't ask me why, b/c I couldn't really explain it. But the euphoria's there.
Tonight we're going for a BBQ furnished by a local community church and then splitting up to spend the night in actual homes! It really caps a funny three-night experience-- last night we stayed in the Shoshoni Volunteer Firehouse, and the two nights before we were in Casper's Drum & Bugle Corps HQ and offices. People slept in the Boardroom. Ah well. Anywhere there's a floor works when you've got a Thermarest, I guess.
Enough for now. I might write a bit more later, if I find another WiFi connection.
-S
PS-- Here's a nice note to end on. I was worried I'd be picked off by a sniper on the roof, but luckily I escaped from my act of insubordination unscathed. Apparently most of the folks in Casper don't think too highly of Dick C either...
Friday, July 20, 2007
Cowboys 'n Jackalopes
Howdy y'all,
I'm in Casper, Wyoming, a city of about 50,000, with one glaring claim to fame (aside from a Friendly Ghost); Dick Cheney's from here. We got to ride by Halliburton plants and the Dick Cheney Federal Building in town. Both experiences made me seethe with unadulterated liberal rage.
Despite being Satan's birthplace, Casper seems like a great little city, with a few nice coffee shops, a few nice breweries, a jazz club (!?!?!) and Taubert's Western Store, which boasts 9 floors of the finest cowboy boots $400 can buy. Just take a look at these babies:
The rides over the last 2 days have been easy, fun, and rewarding: 56 and 54 miles, with a slight tailwind, over amazing terrain, with amazing views. The sandhills of Nebraska have given way to buttes and the slightly imposing Laramie Range in Eastern Wyoming. The plains are uniformly khaki and seem to stretch out to the hazy horizon, and in places the sky seems imbued with bands of faded reds and greens. The train conductors lead mile-long coal trains and wave/sound their horns liberally. I realized a few weeks ago that all of the trains sound a major 6 chord-- I think it's a C chord, second inversion. For those of you who care (at all), that's also an A-minor 7, third inversion. Sometimes it's encouraging, other times mournful.
We've seen jackrabbits and buffalo and antelope ("Where seldom is heard a discouragin' word...) and even a few living and dead rattlesnakes. We rode through Glenrock, WY, which boasted (naturally) Glen Rock, a great sandy outcropping featuring hundreds of carved names and dates from Oregon-bound settlers throughout the ages. I distinctly remember seeing a scene like this in Oregon Trail, the computer game we played incessantly during indoor recess in 3rd grade. It seems everyone on the trip has fond memories of fording rivers and hunting for bears and buffalo until the game grew disgusted with their excess and cut them off.
Oh, speaking of excessive, here's a few of our state sign pics in Wyoming and looking back into Nebraska. This is but a taste of the ridiculousness that takes place at every Bike & Build state sign photo-shoot.
We're spending the next day-point-five here in Casper, and working on a Habitat site tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it-- it's been a while for some of us (half the group was rained out in Ames) and my knee's bothering me, so it'll be good to let it rest a bit. Most of us are freaking out about being in Wyoming-- it feels a little too close for comfort to Seattle. After being embedded in this routine, anything else (AKA the real world) seems downright terrifying.
Aight, enough from Casper. I'm glad so many people are reading and enjoying this blog (and Terra's) because I'm having fun writing it and sharing this crazy experience with all of you sane folks back home. I'll leave you with a few more pics, because sometimes those work better at conveying this place, and its space.
-Sam
I'm in Casper, Wyoming, a city of about 50,000, with one glaring claim to fame (aside from a Friendly Ghost); Dick Cheney's from here. We got to ride by Halliburton plants and the Dick Cheney Federal Building in town. Both experiences made me seethe with unadulterated liberal rage.
Despite being Satan's birthplace, Casper seems like a great little city, with a few nice coffee shops, a few nice breweries, a jazz club (!?!?!) and Taubert's Western Store, which boasts 9 floors of the finest cowboy boots $400 can buy. Just take a look at these babies:
The rides over the last 2 days have been easy, fun, and rewarding: 56 and 54 miles, with a slight tailwind, over amazing terrain, with amazing views. The sandhills of Nebraska have given way to buttes and the slightly imposing Laramie Range in Eastern Wyoming. The plains are uniformly khaki and seem to stretch out to the hazy horizon, and in places the sky seems imbued with bands of faded reds and greens. The train conductors lead mile-long coal trains and wave/sound their horns liberally. I realized a few weeks ago that all of the trains sound a major 6 chord-- I think it's a C chord, second inversion. For those of you who care (at all), that's also an A-minor 7, third inversion. Sometimes it's encouraging, other times mournful.
We've seen jackrabbits and buffalo and antelope ("Where seldom is heard a discouragin' word...) and even a few living and dead rattlesnakes. We rode through Glenrock, WY, which boasted (naturally) Glen Rock, a great sandy outcropping featuring hundreds of carved names and dates from Oregon-bound settlers throughout the ages. I distinctly remember seeing a scene like this in Oregon Trail, the computer game we played incessantly during indoor recess in 3rd grade. It seems everyone on the trip has fond memories of fording rivers and hunting for bears and buffalo until the game grew disgusted with their excess and cut them off.
Oh, speaking of excessive, here's a few of our state sign pics in Wyoming and looking back into Nebraska. This is but a taste of the ridiculousness that takes place at every Bike & Build state sign photo-shoot.
We're spending the next day-point-five here in Casper, and working on a Habitat site tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it-- it's been a while for some of us (half the group was rained out in Ames) and my knee's bothering me, so it'll be good to let it rest a bit. Most of us are freaking out about being in Wyoming-- it feels a little too close for comfort to Seattle. After being embedded in this routine, anything else (AKA the real world) seems downright terrifying.
Aight, enough from Casper. I'm glad so many people are reading and enjoying this blog (and Terra's) because I'm having fun writing it and sharing this crazy experience with all of you sane folks back home. I'll leave you with a few more pics, because sometimes those work better at conveying this place, and its space.
-Sam
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Through Nebraska on The Westward Ho
Yup, that's my bike name. The Westward Ho. Punny and marginally offensive, just like me.
I'm in Lusk, WYOMING at the moment, sheltering from the heat in an original Carnegie Library (which we've all come to regard very highly) on a computer donated by the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation to the town. It's an interesting confluence of philanthropy: the old money and the new, two different eras that boomed in their own spectacular fashion, and two controversial figures who gave a whole heckuvalot of money to a whole lotta people.
But enough on that. I'm in freakin' Wyoming. And I rode a bike here. With 29 other crazies. I believe that I'm really pushing this point because, for me, the West, as in Manifest Destiny-Trail of Tears-Yellowstone-Cowboys 'n Indians really starts here. The landscape, as you'll see in the next post (coming as soon as I get my own computer outta the van) is rolling and ridiculous-- buttes and prairie and tumbleweeds (yup, even saw one roll across the highway this morning) and bison! And we're at 5015' at the moment. Some people think the air feels thinner. I can't really notice a difference, but I might have grown accustomed to the lightheadedness and shortness of breath that a day's worth of riding in sun and heat brings no matter what the elevation.
I've really enjoyed Nebraska: the people have, as usual, been unfailingly generous and welcoming. An old-timer in Valentine (where all the street signs have hearts on 'em) gave me the baseball cap off his head: the "Buffalo Roundup" from South Dakota. He also told me we'd just missed the Rocky Mountain Oyster festival in town. For those of you who don't know, do yourself a favor: search for Rocky Mountain Oysters online. Lemme put it this way: I can't say I'm too disappointed that we missed the festival.
We also ran into two cross-country walkers: one doing it backwards (Mr. Bill, from Brattleboro VT no less-- I think he's a kook, but he CAN do 78 two-finger pushups in a minute) and another doing it forwards (http://walkforprogress.blogspot.com). Both had different reasons for doing what they do, but the mutual respect we all shared for one another was encouraging and exhilarating.
Today's ride was marked by a badass 1500-2000' climb over 4 miles into Nebraska's high country and a few ridiculous coal trains heading alongside the highway we were riding. We also took some humorous state sign pictures (as per usual) and generally freaked out about being in Wyoming already. It's a big country, but it feels like it's really flying by.
Tomorrow we head out of Lusk and to Pastor Struck's Ranch, about 50 miles away. We'll be riding horses and playing in a "water park" (I'm expecting a home-made slip 'n slide, but I'm secretly hoping for more elaborate structures) and then spending the night out there on the range. With the deer and the antelopes. The next day's another 50ish ride with a build day waiting at the end. We're all staring down the barrel at the Rockies, but the upcoming shorter distances are more than welcome. My next sweep day will be a ridiculous climb up to Jackson. I can't wait to see the views from the top.
All the best from the West,
Sam
I'm in Lusk, WYOMING at the moment, sheltering from the heat in an original Carnegie Library (which we've all come to regard very highly) on a computer donated by the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation to the town. It's an interesting confluence of philanthropy: the old money and the new, two different eras that boomed in their own spectacular fashion, and two controversial figures who gave a whole heckuvalot of money to a whole lotta people.
But enough on that. I'm in freakin' Wyoming. And I rode a bike here. With 29 other crazies. I believe that I'm really pushing this point because, for me, the West, as in Manifest Destiny-Trail of Tears-Yellowstone-Cowboys 'n Indians really starts here. The landscape, as you'll see in the next post (coming as soon as I get my own computer outta the van) is rolling and ridiculous-- buttes and prairie and tumbleweeds (yup, even saw one roll across the highway this morning) and bison! And we're at 5015' at the moment. Some people think the air feels thinner. I can't really notice a difference, but I might have grown accustomed to the lightheadedness and shortness of breath that a day's worth of riding in sun and heat brings no matter what the elevation.
I've really enjoyed Nebraska: the people have, as usual, been unfailingly generous and welcoming. An old-timer in Valentine (where all the street signs have hearts on 'em) gave me the baseball cap off his head: the "Buffalo Roundup" from South Dakota. He also told me we'd just missed the Rocky Mountain Oyster festival in town. For those of you who don't know, do yourself a favor: search for Rocky Mountain Oysters online. Lemme put it this way: I can't say I'm too disappointed that we missed the festival.
We also ran into two cross-country walkers: one doing it backwards (Mr. Bill, from Brattleboro VT no less-- I think he's a kook, but he CAN do 78 two-finger pushups in a minute) and another doing it forwards (http://walkforprogress.blogspot.com). Both had different reasons for doing what they do, but the mutual respect we all shared for one another was encouraging and exhilarating.
Today's ride was marked by a badass 1500-2000' climb over 4 miles into Nebraska's high country and a few ridiculous coal trains heading alongside the highway we were riding. We also took some humorous state sign pictures (as per usual) and generally freaked out about being in Wyoming already. It's a big country, but it feels like it's really flying by.
Tomorrow we head out of Lusk and to Pastor Struck's Ranch, about 50 miles away. We'll be riding horses and playing in a "water park" (I'm expecting a home-made slip 'n slide, but I'm secretly hoping for more elaborate structures) and then spending the night out there on the range. With the deer and the antelopes. The next day's another 50ish ride with a build day waiting at the end. We're all staring down the barrel at the Rockies, but the upcoming shorter distances are more than welcome. My next sweep day will be a ridiculous climb up to Jackson. I can't wait to see the views from the top.
All the best from the West,
Sam
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
So, this happened...
Okay, so we've been tossing around the idea of mohawks for a week or so now, and yesterday in Gordon, Nebraska, we finally got around to it. We'd ridden for 8 hours from Valentine, NE; we left at 4:30 AM Central Time to avoid the heat and we crossed into Mountain Time Zone about 30 miles in to the 94 mile day. Most of us finished the near-century before noon, leaving ample time to appreciate the two businesses open on Sunday: a gas station and a grocery store. We all swam in the public pool, and then when we got back from the pool decided to follow through on the mohawk option. Each looks different: Logan looks very 80's rocker, Derrick 90's club-goer. Nate's pulling off the emo look very well, and Amelia looks like a badass biker chick. Greg looks like he's always had one. And, as you can see, I'm rocking the "real" fauxhawk. I think we were all inspired by the extremity of our 600-mile week, and exhilarated by the prospect of a 46-mile ride into Chadron, NE the next day. I know I was ready to let off some of the anxiety built up from the week of 90+ degree weather and intense distances.
I'll include a more detailed before/after series, but the internet here in the Chadron Public Library is painfully slow. Here's a shot for the ages, though...
Top Row (L-R): Me, Greg, Nate, Logan. Bottom: Derrick, Amelia.
Gnarly. Later.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
My entry from the bike 'n build site
This has been lifted directly off www.bikeandbuild.org...
I'd write more, but this is about how I feel about the day. Hope y'all enjoy...
Wednesday, July 11, 2007, was a day that will go down in many a P2S07er’s memory as a day of toil and reward, drudgery and joy. It would be easy enough to convey the experience in traditional prose, as seen in other entries. But I think an exploration of multiple writing styles will be the most fitting way to communicate our ride. And yes, I was an English major.
Enjoy. And hang on to your saddles.
1. Statistics
Mileage: 100-103 miles, depending on detours
Vertical feet of climbing: 7,200
Elevation change: -140 feet
Calories burned: 8-10,000
Lunches consumed: 2 by each person (except Pat, who unknowingly blew by second lunch); one at mile 45, another at mile 68
Number of people in van with stomach flu: 2 (Tommy/Derrick)
Number of people in van with possible early carpal tunnel syndrome: 1 (Katie)
Number of people in van, driving: 1 (Sarah)
Miles run by Katie at second lunch, because she felt like it: 14
Miles ridden by Candace after severe cookie-tossing: 30
Pat’s arrival time: 3:45 pm
Arrival time of sweeps: 8:30 pm
Exhilarated, exhausted, extremely full riders at day’s end: 30
Earliest bedtime (Bridget): 7:25 pm
Latest bedtime (Emily): 10:30 pm
2. Superlatives
Most miles ridden to date
Most vertical feet to date
Most on-bike hours to date
Most chamois cream used to date
3. Haiku
One more day awake
To five a.m. shoulder pokes
And bitter coffee.
On to the bikes now,
With jaws set determinedly
And some well-lubed butts.
Lunch came late that day—
Abuzz with expectation
We wanted our food.
Kittens at first lunch
Were friendly, mewling, waifish
And climbed in baskets.
More hills now,
And so many hills later.
But fields from Ireland.
4. Limerick
There once was a ride towards Nebraska
It may as well have been Alaska
We went over the hills
And had just one spill,
But everyone felt better afta.
5. Free verse
These roads look like a rolling, rumpled ribbon
Draped across a twisting quilt
By some punitive, sadistic toddler. In Vermont
The roads are routed ‘round the mountains, but in Iowa
Civil engineers seem to enjoy straight lines. I say
Put ‘em on a bike and let them ride those roads. They’ll think
Different next time.
Raps and songs and primal screams were the plan of attack,
Exhaustion caught us all off-guard and threw us all on track.
Harry Potter fans cast spells against the wind
And curses on last night’s midnight showing.
Cresting a hill we saw a fertile valley, awash in afternoon light,
Verdant, deep, and, crucially,
flat.
Upon descent, the road pulled right, the headwind died,
And then we saw a hill.
And then the road went over it.
Why, Iowa?
Why.
Why, oh why.
Why-o-wa.
My thoughts, over those last 13 miles.
6. Food
Burgers
Pizza: Pineapple, Pepperoni, Plain
Salad
Crudites
Beef Stroganoff
Soy-meat Stroganoff
Black-bean salsa
Chips: Tortilla, Potato (plain/BBQ), Sun (multi-grain/cheddar)
Watermelon
Honeydew
Cantelope
Brownies
M&M Cookies
Chocolate Chip Cookies
7. One more haiku
We sleep thoroughly,
Afloat on our Thermarests.
The day's marks will fade.
I'd write more, but this is about how I feel about the day. Hope y'all enjoy...
Wednesday, July 11, 2007, was a day that will go down in many a P2S07er’s memory as a day of toil and reward, drudgery and joy. It would be easy enough to convey the experience in traditional prose, as seen in other entries. But I think an exploration of multiple writing styles will be the most fitting way to communicate our ride. And yes, I was an English major.
Enjoy. And hang on to your saddles.
1. Statistics
Mileage: 100-103 miles, depending on detours
Vertical feet of climbing: 7,200
Elevation change: -140 feet
Calories burned: 8-10,000
Lunches consumed: 2 by each person (except Pat, who unknowingly blew by second lunch); one at mile 45, another at mile 68
Number of people in van with stomach flu: 2 (Tommy/Derrick)
Number of people in van with possible early carpal tunnel syndrome: 1 (Katie)
Number of people in van, driving: 1 (Sarah)
Miles run by Katie at second lunch, because she felt like it: 14
Miles ridden by Candace after severe cookie-tossing: 30
Pat’s arrival time: 3:45 pm
Arrival time of sweeps: 8:30 pm
Exhilarated, exhausted, extremely full riders at day’s end: 30
Earliest bedtime (Bridget): 7:25 pm
Latest bedtime (Emily): 10:30 pm
2. Superlatives
Most miles ridden to date
Most vertical feet to date
Most on-bike hours to date
Most chamois cream used to date
3. Haiku
One more day awake
To five a.m. shoulder pokes
And bitter coffee.
On to the bikes now,
With jaws set determinedly
And some well-lubed butts.
Lunch came late that day—
Abuzz with expectation
We wanted our food.
Kittens at first lunch
Were friendly, mewling, waifish
And climbed in baskets.
More hills now,
And so many hills later.
But fields from Ireland.
4. Limerick
There once was a ride towards Nebraska
It may as well have been Alaska
We went over the hills
And had just one spill,
But everyone felt better afta.
5. Free verse
These roads look like a rolling, rumpled ribbon
Draped across a twisting quilt
By some punitive, sadistic toddler. In Vermont
The roads are routed ‘round the mountains, but in Iowa
Civil engineers seem to enjoy straight lines. I say
Put ‘em on a bike and let them ride those roads. They’ll think
Different next time.
Raps and songs and primal screams were the plan of attack,
Exhaustion caught us all off-guard and threw us all on track.
Harry Potter fans cast spells against the wind
And curses on last night’s midnight showing.
Cresting a hill we saw a fertile valley, awash in afternoon light,
Verdant, deep, and, crucially,
flat.
Upon descent, the road pulled right, the headwind died,
And then we saw a hill.
And then the road went over it.
Why, Iowa?
Why.
Why, oh why.
Why-o-wa.
My thoughts, over those last 13 miles.
6. Food
Burgers
Pizza: Pineapple, Pepperoni, Plain
Salad
Crudites
Beef Stroganoff
Soy-meat Stroganoff
Black-bean salsa
Chips: Tortilla, Potato (plain/BBQ), Sun (multi-grain/cheddar)
Watermelon
Honeydew
Cantelope
Brownies
M&M Cookies
Chocolate Chip Cookies
7. One more haiku
We sleep thoroughly,
Afloat on our Thermarests.
The day's marks will fade.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Wow.
102 miles.
7200 vertical feet of climbing, with -140 feet elevation change.
7.5 hours spent on a bike seat, between the hours of 7 am and 5 pm.
Carroll to Sioux City, IA.
I'd say more, but I'm too beat to think clearly right now. I hope your heads are screwed on better than mine right now...
More soon... bed now.
7200 vertical feet of climbing, with -140 feet elevation change.
7.5 hours spent on a bike seat, between the hours of 7 am and 5 pm.
Carroll to Sioux City, IA.
I'd say more, but I'm too beat to think clearly right now. I hope your heads are screwed on better than mine right now...
More soon... bed now.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Oh, one more thing...
Sorry, pics are gone. They might not have been the most appropriate posting material. But thanks for the comments!
More to come soon...
More to come soon...
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Iowaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaguuuuughghghhgh
So, turns out "IOWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" makes for terrific primal scream material-- I've done my best impression above, and I did it a lot over the course of our ride through the headwindy hills of this great state. Today marks the culmination of some of the most intense riding we’ve done so far, as well as the most miles we’ve ridden consecutively. Today was only about 45 miles (which, ironically, was the longest ride I'd ever done before this trip), but yesterday was an 82-miler, the day before I rode 102, and the day before THAT was 93 or so. And Iowa, despite all initial speculation, is HILLY. Like, 4-5,000 vertical feet of climbing per-day hilly. And windy, like, feels like you're going uphill when you're flat, and feels like you're flat when you're going down. It cancels out gravity out here. Yesterday I was riding downhill, hands-free, and started decelerating. It was eerie. It was frustrating. But we got it done.
So far, though, Iowa's been a pleasant, welcome surprise. In an earlier post, I alluded to a popular belief that these four states or so would be like one big, boring, flat state. And despite the fact that it's been a big, flat, boring ride at times, the people and places have been absurdly welcoming and generous. And beautiful. See attached pictures.
We spent the day after our first "century" in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, which is an awesome little city with a killer farmer's market and a really good bike shop, where I got a cushy pair of Nike spandex (turns out they're the best. I've come to agree...). I was in Cedar Rapids till about 10:30 AM with Bronwyn, Win, and Chantel, waiting for Win's bike to be fixed, and then had to deal with a "76 mile" day which turned out to be 82, featuring 14 miles on GRAVEL ROADS. I'm not talking about pleasant hard pack, either, I'm talking about the kind I'd feel comfortable on with a mountain bike. Maybe. The leaders used four sources to check the directions, all of which indicated that the roads we'd be following were "two lane blacktop," and "well-suited for bicycles." Win and I had a 10 mile shiatsu butt-massage thanks to those darn "blacktop" roads, in 92-degree heat, with a 25-mph headwind. Up hills.
I'll stop bitching. Incredibly, we maintained a positive attitude through all of this sadistic washboard, and after "first lunch," (on 90+ degree or 90+ mile days we get TWO lunches, which is unbelievably exciting) we managed to actually have fun. Lauren was insane, and chanting "Push it, Push it" up hills, and we (Bridget, Win, Lauren, Eric, Carrie, and I) all had an impromptu primal scream session at about the mid-point of a terrible, wind-ravaged plateau. My internal monologue, unprintable in this forum, was hysterical by then. It normally consists of three- and four-letter words that I blush about, but yesterday it was far worse-- strings of said words, creatively arranged, ending in "hills," or "wind." Or "leaders," though I'm not proud of that one.
All of that aside, on days like that I keep in mind that, no matter how much it sucks, it'll pass. And we'll make it, and it'll feel great to make it. We had no showers, and cold pizza, but the ice-cold, Marines-style shower I took was about the most satisfying one I've had in a while. We're in Ames, Iowa tonight, after a real nice 44-mile jaunt over some hills and against the wind. I like it here. More to come soon.
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