Spandex and Butt-Butter

One month out...

2007-09-13T18:50:00.000-07:00

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.

Fading

2007-08-25T22:48:00.000-07:00

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

Narration

2007-08-17T12:34:00.000-07:00

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.

ARRIVAL

2007-08-16T15:51:00.001-07:00

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!!!!!

2007-08-16T09:49:00.000-07:00

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

Reality sets in...

2007-08-09T18:56:00.000-07:00

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.

The many faces of Bike and Build

2007-08-06T18:35:00.001-07:00

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.

Goodbye Montana

2007-08-04T19:33:00.000-07:00

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...

A view from the top of Teton Pass

2007-08-02T11:45:00.001-07:00

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!

A Ride to Remember

2007-08-02T10:57:00.001-07:00

Courtney, cruising through the Targhee National Forest.

This State is Montana, M-O-N-T-A-N-A

2007-08-01T17:45:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-01T15:34:00.000-07:00

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.

A few pictures from the camera-less ride

2007-07-28T21:55:00.000-07:00

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.

Jackson, Wyoming

2007-07-26T18:15:00.000-07:00

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

A Photo Blog, for now

2007-07-24T20:29:00.001-07:00

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)...

The Foot of the Rockies

2007-07-23T12:33:00.000-07:00

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...

Cowboys 'n Jackalopes

2007-07-20T15:15:00.000-07:00

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

Through Nebraska on The Westward Ho

2007-07-18T16:27:00.000-07:00

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

So, this happened...

2007-07-17T11:12:00.000-07:00

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.

My entry from the bike 'n build site

2007-07-12T19:38:00.001-07:00

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.

Wow.

2007-07-11T20:12:00.000-07:00

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.

Oh, one more thing...

2007-07-08T18:52:00.001-07:00

Sorry, pics are gone. They might not have been the most appropriate posting material. But thanks for the comments!

More to come soon...

Iowaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaguuuuughghghhgh

2007-07-07T05:28:00.000-07:00

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.

Fun Stuff

2007-07-03T20:45:00.000-07:00

So, I’ve been writing a lot about my daily routine, but there’s some other stuff I thought I’d share with you about my day-to-day experience.

1. I’ve been doing a lot of biking, but I’ve also been doing a lot of eating. We burn 3500-4000 calories each day we ride, on top of the 1500-2000 we spend just breathing and thinking. So that takes a lot more consumption. I’ve lost about 15 pounds, despite eating more than I’ve ever eaten, aside from Wocks trips to Wes’s. Heck, we all eat a lot, leading to these alternate titles:

-Bike & Binge
-Bike & Bulimia
-Bike & Filled
-Bike & Blah
-Bike & Killed
-Bike & Barf
-Bike & Burp

2. I’ve also been playing a lot of music. Almost every night I pull out the ol’ geetar (Ah, if this ol’ geetar could talk… ‘Duh.’) and play for at least a half-hour. My finger pickin’s getting stronger, as well as my knowledge of the Beatles songbook (thanks for “I Will,” Bronwyn) and my ability to play bedtime music for sleepy riders. Turns out it’s easy to put people to sleep with an acoustic guitar when they’ve just come 92 miles by bike.

And almost every church we stay in has at least one piano (more like three…) so I’ve been getting in my required piano time. And I’ve been playing a lot more original stuff, since I don’t have my Real Book (sheet music). I’m thinking I’ll start recording some of them, as an alternate way to remember the trip.

It’s cool that an experience that I thought would be detrimental to my musicianship has actually been both inspiring and good for my technique.

3. I’ve been to three driving ranges en route, in Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, and Ohio. Turns out the stiff plates in the bottom of bike shoes also make them really good golf shoes. My stroke’s back, and I can hit 250+ yard drives now.

Tiger, watch out. You too, Dad.

4. The post-college “what am I gonna do with my life?!?!?” anxiety wasn’t really there too intensely post-Brown, but it certainly occupied a corner of my mind. It’s lessened considerably over the last month (this is our TWENTY-SEVENTH DAY together!) because I’ve seen such happy, generous, caring people in small communities living such respectable, ordinary lives across this country. The whole “I need to end up in New York with a career” train of thought suddenly seems quaint, or at least panicky. I’ll be happy somewhere, doing something cool, somehow. Could be Charlotte, NC. Could be Wellsboro, PA. Could be Seattle.

5. My Vermont-instilled belief that peeing outside is rewarding and enjoyable has been strengthened. As noted by all of my fellow riders, cornfields make great pee-stops. Also, roadside shrubbery, but it’s not nearly as fun.

6. State signs make for fun pictures. Thus far, poses have included:

-Thrusting bikes victoriously in the air, partially obscuring the state name itself
-Flexing arms, legs, and grimacing
-Spelling out state names YMCA-style
-Climbing up supporting poles like monkeys
-Climbing up onto the TOP of the state sign and laying out like a pin-up
-Mooning oncoming traffic, narrowly avoiding indecent exposure charges
-And, of course, grinning like an idiot because you’ve just ridden through 7 states, more than 1300 miles, on a bike.

*Note: I have participated in some, but NOT ALL, of the aforementioned actions. I promise.

7. Everyone in America knows how to make Pasta Salad. Variations include: color of mayonnaise. Temperature of salad. Red peppers. Type of pasta used.

8. The most offensive thing to do to a biker riding across the country is to honk from 20’ back, drive by three inches from their handlebars at 65 mph, holler something about “nice shorts!,” and flick them off immediately after tossing an empty cigarette pack in their general direction. Bonus points for revving the engine as you accelerate into the distance. Bonus points for narrowly avoiding oncoming traffic as the driver swerves to investigate the resulting withering look.

9. The most satisfying way to respond to the gesture mentioned in item 8 is to smile, wave, and loudly thank the offending motorist as they disappear over the hill you’ve been climbing for 14 minutes. Trust me.

10. Declan/Maya/Nan/Bevin/everyone: there is NO SUCH THING as bulletproof tires, but the ones I bought are nearly puncture-proof. I hope. And there are 30 riders in the group, now that Derrick's back. My brain's not in a blender, and I can't wait to see you guys!

11. More to come, and more pictures. I’m out of stuff to talk about for the moment. Tomorrow’s the fourth of July, though, and promises to hold many hysterical games and escapades. Huzzah, and Happy Independence Day!

Lafayette-Gilman

2007-07-02T21:52:00.000-07:00

Today was an exhilarating day—we rode really fast, with a tailwind, for about 44 miles, and then waited for lunch behind a truckstop diner, with a tilting incinerator and a towering turbine and a grease dumpster.

In the sun.

It was actually a very pleasant lunch spot. Perfect Americana. People kept going in to the diner for slices of pie (pecan, peach, strawberry-rhubarb, and blueberry, I think, though there were more cooling) and when the van got in, finally, from Lafayette, we feasted on donated Subway coldcuts and Panera baguettes, which I think is against sandwich chain rules or something. And it was 72 degrees, and cloudless.

After lunch we got the inside scoop from Ed, a really nice electrician who told us that Route 24, which we were planning on taking, was the state’s official thoroughfare for wide-load trucks. And that we’d be better off taking “1700N,” which was apparently a paved backroad through the cornfields, to Gilman. If you’ve never seen a state map of Indiana or Illinois, they look like checkerboards. Or circuitboards. All the roads go in straight lines, all oriented in cardinal directions, around gigantic corn- and soybean-fields. So all we had to worry about was that, once we got going, rights were North, and lefts after that were West. So we tried to take a few rights, and a few lefts, and make it in one piece to Gilman. Marie and Courtney both had cheapo drugstore radios, so they tuned to the same station for much of the ride, and we all danced/rode along. One of the stations had a “Sugar Ray Greatest Hits” playlist or something, which, unfortunately is just two songs. But they’re great songs, especially for the summertime.

We all agreed that the cornfield roads were like 2-lane bike paths, like limbo on two wheels. There could have been no time, or hours could’ve passed; no miles, or hundreds. The whole crew was struck by the same simultaneous euphoria, again and again.

We made it into Gilman after crossing a state line (many hilarious pictures) and a time zone, Eastern into Central. Every state that we enter since Pennsylvania will be a new one for me. Despite my earlier, somewhat grumpy blog post, OhIndianIllinoIowa reminds me a lot of the Connecticut River Valley—fertile soil, friendly people, and no pretensions. And lots, and lots, and lots, of corn. And soy.

All for today. More to come tomorrow.

OhIndianIllinoiowa

2007-06-30T17:29:00.000-07:00

Say that one aloud.

But seriously, these states are running together. In the last three days, I've ridden 76, 85, and 92 miles, averaging about 18 mph. I've pushed my body harder than I had previously, trying to maintain paces of 23/4 over 10-13 miles at a time, sometimes with others, sometimes by myself, and that's an enjoyable diversion, but overall, riding bikes through cornfields is about as exciting as it sounds. It's meditative, and, as Terra says, you can just "put it on autopilot, put your head down, and go," but I can't do that for too long without nearly falling asleep on my bike. There isn't even anything fun to see out here. Just roadkill, and a headwind.

That said, our hosts have been ridiculously generous, and we've just biked into Lafayette, Indiana, and our first OFFICIAL rest day-- we'll hang out in town tomorrow, with no responsibilities, and then get out of town the next day. Lafayette's home to Purdue U, and a cool bike shop where I picked up some bulletproof tires and some cushy gloves. I also found out that my chain's "nearly dead," but so's my cassette (rear gears) and it's better if I just "wear them down to they die." I love bike mechanics. Especially smarmy ones. I get the feeling they'll "die" on the side of the road in Nebraska. That'll be cool.

Last night we had a great dinner in Hartford City, Indiana, where I came up with the ideal biking food: a bread bowl, filled with mashed potatoes, and topped with chicken 'n gravy. And then, today at lunch, I came up with the other ideal biking food: a triple-decker french-toast sandwich, stuffed with peanut butter and bacon. Nate added popcorn for crunch. I like the way he thinks.

That's all for now-- I'm sharing wi-wi, and don't have much else to say about OhIndianIllinoIowa. More to come tomorrow.

Love to all.

Gambier, OH--> Columbus, OH. 52.3 Miles. 17.4 mph average.

2007-06-26T16:48:00.000-07:00

Well, today marks our third official build day, here in Columbus, Ohio. Ohio, according to the locals, is round on the sides and HI in the middle. I’m convinced that everyone here looks like Drew Carey, making them round on the sides and wide in the middle.

Just kidding. So far our time here has been quite idyllic, and has been marked by a few surprises. They are, in no particular order:

Derrick, our compatriot who was yanked off the trip due to a seemingly intractable broken pelvis, has rejoined the group and will ride the rest of the way with us just two weeks after he fell off his bike, going 30, down a hill. We are all in awe of his tolerance for pain. I'm convinced he's just cultivated a masochistic streak from his time on UVA's crew team.

Nate got hit by a car. An hour and a half ago. But he's fine, and the 17-year-old-girl-who-cut-him-off-in-traffic's dad gave him a hundo for any bike repairs he might need. Mildly sketchy, but we're all entirely relieved that he's alive and unharmed. His bike tire's tacoed, but that's fixable. According to witnesses, his first words upon rising from the asphalt were "My arm hurts. Shit, my bike's jacked up." Or something like that.

Other than those unwelcome surprises, the last three days have been marked by some stupendous rides and luxurious accommodations, including couches and beds (gasp!), fresh fruit, cheesecake, cheapo/delicious Amish cuisine, and North Carolinian BBQ (thanks to the Rhynes!), friendly locals, the gorgeous Kenyon campus (shoutout to Emily), and an idyllic hour in a pool outside of Columbus, a few hours ago. I'm in good spirits, although a bit grumpy thanks to a crappy 95-degree ride through rush-hour traffic into Columbus, marked by Nate's lil' accident, irate drivers, dozens of stop lights, and an anonymous passenger who decided to throw a 3" chunk of metal at me from his window as he drove by. We're here at the JCC now, though, safe and cool and clean, and we're about to leave for a triple-A minor-league ballgame-- the Columbus Clippers vs. the Indianapolis Indians. Tomorrow we're building here, staying another night, and getting out of town again.

Love to all.

Borderline

2007-06-22T23:30:00.000-07:00

Franklin, Pennsylvania is an amazing little town. We’ve been here for two days now, and both of them have been memorable. Two days ago we coasted down from the Allegheny National Forest and the Kinzua Reservoir to Warren, PA in sun-drenched 75-degree weather, and we’ve been basking in it ever since. Yesterday, we rode from Warren to Franklin (which is weird to me, given that I knew a kid in grade school named, of course, Warren Franklin… just realizing that now…) and met up half way with Sam Gibb, the pastor of Franklin’s First Presbyterian Church. Sam is about 45-50, I think, and rides about 40-50 miles a day on a ridiculously cool Cervelo bike (the same one that CSC rides). All the girls agree that he possesses a “Paul Newman” look. He kicked all of our asses up some pretty monster (12% grade) hills, and is going to France this summer to ride the Tour de France route with some friends. He’s also a long-time home brewer, loves Phish and all other jam bands, and has a sandwich named after him at the local Subway, where he tries to conduct all of his business during the day. The sandwich is whole wheat with double Monterey Jack cheese, toasted, with all the veggies minus olives and hot peppers, parmesan, garlic salt, oregano, and raspberry vinaigrette. Our vegetarians were, needless to say, rather enthusiastic about the sandwich. I was, and I don’t even like vegetables.

Just kidding.

Basically, I think Pastor Sam’s the man. I gave him some of the amaaaazing Grafton Cheddar we had donated from Wendy Brewer (see pic!) because he’s a vegetarian who loves cheese (needs the protein, obviously) and we talked about Trey Anastasio and different Hop varietals during our group dinner last night (Subway, obviously). And then I told him about Pandora and Wolfgang’s Vault. And for the last two days he’s been fixing/fitting people’s bikes and taking us on rides around the area. And he also let us work on the church’s pseudo-habitat home site in Franklin today because our build day in Youngstown fell through. More on that later…

The moral of all of this description, nay, adulation, is that this trip has really checked my skepticism for organized religion. We keep meeting warm, open, idiosyncratic, hilarious, genuine Pastors, Fathers, Reverends, and churchgoers, and I keep being pleasantly surprised. I know that there are church leaders out there who are dour and pedantic, or stuck in their ways, but we haven’t run into them yet. The closest we came was the priest from Scranton who told us to maintain hope, because it’s what keeps us human. And then told us that the reason he knew that was that, as a Marine in Vietnam, he had to “extract information” from hostages and in order to do that he had to “take away their hope.” It was thanks to this little life experience that he came to understand the value of hope, and he shared this lesson with us at 8am last Sunday, right before our ride.

Even though that speech was a bit, well, off-putting, it was heartfelt, and pretty gnarly. That day I imagined that each hill that day was a hostage and it was my job to “extract information” from it by reaching the top, taking away its hope, and in the process bolstering my own.

Well, not really.

But the fact that this righteous speech was the weirdest thing we’ve heard so far from a church official is a reason for optimism, or hope. Or renewed faith in the institution of religion. I’ve been agnostic for a long time, but only realized that that was the term for it right around the start of college. I don’t need a religious community in order to gain a sense of spirituality, and I don’t need an authority figure to analyze or explain religious texts or dogma on a weekly basis. But over the last coupla weeks (hard to believe two have already gone by!) I’ve lost much of the disdain or mistrust with which I viewed religion before this trip. Except for the evangelicals and most fundamentalists, who still freak me out.

All of that deep stuff aside, Franklin is really nice. And so are Sam and his wife. We lucked out and were given the chance to stay tonight, rather than leaving this morning for Youngstown, because the church here bought a 3-story home and are renovating it, without Habitat’s help, to create more affordable housing in the area. Not that they necessarily need it; the house was had for $12,900 (bargained down from a starting price of $24,000). It was a real junker and needs some work, but it’s a 3-story in a normal part of town. In Brattleboro, it’d probably command $120,000ish, in Providence’s East Side probably twice that. We were supposed to be in Youngstown right now, but the build day tomorrow fell through. They’ve been having trouble pouring their slab, so we would’ve just had a rest day, and many of the riders (all of us) have been grousing about too much Bike-ing and not enough Build-ing in the ol’ Bike & Build equation. So today we got to rip up some shot shingles and tear down attic ceilings and generally create a big mess and cover ourselves in black soot. And Sam treated us to more Subway. And tonight the 21+ crowd got to hang out on Sam's porch and try some of his ridiculously good Pale Ale. And tomorrow we leave bright and early for Youngstown, where we’ll be staying just one night, thankfully.

All in all, I’m in good spirits and in good health, on a beautiful night in a boring laundromat in a quiet town. Doing group laundry SUCKS, but it at least gives me the opportunity to craft an extensive blog entry. Hope you weren’t too bored by this one.

Lots of love from Western PA. We’ll be in Ohio tomorrow!

Some Thoughts.

2007-06-19T17:06:00.000-07:00

Today was a quickie, 45 miles start to finish, wayyyy up a hill (a 2,424 ft. hill, to be exact) and then way down it, into the sleepy town of Coudysport (pronounced howdy, sport). We’re staying at the “Alliance” church, which seems to be a new-ish blend of casual, non-denominational religion and community. It’s one of the friendliest churches we’ve been to (and that’s saying a lot) and it also features the only Pastor (Pastor Bernie) to come out and meet us at the bottom of that really, really big hill and ride us into town on his own vintage 18-speed Schwinn.

The day marked our first experience with real headwind, which went something like this:

“Phew, I’m FINALLY done with that hill, now I can coast down this stretch and gain some momentum into the next one.”

-30 feet later-

“Hmm, I appear to be on a downhill, but I’m pedaling steadily and firmly, and my speed is a mere 11 mph.”

-50 feet later-

“I’m on an uphill grade of about 3%, which I was cruising up at 17.5 mph a half hour ago, but right now I’m at… 6 mph, in granny gear, and my legs are burning. This sucks.”

-At the top of the mountain-

“Oh. That’s what a headwind feels like.”

So that’s what a headwind feels like. In the words of the wise Jeff Thomas: “A headwind is like a really long, nasty hill that you ride up all day, without the redemption of a downhill to look forward to.” Or something along those lines. We couldn’t stop talking about it. It was staggering, depressing, humiliating.

On the positive side, we beat the headwind, at least for now. And on the way up the hill (about 10 miles long) I averaged 17.2 mph, and got to dunk my head into the type of mountain stream I thought we only had in Vermont. And, after that punishing headwind bit, we cruised down into “Coudy,” right before a big ol’ thunderhead cruised into town, too.

We showered at the Denton Ski Lodge, which sports “some of the steepest terrain on the East Coast,” which, loosely translated, means “a 66 degree steep,” which is purportedly THE steepest slope in the Northeast. It looked pretty cool. I’ve attached pictures.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the nature of this trip. I think of this blog as a way to communicate, to you (family and friends) a few meaningful or meaningless stories from the road, so you have some idea what we’re going through out here. Before this trip, the darn thing seemed so insurmountable that I was most curious about what the day-to-day motivation would consist of—how riders can get on their bikes, every day for more than two months, and make it that 70, 80, or 90 miles to the next stop. And now I’m figuring it out. And trying to show you.

But there was initially another reason for doing this blog; for myself, for my own memory. I’ve been trying to “journal” (a phrase I hate) but I’m either exhausting my thoughts on this blog or I’m just not in the mood to write it all down by hand. Regardless, I’ve decided recently that I’m not too worried about capturing it all on film and on paper—this trip isn’t about those individual memories, it’s about the overarching experience, and the overall feeling I get at the end of the day. In another entry I mentioned the mini-dramas we go through every minute during the ride. Those all coalesce into one big impression of the day, usually positive. No matter what ridiculous stuff happens during the ride itself, it all washes away when you hit the home stretch and see that final stop. The same thing will happen with this trip.

Where's Dunder-Mifflin?

2007-06-16T12:06:00.000-07:00

I'm writing from Scranton, PA. Outside Scranton, PA, in Clark Summit, PA. About 8 miles North of Scranton, PA, actually. Yesterday I had my hardest (fastest) ride yet, from White Lake, NY to Clark Summit-- 74 miles-- in about 4.5 hours of riding. I rode with Logan and Bronwyn, two of the strongest riders on the trip, and we really killed it. My body felt right, although a little tight, and I was mentally prepared for a hard push with the knowledge that we'd have a rest day today. We ad-libbed a lil' bit (including a 4-mile stretch of actual, 80-mph "Motorized Vehicles ONLY" highway) and really attacked the hills above Carbondale. We made it to Our Lady of Snows church at 3:20, about 45 minutes before everybody else, and hit up Manning's Ice Cream, which is apparently some of the best stuff for miles. I had a pint of "Caramel Critter," which may have been too much, but it sure tasted good at the time. Last night we had free pizza (we killed 12 pizzas in about 13 minutes), and then a lot of the 21-plus club went out for a few drinks. It feels good to embrace this absurdly healthy lifestyle, but every once in a while a good, cold beer is completely necessary.

Today we got up late (8:45, wooooo!!!!) and had a car wash to support the local Habitat for Humanity chapter with a youth group from the church from 9-1. It involved a lot of sun and sneak-attacks with the hose, and goofily waving signs along the road leading to the church. We had a purty good system down and washed a lot of cars. The final tally for the day was-- hold on to your hats-- $840. It was far and away the most the youth group had ever raised, and it was also the most I've ever heard about for a simple car wash. Needless to say, we all felt great about it-- it was fun getting to see the community members and cool to meet the kids. I've been walking around the area looking for wireless since then, and it's, well... boring. But nice. We're along a huge commercial strip leading into town, so our surroundings aren't very pedestrian-friendly and it's also really ugly. The church is nice, though, and I got to play piano last night in the main chapel-- beautiful acoustics in there.

The community members we've encountered have been staggeringly friendly; they're generous and so excited to share their towns with us. Every night we're amazed by the sheer volume and variety of the ubiquitous potlucks, and by the enthusiastic conversation and interest in our backgrounds and reasons for undertaking this trip. I've decided that one my favorite experiences is getting to know someone pretty well over dinner, establishing connections and good will for the program for years to come.

So far, the days all seem to stretch out and run together. I've realized that it's because each day is so profoundly full of mini-dramas, of fatigue and recovery, optimism and pessimism, uphills and downhills, conversation and solitude. Each day feels like five days, so the last five days feel like a month or so in the real world. Time telescopes, slinkees, oscillates, when you're on your butt on a bike on the road for a day. I'm still trying to get my head around the whole experience. Two days ago I rode the whole way with Terra (plus/minus a few other riders), and at one point, on a looooong stretch of road that reminded me of Rt. 100 in VT, I paused, then asked her what she was thinking about. Or what she'd been thinking about. And she paused, and then said that she'd been repeating a billboard slogan that she'd seen about 4 miles earlier over and over again, ostensibly emptying her mind of anything else. I hadn't been thinking about anything in particular, either. This trip is an elemental experience in that sense-- despite the hundreds (thousands) of dollars worth of gear that we've got on and around us, all day, and the cell phones and computers and bike odometers and blogs, we're all engaged in a pilgrimage of sorts, one in which we have to listen to our bodies and ignore the minute details. I hardly know what day it is. I hardly know where we're going tomorrow. And I love it.

A loooooooong day

2007-06-13T10:04:00.000-07:00

I'm here in Poughkeepsie, New York, in Vassar's cathedral-like library, stealing their internet. I just ran into Emma's roommate Claire, and managed to scare the **** out of her by actually just yelling "Claire!" Luckily, with an introduction, she seemed to relax a little bit. I thought you'd warned her we were coming, Emma...

Yesterday was our longest ride yet, about 74 miles from Agawam, MA to Kent, CT. I rode sweep with Nate, which was nice for a long while-- lazily bringing up the rear for all the other riders, hanging out at Dunkin' Donuts and a beautiful park in Suffield (which has some ridiculous houses...) and generally enjoying conversation with Nate at the back o' the pack.

But then we hit the hills.

The combined vertical for the day was more than 6000', including one hill that stretched on for about 3 miles. I can handle hills. In fact, I really enjoy 'em. But at 4 mph, they rapidly get frustrating. I didn't even know that you could stay on a bike going 4 mph. Nate and I practiced our pedaling (circles, rather than pushing down), pedaling one-footed, and would take periodic bike-maintenance breaks to let the stragglers get out in front of us. At 4 pm (when we were supposed to be in Kent) we were 27 miles away. And working our way up a monster hill.
We sheltered on the porch of a lake house in Cornwall during a torrential thunderstorm (luckily, it passed) and then pressed onward, with the OK from our leaders. Finally, we were 10 miles away, tearing down a great hill, and I started to feel the terrain through my seat a little bit more than normal. I thought it was just rougher pavement. Then I scoped out my back tire, to find that it'd been deflating for about 200 yards. I stopped at the bottom, watching everyone cruise on up the coming hill, and busied myself changing my tire.

At this point in the day, I was running out of juice, and so was my phone. I didn't want to be stuck in the middle of rural CT, and I didn't know what to expect. The sweepers, after all, don't have their own sweepers. Anyways. I changed my first tire, avoiding panic, and cranked up the hill to find, to my joy, Nate, Elle, and Win, all waiting for me and chatting with a volunteer fireman. Everything was in order, and we cruised the last dozen-or-so miles down into Kent, along rolling hills and verdant pasture. We were greeted, at 6:45, by cheers and hamburgers at The Kent School (their campus is nicer than Brown's, I swear...) and I took out my somewhat-pent-up frustration in a game of Frisbee w/ Amelia, Logan, and Nate. I'm glad I rode sweep, but I don't want to do it again for a lil' while.

Today, on the other hand, was short (32 mi.) and sweet (one gnarly uphill and then miles of cruisers into the Hudson River Valley). We left Kent at 9 or so and made it into Po-town by noon. I like riding fast, I like feeling my muscles burn, I like pushing myself to make it up the hill without stopping. And this is really (really) beautiful country.

We're heading over to another part of Poughkeepsie now, to St Martin's church, on Mansion Street. Apparently, Mansion St's sort of a misnomer, as it's in one of the most impoverished areas of the city, but... life's funny sometimes.

Over 'n out, thanks for reading, and thanks for your comments-- they make me smile.
'Til later...

-S

A pain in the ass, a smile on the face.

2007-06-11T13:35:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been two days and 89 miles, and we've reached Agawam, Massachusetts. We're staying this evening at the home of one of our leader's parents. Well, in the yard of the home of one of our leader's parents, in 6-person (aka 8-person) tents. I have far too much to say about the last two days-- the dread of approaching hills, the joy of conquering them, the 10-feet-ahead rule for absurd inclines (pick a spot, ride to it, then pick another spot and ride to that, then pick another...). I rode from Providence to Connecticut-- it's relatively amazing to say that, even though the distance isn't actually that great. I also found out that the highest point in Rhode Island is 812 feet. And that Chamois cream (butt-butter, which promotes friction-free riding in the crotchular region) is one of, if not the exclusive, best ideas ever. And that, after 42 miles of riding, I can eat a triple cheeseburger and large fries, and then 2 hours after that have a half chicken, potato salad, and 8 watermelon slices. And that an inch of Thermarest is like 8 inches of goose-down when you're beat.

Tomorrow me and Nate (a recent U. Florida grad) are riding "sweep," which means we get to bring up the rear, ensuring that no rider goes unaccounted for. It's a 67 mile day into the Appalachian mountains, so the slow pace will be a welcome respite from the last two days. There are a lotta fit people on this trip, so I've been pushed hard, and I like it. That said, Nate and I are psyched for a long, slow ride through Western Mass.

I hit 42.3 mph today. And averaged 14.4 over the course of the day. And had the juiciest pb 'n j of my life. And an apple, covered in peanut butter, covered in potato chips. Which was delectable.

Riding over the Connecticut river today, I grew intensely exhilarated, nearly to the point of tears. That doesn't happen easily. I think it was my association of the Connecticut with Brattleboro, and the knowledge that the same water had passed home earlier that day. It's such a broad, beautiful expanse, and crossing it was... perfect. My body felt right (sore and tight, but well-aligned and solidly worked), I was a few miles from our stopping point, and my belly was full of banana, apple, Vitamin Water, and peanut-butter glue. Even though it was exhilarating, I think I'm homesick. A week wasn't enough. But that will pass, I guess. I miss you guys.

More to come later, including longer posts. I'm kinda beat at the moment. Love to all.

-S

An Amazing Idea

2007-06-09T18:59:00.000-07:00

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/england/6736969.stm

not gonna lie, we may have to reproduce this, at some point, during our 4000 mile ride. i'm just saying.

I just got orientated!

2007-06-09T15:09:00.000-07:00

Started the day with a free breakfast at Louis, and then headed back for a series of talks on bike safety and bike maintenance. I wiped out during the "on-the-road" section of the bike safety course, because I forgot that my right foot was still clipped in. I've decided to call that move "lawn darting." It's my new, least favorite feeling: the knowledge that you're falling, slowly and inexorably, attached to a pointy metal object, onto gritty pavement. I got a chain tattoo on my right calf, and skinned my left knee for the first of many times. Luckily it didn't hurt too much.

Our bike maintenance clinic was conducted overlooking Providence from Prospect Park (a supremely beautiful day, perfect for the spot) and the REI bike technician fixed my front derailleur fo' free. Then we had a 10-15 mile "shakedown" ride on the East Bay Bike Path, and it appears that everyone's bikes are working well.

Today we worked in Olneyville on last year's P2S Habitat house, and I spent a lotta time Sawzalling (it's a verb, trust me) out window openings before they Tyveked (also a verb) the exterior of the first floor. It rained a lot, and my Carhartts soaked up about 20 lbs of water, but it felt good to get out there and work with the rest of the P2S'ers and some Habitat veterans. Tonight we've got more presentations, and we leave bright'n early from Providence after dipping our tires in the Atlantic.

More to come soon. In the meantime, check www.bikeandbuild.org for some pics from orientation/building. I'm not in many/any of them, but that's prolly for the best.

First Entry

2007-06-07T08:18:00.001-07:00

I'm leaving for Providence momentarily-- I've got a big bag full of bike gear, a shiny Trek 1000, and sore quads. And I can't wait. Thanks to all who have supported me in my fundraising, and to my family for supporting me in every other way. I'll update shortly, but I'm glad to kick this off today.