Courtney, cruising through the Targhee National Forest.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
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...
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