Rolling the dice and losing big but kinda winning.

What a cacophony of sensations today. Nausea to depression to
disbelief to utter heartache to somber reflection to glimmering hope.
I was supposed to race the final mountain stage of the Mt Hood Cycling
Classic late this morning but my body derailed that despite my attempt
at perseverance. I woke at 5AM feeling like my head was well below my
body, heavy and disoriented. At 7AM I rolled out of bed in a stumbling
funk with an awful stomach. I couldn't eat. I loaded my bike, mixed
some stout bottles for calories during the race anticipating not
eating solid food. I climbed in the car and drove to the gas station,
I was woozy from that and reluctantly accepted that I had no business
in a peloton, especially not one descending mountain roads. I called
Brendon, we chatted, and I drove back to the house, still woozy, now
depressed, and curled up in bed until 2PM. My heart aches as much now
as it did then. I think about all the time devoted to preparing for
this weekend, physically, mentally, emotionally, and am somewhat lost.
It is tragic that I'm already planning on riding tomorrow.
Whenever hardship finds us we so readily seek compromise. I would
trade the next week of riding to have raced today, for example. But
deal-making is rarely favorable for the contract signer, just as odds
are never in the gambler's favor. I could have won today, but the odds
of crashing, or flatting, or so many other possibilities are so much
higher. Sometimes I wish I had read the Marvel 'What If' comics just
to see who the odds favored; maybe it is foolish to seek alternative
chains of events.

One day racing a bike. Just one day. 70 miles. I'm not getting paid.
This is a hobby. Everyone gets sick, we're all human. I have rolled
these thoughts all day long, over and over and over. And I also know
that I'm still fit, there are plenty more races, and 'cross season is
a long ways off. So there. I can find peace reminding myself there are
happy trails ahead, and so much love from so many people who matter
more than all the bike races. Thanks y'all.

i should

i should write more.

i should write more here.

i should write more here often.

or i shouldn't.

no, i should.

i could.

could.

abstractions aside, i'm avoiding class for a few more minutes and contemplating all that has passed in the last nine months or so. hardly a whirlwind, but tumultuous nonetheless. without saying anything at all i'm saying a lot.

yellowstone and wyoming broke me. literally. i had to cut short my tour and hitch a ride back to oregon, bike in tow, achilles sore and behaving infamously, as another tendon is now. this time it's the knee. after a short recovery last summer i took up 'cross racing again and had a good run of it. magically after the racing was over and i wasn't training and didn't need to be riding as much my knee blew up. every ache and subtle nuance of my body was shaken from the epicenter that is the right femoral epicondyle. i don't even ride a bike now. it's silly. truly. silly.

may is knocking, may is knockin'

she wears a summer dress beneath her slicker,

bare toes within her wellies, i see it.

The spin in Yellowstone

7/24/09 This is so overdue

Nonetheless.

The road to Yellowstone is a series of rises and falls, not many, just a few, taking you from of the Grand Tetons and you know it. Over your left shoulder those craggy mottled teeth loom no more as an endless field of lodgepole pines creep to road's edge and out of a mountain hollow the ramp into Yellowstone's middle begins. I had no idea what to expect from Yellowstone, I knew about Old Faithful and herds of buffalo and elk, moose, bear, and tourists. But I couldn't recall any photographs of mountains or lakes, rivers or rocks. Geysers and wildlife. Tourists. It was a long ride into the park and the campground so I bee-lined it for there. The campground was full but I learned that they have hiker/biker group sites and that they don't turn the self-propelled set away. That night I shared my site with two guys who were 18 and 19 riding the Great Divide mountain bike route, though they went off-route and headed for the national parks and said they were having more fun as a result. The next day was a big one so I got an early-ish start and headed for West Thumb where there are lakeside thermal pools. I arrived while the air was still quite cool and the steam was rising from the pools all around as though there were pots of water scattered about and boiling in the ground whose steam rose over the lake, the blue sky and morning sun's yellow light as the backdrop curtain.

W. Thumb

I left my bike and cruised the boardwalks, near the bottom through the rising steam I made out the silhouettes of grazing elk having disregarded the 'stay on boardwalk' signs. Tourists. I kept my distance and carried on in amazement at the uniqueness of it all. Heading back to my bike I weaved my way through a bus-load of people and cameras, I heard, 'oooooh, I want to see the deeeer,' finished in a high-pitched exclamation. On my way to Old Faithful I passed a group of people taking pictures of a buffalo grazing at a turnoff near a stop sign and getting a little too close, I had to snap two photos, one of the animal and one a little zoomed out, animal and people. Old Faithful is impressive to say the least. I wonder what it must be like to see freshly tapped oil spurting out of the ground. Then it was on to the Grand Prismatic pool, the Fountain Paint Pots, and some continental divide crossings.

Grand Prismatic. Postcards with aerial shots are easy to come by and quite spectacular.

This was turning out to be a long, long, long day. And I had miles to go including a west to east crossing of the central part of the park at the very end. As I turned east I looked around me and was scouring the horizon trying to gauge the miles to come, begging for x-ray vision to see through the lodgepoles, but I relaxed and ate the remainder of the cookies I'd left Wilson with when I saw nothing ominous. Oh, I was rushed as dark skies were finally overtaking the distant mountains they had threatened to do all day. Then came the sign that read "7% 4 miles" or something like it. I cringed and looked to the road ahead and nowhere but. I only saw a small hump and a left hand bend so guessed it meant I was in for a descent. I was. After the climb. I carried on pedaling up gradual roads and just as the road turned slightly more skyward a pair of bikers on a tandem came down in a tuck battling the wind that was only slightly aiding my ascent. I crested what you might call a false summit to see a grey/white streak running straight up to the top of the next ridge through the forest; the optimist in me likens rock-like breaks in the forest to interesting geologic formations. The steep ascent I'd been warned about was a straight shot up to the top. Long, straight climbs feel like they're never going to end much like judging distances to shores from the middle of a like while swimming is crazy-making so it's best to just put your head down and keep moving forward. I eventually hit Canyon campground and didn't have the steam to do some waterfall sight-seeing, only enough for a shower, gigantic dish of ice cream, some ramen, some peanuts, and a nap. I got up to chat with a few Oregonians camping nearby as I'd been invited for a splash of wine by the fire sometime in the fading light if the storm would break. The storm broke and I was treated to some camp-stew, wine, chocolate, and good fireside conversation. It froze that night. I didn't want to spend another cold night in my "35F" sleeping bag so experimented with an emergency blanket as a way to retain my heat, it worked and I slept great but had a damp sleeping bag in the morning. Another cold one at about 8000 Feet. I made my breakfast and sandwiches, broke camp, put most of my clothes on, and headed south to check out the grand canyon of the Yellowstone. I was afraid that with the heavy fog I wouldn't get to see the waterfalls, let alone the canyon. On my way I passed a buffalo lying beside a tree steaming in the first light of the day, surrounded in a greyness while the condensation sparkled and the steam glowed. Nobody else was around and I left it as alone as I found it. Just as I arrived at the canyon to see the Lower Falls the fog was beginning to lift from the canyon so that I could make out the white cascade of water and see its churned up snaking below, the steep, yellow canyon walls and deep green of the trees above, grey masses of fog climbing into the white clouds parted just barely for the light blue sky of the day ahead to show itself. It was a stunning sight I felt lucky I was there then, for moments alone even at the viewpoints.

I then turned north once more, passed through Canyon, and headed to Dunraven pass, another climb...at the top there was a crowd of people and two rangers. I stopped with them and turned my eyes towards the hillside clearing like everyone else. A grizzly was up there and had just ducked into some trees. A few moments later out popped a furry brown thing about 150 yards above, it wandered about, rooted around in the ground, muzzling into it, turning this was and that way, clambering back and forth, digging, ambling. I watched for a time, snapped a few photos, and eventually left the bear and the people behind. Later that day I bumped into one of the rangers and she told me the bear did come down and cross the road eventually but even then I didn't feel a sense of sadness or disappointment for not having stayed; watching wildlife up close crossing a road to me is far less important than watching wildlife from afar being wildlife. I carried on to Mammoth Hot Springs and the park's north entrance at Gardner MT. Mammoth Hot Springs is pretty neat too. Not a lot of water when I was there but curiously stark and austere where dry or yellow, red, orange, and brown where water trickles and flows.

No camera tricks necessary, black and white juxtaposed with those colors of life.

I ate more ice cream and asked folks about the road ahead and with a fast and twisty descent said goodbye to the park and hello to Montana. Another storm was brewing and I followed the Yellowstone river and road north, all the while pedaling against the oncoming wind. As the day dragged on the twinge of pain I had felt in my achilles as I was hiking the stairs at Mammoth returned and became a regular concern.

The road ahead of me as I left Yellowstone behind.

In the end I had to get a room at Chico Hot Springs Resort. I was unhappy to have to shell out the $48 for a night at the time but it turns out I got a great deal at a pretty swanky place. I soaked in the hot mineral pool, dried my gear, rested, and in the morning decided to take an easier day after three long ones. My achilles felt ok at first, then not so ok, and when I hit Clyde Park I said I was done for the day, maybe two, even three. Then I bumped into another traveler, an older guy with a bike sitting on a bucket with a sign that read "89N". He and his bike were heading for Minnesota and I decided a little distance from him couldn't hurt so I carried on for another 8 miles to little Wilsall MT.

How majestic the Tetons truly are.

Last year we only ever managed to see the bottom third of this
stunning mountain range. This year is not last. Somehow they sprout
from nothing as if unawares that all too familiar and ever present
force of nature that keeps us grounded. From their jagged and
foreboding rawness echoes a luring song, sung by alpine sirens, that
resonates still. I want to go back.

If you know me well,

you know that I could never resist this.

The Jackson Hole

7/12/09 WY last

I often look at the blank box empty of words and don't really know
what to say, where to begin, wonder what I could write that could
capture whatever has been happening. And it happens most all of the
time.

I left Wilson WY for the Tetons, Yellowstone, and beyond almost a week
ago. The days have each been eventful in their own right. 24 hours, 24
hours, 24 hours, the consistent.

The day I dropped into the Bridger-Teton natnl forest a question I had
been rolling around in my thoughts for months felt more answered than
ever before. Posed in a movie I love, I Heart Huckabees, "how am I not
myself?" Its jus one of those notions I tossed around for some time
and crossing over into the mountains and forests after traveling the
sage strewn range for days I topped 'the rim' and reckoned with that
question. The answer could perhaps be verbalized but in reality is
more an unstated understanding, not necessarily a sensation, not even
an emotion, but a calm a peace an ease. An awareness of self. Jigsaw
pieces. So I descended to Hoback Junction and pedaled into Jackson,
tracked down Ronnie-Jean and Kyle, and carried on to their new place
in Wilson just a few miles away.

I don't really know how best to describe where they live, it's a cabin/
house outside Wilson with a view of the Tetons to the north and Teton
pass to the west, they're on 2 acres with an irrigation ditch running
along their property which makes for prime swiming for Kenzie the
malamut pup. One of the first things I noticed was the rhubarb growing
just off the porch. They didn't know what it was and I decided to make
a pie. I wasn't sure if I would stay an extra day but when Kyle told
me that the next day both he and Ronnie would be off and they were
going to a hootenanny my mind was made up to stick around. That first
nigt we all crowded into their kitchen and drank some local Snake
River beer, cooked a cottage pie, a rhubarb pie, and a bunch of fresh
corn which always makes me happy. They're from Maine and being around
them made me long all the more for my good friends out there in the
northeast. All of them.

My 'rest' day was filled with breakfast at Nora's in Wilson, a trip to
the post office in Jackson, a round of disc golf at Teton Village, a
supper of leftovers and more corn, the hootenanny, and all rounded off
with a moose sighting on the drive home. Oh, I got a coupon for free
cookies at the grocery store earlier in the day, too! Sitting at the
hoot' was perfect. Watching so many musicians come out to share with
each other while folks from all over were there just to be there in
the fading light on a cool summer evening in the mountains was
warming. Thoroughly. I was so happy to be there yet so sad to know
that the following morning I was going to get up just after the sun
and pack my bags, eat some oatmeal, drink one last cup of coffee with
Ronnie-Jean and Kyle, and set off on my journey once again.

The open range

7/6/09 Update This

Yesterday I hit Jackson around lunchtime but let me digress. Four days
ago I left Maybell heading for dirt roads, open range, canyons, and
the Wyoming border. I suppose you would say I was having a slow day? I
don't really know, it was one of those days where the pedals never
seem to turn easy, I'll just blame it on the wind though am unable to
recall which direction it was a'blowin. Along the north side of
Dinosaur Natnl. Monument I passed canyons and a few ranches dotting
the otherwise empty landscape before turning due north onto the 10N
road to begin my dirt road odyssey through Irish Canyon. It is so
named for the three Irishmen who robbed a Rock Springs saloon and made
for the north end of the canyon to consume the loot. If ever there was
going to ne a day to see snakes that was it, it was hot and dry and I
was alone with my thoughts and the pungent sage, but I only saw the
tail of what I presume was a small bull snake as it slithered away as
I was turning my bike around after snapping a picture. After four or
five hours of riding I hit the WY border and pavement so carried on
with another 55 miles to go to Rock Springs. I climbed, I descended, I
climbed, I descended, I ate and drank, and kept a vigilant eye on the
dark clouds that had been hanging over the western skies all day. With
about 90 miles under my belt and 30 still to go the dark sky overtook
me and began pelting me with raindrops as heavy as bumble-bees,
putting on a concert of rumbles, and occasionally flashing lightning
in the distance. Shortly after I decided to pick up my pace and head
for shelter at what looked like a ranch about a half mile ahead,
someone in a truck that had just passed me but turned around, asked me
if I wanted a ride because of the storm. I accepted. That particular
storm wasn't terrible but it did continue to storm on and off all
evening. So, Gary and I headed to Rock Springs, he drove me to a KOA
then upon arriving said I could just shower at his place and he'd take
me to a place I could camp for free, and after my shower he said I
could just stay there and sleep in the back of their camper van in the
driveway. As it turned out Thursday was Gary's Friday and I wonder if
he picked me up and kept me around for company because the rest of his
family seemed rather preoccupied with their own goings on, oh I doubt
it.

Having ridden close to 260 miles in three days I was determined to
make Friday easier and shorter so only went as far as the tiny
crossroads town of Farson, about 40 miles from Rock Springs. You
wouldn't think it a small town by the amount of business the
mercantile/ice cream parlor does, it was steady all day long and
deservedly so. I was most definitely a happy patron renewing my
fondness for strawberry cheesecake ice cream. It was an otherwise
uneventful day of sitting, napping, and sitting, with the occasional
intermission for a rainshower. The following day was the 4th of July
and the town was abuzz with talk of the Farson rodeo. For a moment I
thought about sticking around but decided to push on north.

Day 1 Pics

Just a few I snapped of the Gore range on my way to Steamboat and my
home for the night.

Pedaling CO

7/1/09 North West North

Today I began my ride out of Steamboat Springs all smiles. Yesterday
atop Muddy Pass while I was taking a picture of a continental divide
sign I met a fellow biker turning around and heading back to
Steamboat. We chatted for a bit and agreed that I would stay with him
and his family for the night. Steven took off for Rabbit Ears pass and
so did I shortly thereafter, albeit somewhat reluctantly because I was
adding an extra fifteen miles to my already longer than intended first
day in the saddle. However, I knew that those extra miles would be
well worth it. Needless to say, I was thoroughly knackered long before
finishing for the day. Steven met me in town and took me up to his
place, put me in their immaculate guest house, and told me to come
over for dinner whenever I was ready. The whole situation was a bit
surreal and almost felt too good to be true, but as dreamlike as it
felt, it was entirely real. Though I did most of the question
answering over dinner and was the slowest to finish, I would have
gladly carried our conversations on into the night. Steven and
Adrienne's oldest daughter, Ellie, who is 19, has expressed an
interest in doing a two week, solo bike tour somewhere in WY or CO and
they wanted my opinion on the matter (this was before I met Ellie). I
still don't know what I would do if I were in their shoes, probably
tell her to find a friend to do it with. I suppose there would be a
little less concern for her safety were she a son. But not really.
Some people thrive on testing themselves, myself included, and will
one way or another find ways to make challenges happen, and I hope I
conveyed that last night. But I also think I didn't offer any wisdom
to aid in their decision making. After meeting her (she's beautiful)
she seems savvy enough, and I think she would be fine on her own and
would have a great ride/time, but you never know-the same goes for me.

Well, today I rode to Maybell, CO on some lonely roads, the sun was
shining all day and the winds were bearable. I dined on leftovers from
last night's dinner and some banana bread (cheers Adrienne), tomorrow
will not be nearly as tasty as I head north towards Rock Springs
across 120 miles of what I gather is pure desolation. As much as I
would like to cover it all in one day I anticipate falling short and
having to kip-out somewhere between.

Pre-ride post

6/28/09 Pre-ride Jitters

My bike and I made it to Colorado successfully, even without hitch.
Apparently my bike box was inspected by TSA in Portland, I hope they
didn't unpack it entirely because the repacking would likely have been
as unpleasant as the first packing. I arrived late and was met by an
old grad school pal, Matt, who moved to Denver with his wife Kate.
Matt and Kate live in an awesome house in Denver with their two little
boys, Damian and Lucas, and their two cats. Matt and I discussed his
work and whatnot, mostly signal processing in relation speech
recognition/engines. As we made our way through the city streets I
couldn't help but remark at the number of young folks on the streets
making their way into and out of bars and nightspots. Oh, such a far
cry from the oft-sleepy downtown of Silverton, OR.

Over the next two days I had to make full use of what was likely to be
the last kitchen I'd set foot in for a while. Tortillas, tacos,
pancakes (Kate made those and I pitted cherries), sandwiches,
chips...In a rush I said most of my goodbyes and Matt handed me off to
my old pal TJ and his girlfriend at Red Rocks. We drove to Vail
yesterday. Heading into the mountains I always wonder why I let myself
spend so long away. Perhaps I have romanticized them to the extent
that I am enamored of their serenity, of course they can tend towards
tempestuous. So does the sea, so do the plains. Everything sees it's
moment and we bear witness.

My bike is ready, my bags are packed, my general route is mapped out,
rather, I have a few set destinations as I wend my way to the
Willamette valley. There is that itch to move on that compels me to a
far horizon, yet the attraction to the familiar will keep me happily
in place here in Vail another day or so and all the more sad to say
goodbye. I wonder if in transience the only permanence to be found is
just that.

In a few days more I may know.

UPS

yesterday i smelled the salty atlantic for the first time in more than three months. yesterday i swam in the atlantic for the first time in years. yesterday we hit the jersey shore and immediately began our westward return, of course, by way of maine. right now i tend to think of the last few months of riding as a succession of more than fifty bike rides, and not really "one big ride." as i was riding to the motel, still wet and salty from the sea, the only thoughts i had revolved around showering, eating, doing laundry, and how to get from point A to point B the following day. needless to say, we are creatures of habit, the routine i've fallen into while daily on-the-go will linger for some time.

with all of that in mind i have to re-pack for the remainder of the trip, getting things in order to be shipped back to oregon. it is a strange feeling for me, shipping things to oregon permanently.

i must thank those of you who read along, those who gave encouragement, aid, assistance, help, a place to stay over the last few months. thank you all so much.

may fair winds fill your sails with joy,
ross

one more ride

It's hard to believe it, but today will be our final ride to the Atlantic ocean. We're getting a ride over the Delaware Memorial bridge into New Jersey and will then ride to the Atlantic City area and the Jersey shore. And then we'll be done...

I must say that the riding we have done in the last week has been pretty much fantastic. The rides we did through the Appalachians were certainly difficult, they were hot, humid, and steep. I could definitely go back to WV and ride more, preferably not on a fully-loaded bike. We only briefly dipped into Virginia proper before heading for Maryland. I must admit that Maryland was a wonderful surprise. The roads were nice, the scenery lovely, and the rolling hills virtually endless. Oh, we were able to meet my old friend Tulley and her fiancé Frank for dinner in Frederick, too. I ended up getting my rear wheel warrantied in Westminster, we stayed in a backyard in Monkton, I managed to pick about a quart of rather unique wild raspberries, and according to my dad, had the best vegetarian meal ever all in one day!

Anyways, we're off to the shore in about an hour and I still need to pack, eat, and get moving.

Cheers to Les Leach and Kathleen, our host in Wilmington, DE and shuttle-drivers.

the wheel of fortune, or, as luck would have it?

Tucked away somewhere I have a sticker I picked up years ago showing an inflated bike tire and a flat tire. Underneath these are the words hope and despair, respectively. Time and time again I have entered into towns (and occasionally cities) leaving my fate to fortune, always hoping for good tidings, yet prepared for a less than clime. Luckily I have never experienced despair on this odyssey of sorts, but there have been those times when we’ve had to ride further than we would have liked to find a place to sleep, or food to eat. Nevertheless, today, we’re spending our first nigh in West Virginia.

The last time I wrote was my first morning in St. Louis. That feels like eons ago, but I guess it has only been a few weeks. So, fortune: the day we crossed into Missouri from Atchison, Kansas was unpleasantly hot and a bit confused. We’d battled an unrelenting and wholly unsympathetic headwind for much of the day and lost contact with each other in the afternoon. I entered Missouri in search of a place to stay, and opted to stay on route and forego a campground a few miles in the wrong direction—I rode to Rushville hoping to find at least a convenience store and a faucet and a place we could pitch our tents for the night. I arrived and found a post office and a bank and a church. I’d been sitting on a few postcards so decided that in my bleak situation the best thing to do was to send off a few little notes, admittedly describing my predicament. I think I wrote something to the effect of, ‘Hi, it’s really hot, I’m really tired, just got into MO, no food, no place to stay, guess I’ll figure something out.’ After sending those off I spoke with the lady at the post office and she let me use her phone to call my dad, just before doing calling him a fellow came into the post office and upon hearing about my desperate situation told me that we could sleep in the church that night, so I called dad and told him to pick up some grub and go to the Rushville church. When I got outside the post office the guy, Tim, said he’d do one better and offered up his house to us. We ended up staying with Tim, Rita, and their son Caleb that night in little Rushville, MO. How strange a turn of events…I write to friends of my dire situation only to be relieved moments later.

The first day I was in Ohio I rode into Cincinnati and was looking for a motel we could use as a launch-pad for an early start the following day so we could get through unscathed, to avoid the horrendous city traffic. I never found one and wound up weaving my way through on bad neighborhood after another, eager to find a place to stay. I didn’t, not exactly. I did stop a couple out for a walk (in a better neighborhood) to ask for directions to the nearest motel, they mentioned a few possibilities that were not really options I was eager to consider seriously, and then they offered their backyard which was only a block away. That was a lure I bit promptly. We ended up picking my dad up outside the city to save him the hassle of riding the streets I’d already traveled. And in the end he and I crashed on their floor and made an early start the next day to avoid the traffic. As a brief aside, a few days later in Piketon, OH we were in the barber shop getting haircuts and there was a show on the television describing a murder case, a murder case around the street we’d ridden to get out of Cincinnati!

And today, our first day in West Virginia, a day of rain and drizzle, one of those green-grey days that I am ever so fond of, our fortune was gilt. Early in the ride I had to take a detour to meet someone at a bike shop in Vienna, WV to buy a new saddle and a few tubes since mine was bust, something I noticed last night. I made some arrangements over the phone to meet someone there today, July 4, a day that probably ever bike shop is closed on…I had a great time talking with Yvette at the shop, Vienna Bike, and then got on the road to catch dad who by that time was ahead of me. I caught him outside Parkersburg and we found a great little town store for lunch, it just happened to be open today. After lunch we parted and made our way for West Union. Our plan was to take a rail-trail from Elenboro to West Union and then on to Clarksburg the following day. The North Bend trail is touted as having many long tunnels along its length…I got to Elenboro and jumped on the trail and was awarded with puddles and a very bumpy ride, initially. Then it smoothed out, and then it became more of a mountain bike ride than anything else. I rode that trail for 17 miles today, more out of stubbornness than anything else I suppose. I did call dad early on and tell him I was getting off of it ASAP, then I texted saying I’d ride it, after ten miles I called and told him to stay as far away from it as possible. I should have taken my own advice. It was more bad than good today. With all the rain the grassy sections were water-logged and sloooow. With all the rain there were countless puddles and sections more than 100 yards under 6+ inches of water. Then there were the tunnels. I rode through three of them. The first was about 500 ft. long, a little bumpy, dark enough that I got out my headlamp (useless in the foggy darkness) and managed to tentatively pedal through. I realize that some of you don’t think I know how to pedal with caution having seen me mountain bike, but I can, and do from time to time. Anyways, tunnel two was about 700 ft. long, darker and wetter with water on both sides of the bumpy, crowned center. Tunnel three was diabolical and about half a mile long, it went from bad to bearable to abysmal amidst the cool, dank air at the heart of a mountain that closes on you in an inescapable embrace. At the mouth of the tunnel water was pouring down onto the trail from both sides into a formidable puddle on top of an already thick layer of brown, sludgy mud that extended into the tunnel an indeterminate distance. I got off my bike and began what I figured would be a long, slow slog through the tunnel. I was not thrilled. So I marched in. The water abated, then there was another large puddle, then the trail was more or less dry so I climbed on my bike and pedaled on in darkness entertaining myself by hooting and hollering, as you do. Shortly after seeing the first light at the tunnel’s end I saw what looked to be a large pool of water and I considered turning around with images of myself trying to wade through some murky tunnel, heavy and loaded bike somehow overhead swimming in my mind. Of course I didn’t turn around. Surely the water couldn’t be so deep that I couldn’t ride through. Surely. Surely. Right? The lake came and I sallied forth, and then there was the sensation of sinking. I dismounted and picked my bike out of the water which was more than a foot deep and begin the final march to the end of the tunnel. The first pavement I hit after that felt as it must while floating on a cloud. I got to West Union and found nothing at all, really. Well, I found a bit of despair. We were supposed to be able to get lodging here, according to the pamphlet for the rail-trail. I stopped a guy and a girl walking down the street and they told me I’d have to go another thirty or so miles to find anything like a motel but that I could ask the folks down the block sitting out on their porch since they were local. So I did, of course. Before I even had told them my name I was sitting at the dining room table with a plate of food in front of me! Not only did they feed me but they did find us a place to stay with a couple who lets travelers stay with them from time to time. Oh, how fortunes swing! To Lois and her family we are indebted, for dinner and putting us in touch with Sharon and Paul, and of course to Sharon and Paul, here in West Union, OH.

We’ve decided to head for Atlantic City, NJ. I guess we’ll get there, ship our bikes back to Oregon. Then we’ll head for New York City, Boston, and then Maine. So, if you’ll be in NYC or Boston in about ten days, drop me a line or give me a call, I’d love to see you if I can.

With that, I’m beat and ready for bed.

Happy Fourth of July!

life outside the fast lane

Yesterday was Father's day and we made St. Louis. It's been a few weeks since I last sat a computer and had a chance to update this and check my e-mail. I guess the last time I said anything here we were in Oshkosh, NE dodging storms. The storm dodging business continued all the way through Nebraska and into Kansas, we actually dipped into Kansas a little earlier than we'd originally intended to hopefully avoid "tornado alley" and have fairer winds. I suppose we were successful on both accounts, more or less. We were never hit by any tornadoes, and the wind was never so bad that we couldn't ride...

I've had a plethora of ideas running through my head the last couple of weeks and now, here, I am plagued by the same question I always am, do I write about the daily grind or a few choice events? It doesn't really matter this time, I'm not rushed and know that I'll be here for a week- plenty of time.

I'll backtrack a bit, first. We deviated from our route to Colorado in Lander, WY to head for the Platte river in hopes of finding flat roads and ethereal winds. It was not without reluctance, of course. I love pancakes but not necessarily landscapes as such, that said, our decision to take the quick path to the plains was more in the interest of time than anything else. So we headed east across WY anticipating a topographically mundane Great Plains. Let's just say that the plains aren't planar. From a few hundred feet in the air you could probably see across the entire state of Kansas, but on the surface, it ain't flat. Neither is Nebraska. Well, at least the parts we rode across. The ground undulates predictably, as tides ebb and flow. The grasses and wheat fields rustle in waves as a wind driven sea. We crossed that sea tracing the arches of some prehistoric sea-monster's back, climbing out of and descending into the waves. What a wild ride. Admittedly, I was a little frustrated at first, 30, 40, 50 miles of that was unnerving, that old jigsaw puzzle of expectation and disappointment. But once I accepted the fact that no holy grail of a flat road and perfect tailwind was in store I enjoyed the rolling landscape and curious wind. In these states the grass cannot hide the wind direction, unlike the sage of the high desert.

I'm getting hungry now and will have to sign off. I'll get back to this soon enough though. I did say that we managed to avoid dangerous weather, but in our first evening in Kansas, in Oberlin, a storm passed over that dropped golf ball size hail. Who knew that hail could bounce?

Have Fun.

Big Hail small Towns

We finally made it out of Wyoming.

there were many miles of riding beside a rumble strip, so many that i really wanted to write Wyoming off as the rumble strip state but so far it's no different in Nebraska...dad wants to say that Wyoming's motto ought to be "take it or leave it" and that is accurate. at least a few times were we told that we were in Wyoming and things are different in Wyoming, sometimes it was put nicer than others. it is a pretty country though. given all the ranches, cowboys, and talk of the pony express i began to wonder whether or not i could trade my beloved leather bicycle saddle for the horse mounted variety. at any rate, we seem to have left the mountains for good which i'm not entirely happy about but have accepted. we were hoping to make better time on the plains with prevailing winds coming from the west but that hasn't been so. i'm sure many of you have heard about the high tornado count in the midwest this year, apparently wind from the southeast means bad weather in these parts and yesterday was good evidence. we rode about 63 miles from McGrew (pop 99) to OshKosh (pop 966) with a headwind that only relaxed when the coal trains would pass by and buffer the wind. of course, the trains that were traveling in our direction did this, those passing the other way only increased the apparent strength of the wind. some matters of checks and balances don't really figure into the sensations felt in your legs after hours and hours of riding, on a very base level a reprieve is a reprieve.

as i was saying, the wind was out of the southeast all day yesterday and we were following the Platte, heading southeast. i got to OshKosh around 12:30 and got us a cheap hotel ($38) as planned. just as dad was due to arrive i flipped on the weather channel to see what the brewing, brooding dark clouds had in store: golf ball sized hail and the potential for a tornado, in southern Garden County and only 6 miles south of OshKosh! as luck would have it a sever storm watch crew picked dad up and ferried him in the last 4 miles to town. luckily the storm never really came to fruition but there are more and more and more on the way i guess. really, i'm just hoping for a flipping of the wind! or maybe just a break from it...

yesterday was supposed to be an easy 60 miles since the previous 5 days had been longer than average for us. it didn't turn out that way at all, they were 60 grueling miles, though i did rescue 6 box turtles from the road and coaxed a 6ft. bull snake off the shoulder, too. so, we stayed in OshKosh another day for rest up and prepare for another day of fighting the wind.

all in all, we're doing well and planning on making it to St. Louis with a little time to spare before the wedding. that means more bike riding, but unloaded! these loaded bikes are so sluggish, taking the front panniers off makes them feel twitchy and almost unpredictable, but a dream to ride.

i hope that the weather improves for everyone unhappy with theirs, the grass stays green and soft, and the news be good.

have fun,
ross

that old wind again

so often i sit down at the computer, when i get to one, and don't really know what to write. i always figured that i'd have something to say, lots to say, whenever i would get to one, but i'm finding it to be otherwise. tonight we're in Douglas, WY and it's about as windy as i've seen it so far this trip. i just talked to dad about an hour ago and he said he'd been blown UP a hill at 35mph! i didn't get that kind of wind on my trip in, oh well. we've got 1-2 days left in Wyoming and then it's into Nebraska for a bit, and then on to Kansas, i guess.

we seem to be out of the major rains for now, just some thunderstorms that roll through rather quickly.

as i rode over what was likely our last mountain pass for a long, long time i was both happy and sad. i'd definitely rather ride up and down mountains for the duration of the trip, but mountains usually mean shorter days. so leaving the mountains means we should be able to move a little further across the map each day, and if the winds are favorable we'll inch along that much quicker, or at least with a little more ease.

a few nights ago we were in Jeffrey City, an old uranium mining town about 60 miles outside Lander, on the way to Rawlins or Casper. what a place that was. i met an artist-fellow who'd just bought a building and lot for $5000 and had to put a roof on the place that cost another $10K, twice the cost of the building and lot! anyways, the town population once was about 3-5000 and is now about 50. at the bar/cafe they won't take a credit card and charge $2.25 for a glass of whisky (Jack or Jim), everything else is cheap too and the breakfast was HUGE! i suppose it's the kind of place your could escape from the world, there's ranches, sage, some granite (i think) and that's it. no gas, no groceries, just about no nothing. oh, there's pronghorn deer too.

i'm sitting at this computer at the KOA and it's running SUSE Linux, what a surprise. and since i'm at a KOA i'm heading for the shower to wash away today's salt/sweat accumulation...i guess that last night we were camped at one of the premier river trout fishing in the country on the North Platte outside Alcova, fyi.

ok. be well,
ross

more and more and more

we left Jackson the other day, I guess it was Friday?

Saturday we climbed over Togwotee Pass on our way to Lander.
We woke Saturday morning to a temperature of 37F and a light rain/mist, I over fueled with the end of a bag of cereal, whole milk, and a brownie I'd picked up the day before at Dornan's at the entrance to Teton National Park as I was on the lookout for fuel and elk and bison. After less than thirty minutes of climbing I was overheating despite the lower temp of 34F and rain that had given way to falling snow. While pedaling upwards and into that grey horizon I was wondering at the absurdity of some of these endeavors so many of us embark on, oftentimes knowing full-well what is in store. I don't necessarily think the experience is always pleasurable during, but afterwards when out of the elements while eating and drinking, warm and dry, the unsavory becomes savory. But I also realize that I was at the foot of Memorial Day weekend, a weekend that has been notoriously bad for members of the OMC (Oregon State University Mountain Club) and mountains. We lost some dear friends one year, and dear toes another. Cornelius's smile was never out of my periphery that day. As many mountaineers and climbers will tell you, it is oftentimes the descent that wreaks the most havoc. This rang true for me that day. I was hot with sweaty and snowy clothes as I crossed that 9658Ft mountain pass and began the thirty mile drop to Dubois. At first the cold was an afterthought, but after a few miles at more around 30mph in driving 35F rain I was freezing...luckily, just as my teeth began to chatter I came upon the Lava Mountain Resort where I dripped, drank cocoa, tucked into some chili, and warmed slightly. I left and a few miles down the road the rain gave way to a luxurious tailwind and it was smooth sailing across the Wind river and into Dubois. Behind me my dad was having his own adventures in the snowy pass, the lucky bugger got to see a moose while eating a burrito at Togwotee Lodge, I only saw a few mule deer that day, looking less comfortable than I must have on the descent.

Yesterday we rode out of Dubois and into Lander, the sun was shining but the wind was unfavorable for the last 60 or so miles making the trek seem more difficult than usual, probably we were jaded by the first fifteen miles with a ripping tailwind. In Lander we set up camp at the city park and narrowly escaped an exciting hailstorm, we now know what it sounds like inside a popcorn popper! The storm eased long enough for us to cook, but then it picked up again and rained all night and was still going strong this morning, POURING this morning. So we checked in for the day, did laundry, dried everything, and are anticipating more rain tomorrow. Tomorrow we ride, however.

It is looking like we're in for a change of route. We'd planned to head for Rawlins and then trend south into Colorado but now think we'll head for Casper and follow the Platte river into Nebraska and then make our way into Kansas.

Mom, I'm sending more stuff home. Don't worry, you won't need the gas mask this time. Speaking of sending, send me your address (any of you) and maybe I'll get a postcard off to ya'.

I guess we went from unseasonably dry and hot conditions to the opposite, cold and wet, maybe it's a Wyoming thing? One thing is for sure, this weather doesn't often bring out the best in a person and we've had our spats, thankfully no hard feelings have lingered. Speaking of the weather, I'm a little nervous to head to the plains since they're getting nailed by tornadoes and I really don't want to have to deal with those sorts of winds...

And one last thought to any of you biking around in the rain, just be glad you're not loaded down and riding in it all day long. I assure you that you'll get to where you're going a whole lot faster than we will. I sound like I don't like riding in the rain, some of you know that's not entirely true as I've dragged more than one unknowing soul on bike rides in diabolical weather. Be comforted in the knowledge that you are with me on this ride, too.

ta-ta for now,
ross

inevitibility

I guess that it was inevitable that we'd get hit by some rain, though we haven't ridden in any yet, we'll be in it tomorrow. the sun was blazing as we made our way across Idaho and even our first day in Wyoming as we rode from Alpine to Jackson two days ago. Yesterday was our designated rest day in Jackson, it rained and rained and rained and rained all day today as well, so we opted to stay put and wait for warmer temps (it's supposed to be 50F in Jackson tomorrow and still wet). The potential for snow on the roads was the real deciding factor for us.

We met so many nice folks in Idaho. In Fairfield, up on the Camas Prairie we were taken in by a family, they gave us their lawn for the night, washed our clothes, allowed us to shower (or maybe insisted on it due to our collective odor), and cooked us dinner and breakfast the next morning. Dad had a tire blow out the following day, just as I had reached him after hanging back in town for a little while. I was convinced that after our little fiasco with thorns upon entering Idaho would be the first chapter in a novel of disasters, how wrong I was, and how thankful I am for that.

I must admit that over the years I've not given the Idaho landscape the credit it deserves. It is not as varied as Oregon but is stunning nonetheless. I'd love to go back someday and tour the mountains. The roughly thirty miles of climbing out of Mountain Home was such a delight! Thankfully there's more climbing to come. I must admit that I'm a little worried that Nebraska and Kansas will make me a batty.

We're staying in Jackson with a friend from Orono and a few other mainers which is nice. As strange as it was to sleep indoors the first night here it's amazing how easily I have welcomed it. I am getting a little stir-crazy having not ridden for two days now but when I look outside and the water dripping off the roofs it's real easy to stay put a little longer. This extra day in town even gave me the opportunity to bake some bread! It just came out of the oven and looks pretty good, unfortunately one of the loaves stuck to the pan and has a motley bottom.

I guess that tomorrow we'll have to head out, I think we're both ready to move on. Then again, staying in Jackson with Ronnie, Kyle, Dan, and Chris would be nice, it has been awesome.

I'm finding that my mind is wandering less and less as all I am concerned with these days is taking care of my physical needs. Riding, eating, and sleeping. And that's about it.

Ride On.

marching on [thorns]

we crossed into idaho two days ago. oregon wasn't easy at all. i don't think they know how to build a flat road in the state. i'm not complaining, but i'm saying...we move at a relatively slow speed. the first few days i pushed too hard and have payed for it with a nagging knee pain ever since. having slowed down the pain seems to have abated, more or less. there's a great story about a simultaneous double-flat that we brought upon ourselves by crossing over some horrendous patch of roadside thorns. it all ended with the application of about ten patches on four tubes, three broken valve stems (he did it to all three), only three working tubes for two bikes (four are required), and two nights in a small motel in Parma, ID. we lived to tell the tale and i'm sitting here in Murphy, ID about 53 miles from Parma. i got into town and discovered the only store here is closed on tuesdays (it's tuesday, by the way) and that we can camp on the museum lawn but the sprinker system might come on at some point (that already happened to us once so it shouldn't be too much of an issue).

we just keep rolling along and are having a great time. as we wander the roads so too does my mind--to many familiar places, voices, and faces.

on a lighter note, i can't say i miss sitting in front of a computer all day. i can say that i miss you all, however.

no epiphanies or profound realizations, i did read an old Kung Fu book and have rolled this around in my head: suffering is as private as death. but that's not at all relevant to our journey.

oregon is amazing, i hope i feel the same about the rest of 'em.

have fun and much love,
ross

Prologues

Yesterday I pedaled from my hometown of Silverton out to Neskowin beach.  The weather was lovely, albeit breezy (though not nearly as bad as those blustery spring afternoons in Maine).  There is something unique to riding a bike to the ocean.  For me, pedaling to the sea feels like pedaling to the end, from which there is nothing but an undulating body of water unawares the human condition.  It's especially nice to arrive at the Pacific as golden waves crash upon the endless, sandy beach--the alternative being a driving rain brought forth by an angry Poseidon.

Somewhere along the way amidst the past few years my home became Maine.  I was beginning to forget some of the not so subtle details of the Oregon landscape.  As I rode through the coastal mountains yesterday I couldn't help but stare at the moss covered trees crowding the slopes or the tributary streams snaking through the valleys; at times I am convinced there remain places forgotten by Time.  

I guess that tomorrow we begin our journey East, it'll be interesting riding with all this extra junk.  Sure, I've ridden plenty of miles with stuffed jersey pockets but now having four bags to put too much miscellany into is proving to be something of a conundrum.  I cannot seem to resist the temptation to stuff them to the brim unnecessarily...So long as there's room for a bottle of beer and a loaf of bread I'll manage!

So, that's me, for now.

Have Fun,

r