Jeff's BIG Ride -- Daily Itinerary (August)

It's shockingly close to August, so, for those who are interested,
here are the gory details for the 4th and final calendar month of the
2010 van-supported Trans-Am ride:
S 1 -- Cambridge ID to Halfway OR (58)
M 2 -- Halfway to Baker City OR (53)
Tu 3 -- Layover day in Baker City OR
W 4 -- Baker City to Prairie City OR (67)
Th 5 -- Prairie City to Mitchell OR (83)
F 6 -- Mitchell to Redmond OR (68)
Sa 7 -- Redmond to McKenzie Br OR (61)
Su 8 -- McKenzie Br to Coburg OR (55) (4000 miles total)
M 9 -- Coburg to Salmonberry Park (Alsea Valley) OR (60)
Tu 10 -- Alsea Valley to Florence OR (THE PACIFIC!!) (76)
W 11 -- Florence to Eugene OR (77 -- by van(*))

---------
(*) Apparently, you can bike back to Eugene if you want. What -- are
they CRAZY?!? I'm in the van, baby.

The best ride yet -- III (IV? I've lost track)

WED 7/28 -- Powell Campground to Syringa (72)
A simply beautiful ride, a feast for the eyes, all day long. Why?
Beautiful surroundings (rushing river(s), with rocks, cliffs,
mountains, and forests(*) all around), smooth, low-traffic road, blue
skies, tailwind (if any), and -- get this -- gently downhill for the
entire 72 miles. 72 miles of downhill through awe-inspiring natural
beauty, people, on a perfect summer day! For most of the ride we were
alongside the Lochsa River, until, about 10 miles from our
destination, it fed into the Clearwater. Both are wild and rapid-y and
gorgeous to look at. The only thing lacking was wildlife -- I wanted a
bear, I wanted an eagle, I got nothing. (Maybe an osprey, but I didn't
get a good enough look to be certain.) Today was one of the only days
in my life when I wished I had a good camera -- there was stunning
beauty around every curve, which I tried a few times to capture with
the iPhone's camera, but it's just not up to the task(**). Or maybe it
was operator error -- that's always a good bet when I'm behind the
lens. Whatever, the few pictures I took are such pale representations
of what was in front of my eyes that they're not worth posting.
[Brother, you would have taken so many shots you would have had to
hose down your shutter to keep it from overheating -- wish you'd been
there to give it a go, though.] So there's no photographic evidence;
you'll just have to take my word for it.

We stayed in a double cabin at the Riverdance Lodge(***) -- pretty
nice accomodations, and nice to be indoors, since rain moved in late
on the afternoon, and several times through the evening.

----------
(*) Mostly old growth, I think -- much of the terrain is simply too
steep and too hard to access to have ever been logged.

(**) Something else wasn't quite up to the task, and that was the
cherry pie at the Wild River Cafe in Lowell ID. Pretty tame, but at
least it wasn't touted as something it wasn't -- i.e., made from fresh
fruit. BTW, a sign outside the cafe showed the town's population as
23, with "24" X'd out. Hugh inquired, and was told that they just
didn't like the guy, so they booted him out.

(***) "Idaho's Outdoor Adventure Resort" -- I'm kind of surprised
there's only one. The manager is from the Czech Republic. Wonder how
that happened? Hugh would have gotten the full story by now, but, try
as he might, he doesn't have time to talk to everyone, I guess.

(Sent from my iPhone)

Hi-Ho Idaho

TUES 7/27 -- Missoula MT to Powell Campground ID (56)
This morning we faced cloudy, somewhat threatening skies as we started
our ride out of Missoula -- it seems like weeks since that's happened.
(We've been sooooo lucky on the weather lately!) We backtracked to
Lolo for the first 10-11 miles or so, along the same busy, unpleasant
highway by which we approached Missoula on Sunday. (Which wasn't
nearly as uphill-y going out of town as I'd remembered it, BTW.)

Then we turned west on highway 12, and it was like suddenly entering a
different world -- quiet and peaceful, except for the babbling/
gurgling of Lolo Creek, and surrounded by the encroaching forest of
beautiful [???? -- straight, tall, reddish trunk; some manner of
conifer whose name I should know by now] trees. The road followed the
creek gently upstream for about 30 miles, past a single outpost of
civilization, Lolo Hot Springs [pie potential, but no ice cream --
fuggedaboudit], and then turned steeply uphill for another 3-4 miles
up to Lolo Pass (5,235). Which is where we crossed into Idaho. There
was nobody else around to get me in the photo, so that's my trusty
bike leaning up against the sign. A beautiful, beautiful road, and
we're on it again all day tomorrow.

At the pass's visitor center I got treated to a nice little show -- a
helicopter landing in the parking lot. There was a forest fire (not
very big, I think) about 2 miles east of the pass, and on the way up
I'd seen several choppers pass overhead, hauling big baskets of water
to dump on the fire.

You'll notice, perhaps, that in the photo I've got a cover over my
pannier bags. It started to spit rain at Lolo Hot Springs, so when I
stopped for the fruitless [heh, heh] pie attempt I wrapped everything
up, including myself, against rain. By the top of the pass it began to
rain hard, which meant that the 13-mile trip down from the pass was
very wet and cold -- to-the-bone cold by the time I reached the
campground. Which had a lodge. Which had some empty rooms. One of which
(*) I fairly jumped on. Heater! Dry shoes (take out the arch supports
first)! Hot shower! I made a wild guess that Hugh would be interested,
too -- and I was right. It was a popular choice all around -- only 4
of our group of 14 are in tents tonight.

Camped out not 50 yards from our group were Lois and Kent, who are
[pay close attention] my wife's brother's wife's parents. I had known
that there was a good chance that our schedules would line up, but it
was great that it actually happened. While I was sitting in their RV
chatting, I saw Hugh bike by, so he joined the party. We yakked for a
couple of hours about camping and biking and family and the history of
the area (Kent is a very knowledgeable Lewis & Clark buff), while Lois
plied us with fresh cherries and watermelon. It was a real treat to
see them.

Another treat was a lovely little spontaneous afternoon gathering in
the lodge of what eventually was 8 or 9 members of the group, over a
few beers and some nachos &c. As we sat there talking and laughing the
skies cleared, giving us a beautiful view of the surrounding misty
mountains.

----------
(*)I was assigned room 4, which was ready at 11:00 when I got into
camp because no one had been in it the previous night. "Here's the
key, but it'll be unlocked; housekeeping always leaves them unlocked."
Ok! I bound up the steps to #4, thinking about that warm shower, turn
the handle -- locked. Hmmm... But, no problem, I've got a key. Unlock
the door, turn on the light, prepare to wheel my bike in... Problem:
there are two people in there, in bed, shielding their eyes from the
light, and suggesting, in quite clear terms, that I should leave. I
offer a quick apology and leave. Back to the office, get reassigned to
#6, return to #6, the door is wide open so I can SEE with my own eyes
that it's empty. I'm about to take occupancy when housekeeping comes
by and says don't take #6, it's not clean yet, take #5, and hands me
the key. But the door to #5 is closed, and locked. I unlock the door
and gingerly push it open... Perfect, empty, just like you want a
rented room to be.

The Hajj

SUN 7/25 -- Darby to Missoula (75)
and
MON 7/26 -- [rest day in Missoula]
The route for our pilgrimage to the holy city of Missoula, home of Adventure Cycling, continued to be downhill, but was otherwise mostly unexceptional. We spent quite a bit of time on bike trails -- for 3 or 4 miles coming into Hamilton, and then, 20 miles later, for about 15 miles between Stevensville(*) and Lolo. The paths provided a nice break from having to worry about traffic, but it wasn't like there was anything to particularly recommend them otherwise -- they were right next to the road.

I rode with Hugh who -- HOLD PAGE 1! -- had a flat about an hour into the ride, a classic flat of the audible "pop!/ssssss" variety. I don't have an exact tally, but Hugh must be pushing double figures, flat-wise, and looks to me like a sure bet to win the coveted most flats crown. Dennis is probably in second place, and he made a strong "Don't count me out yet" statement with 3 flats on the day we came out of W Yellowstone. But that didn't exceed Hugh's best one-day performance, it only matched it. And now Hugh has shown what kind of stuff he's made of by pounding out another one in quick response to Dennis's challenge. Sure, Dennis put on a flashy one-day show, but it's Hugh's consistent, day-in-day-out approach to tire trouble that's going to have him on the top of the medal stand, wearing the gold, when we hit the Pacific.

The flat was probably related to the very worn tire Hugh was riding. "Very worn" as in: when you held it up to the light you could see light through it. He diddled around for a while trying to effect a complicated, temporary repair strategy that I thought was ridiculous and doomed to failure (I favored a simple slab or two of duct tape on the inside of the tire, enough to limp into camp with), but despite that opinion I hung in there with him and offered encouragement on the order of: "That's never going to work, Hugh," and "Give it up, man," because that's what good friends are for.

[sorry--something's gone screwy here with the margins and I'm powerless to fix it]

Little did I know that Hugh had a grander vision, a bigger plan, which was to dawdle long enough for Clive and his magic pannier to show up. Of course Clive carried a spare tire with him, which he not only loaned to the cause but helped put on. I am convinced that if you were out on the road and for some reason needed a full-grown llama, Clive would have one stored on his bike somewhere, probably in his pannier bag.

One positive effect of the delay was that it gave us a chance to ride with a bunch of other folks at the back of the peleton -- Lucille and Robin, Dawn and John, Phil (always the last one out of camp, by hours, sometimes), and Michael, riding sweep. And ride in -- not a pace line, because that's not allowed on Adventure Cycling tours -- close linear formation, let's just call it, for several miles, both along one very straight, uncrowded section of road, and again along the 2nd, longer bike path. When that sort of riding works, and when the conditions are right, it's a major hoot -- the person in front has to work hard (although on the flat and/or with the wind it's no big deal), but everyone else in the pa... the close linear formation gets to draft off the person ahead if them, which leads to a cool, snake-like procession across the landscape and major and extended zippiness. Fun!

And speaking of fun, the final 12-13 miles into Missoula definitely wasn't -- it was along a heavily-trafficked [sp?] highway with a pretty rough shoulder. Not horrendous, just long and loud and generally umpleasant. Unfortunately, that's the way back out of town on Tuesday -- we backtrack that distance to Lolo to pick up the road that takes us west, into Idaho. In addition, I have a hunch that, since it was sharply downhill going into Missoula, it just might be uphill heading out. Time will tell...

The rest day was unexciting -- my favorite kind of rest day. We visited the Adventure Cycling headquarters, saw some memorabilia from the original Bikecentennial trek, had an official group photo taken, and were treated to a very nice burgers-n-dogs cook-out with the staff. I bought a cool Trans-Am t-shirt. Other activities: sleep in, blog a while, patch a couple of busted tubes, oil the chain [I never got to it the other night when we talked, hon], read, calculate miles ridden (3,254) and remaining (837), engage in fruitless search for more sunscreen, dinner at a Thai restaurant. Told you it was unexciting.

----------

(*)Stevensville included a pie break at the Stevi Cafe. Even though my achilles tendons are much improved, I have concluded that I need to continue the regimen that has yielded positive results in order to minimize the risk of relapse. Strawberry, advertised as fresh but I suspect otherwise. And a little skimpy on the ice cream. Disappointing; C- 


(Sent from my iPhone)

The best ride so far -- yet again!

SAT 7/24 -- Jackson to Darby MT (75)
The "best rides" seem to be coming thick and fast, don't they? They
are; we're in a beautiful part of the country to ride a bike in. This
one started inauspiciously, though:
(a) The live music at the Lodge on Friday night went on late. "We're
gonna take a little break, but don't worry -- we'll be here all
night!" I heard the band announce at one point. [Gaaack! Nooooo!] "All
night" turned out to be only (!) 11:30 or so, but still everybody was
a little sleep-deprived in the morning.
(b) Since no one was assigned dinner prep duty for Friday (we ate at
the Lodge), we "forgot" to shop for the next day's breakfast and lunch
fixin's while we were in some place approximating civilization.
Fortunately, Dawn and I happened to meet at the van in the afternoon,
both of us hungry and scrounging for snacks. We realized the food
problem, and got Steve on the case. He cleaned out the local store,
but we were still without some critical breakfast (fruit cups, yogurt)
and lunch (tomatoes, bananas) supplies(*). And, of course, we had no
coffee or tea, because firing up the stoves was verboten.
(c) It was cold -- bright, shiny, clear blue sky (once the sun rose),
but k-o-l-l-d-e cold; maybe the coldest morning we've had yet. And
wet. A very heavy dew had -- fallen? risen? what's the right verb?
what does dew do to make itself appear? -- settled in overnight,
almost as if it had rained, to aid and abet the bone-chillingness of
the early morning.
Bottom line: We were a tired, cold, damp, caffeine-less bunch who, on
top of all that, were a little grumpy (justifiably) about the food
situation.

BUT... We knew that the route for the day, although longish, was
almost all downhill. Over the 75-mile ride we faced about 5 noticeably
uphill miles, of which only about 2 were steeply uphill, over Chief
Joseph Pass. AND, even more encouraging, the forecast for the day
called for "light and variable" winds -- a very *very* welcome change
from the winds we've experienced lately. AND, better still, the actual
wind, as we yawned and shivered and stumbled our way around the
inadequately-stocked food tables, was from the south. And we were
headed mostly north! Woo-hoo! A tailwind! [Thanks, Brigit! You finally
got the magic to work!]

So, bolstered by hope more than food, off we went, into the morning
chill. Once again, I was wearing just about every ounce of bike garb I
packed, and it was barely enough. But the morning sun on the mountains
was stunning, the light winds were pushing in the direction I wanted
to go for a change, and Jackson's elevation was about 500' higher than
our first target, the little town of Wisdom (pop 114), 18 miles away.
My more specific target was a cup of coffee at Wisdom's only cafe,
Fetty's, and I got there in almost no time flat. "Would you like some
coffee?" the owner/waitress asked, after I'd seated myself at John and
Dawn's table. "I will pay you $10,000 for a cup of coffee," I replied.
Immediately a guy at a nearby table grabbed his wife's cup and tried
to hand it to me; I declined in favor of a fresh one. Now, as everyone
knows, coffee is, at its heart, a social beverage -- it's ok with
being consumed alone, but is happiest if there's accompanying food.
For the coffee's sake I also had a slice of blueberry pie, and for the
pie's sake a healthy dollop of ice cream. (What? I should accommodate
the coffee but not the pie? How do you think the pie would feel about
that?!? What else could I do?) The cafe lady presented me with a bill
for just a little over $10,000, but I negotiated it down a tad. Pie-
powered, off I went into the now noticeably-warmer morning.

10 miles on down the road was Big Hole Battlefield National Monument,
the site of an infamous confrontation in 1877 between US troops and a
relatively small band of Nez Perce Indians, one of whose leaders was
the famous Chief Joseph. Saw some of the historical items on display,
saw a video which summarized the sad, sad story leading up to the
battle, and the horrors of the battle itself. I always find the
history of the native people in this country deeply depressing to
contemplate, and this monument certainly had that same effect -- "Your
land? Uh, no; not any more. We want it. You move someplace else."

I was at the monument for an hour or so, and then took off down the
road again. The rest of the perfect, not-a-cloud-in-the-sky summer day
was pretty much just riding, downhill, through the forests and along
the streams of the beautiful Bitterroot Valley. The exception to that
summary was the climb up to Chief Joseph Pass (7241', about 1000'
above Wisdom), which was steep up for about 2 miles, and then steep
down for about 10. Even the steep ride up the pass was beautiful,
though, and the way was greatly eased due to the brand new, smooth as
glass road surface. It's amazing what a difference that makes! #1,
your body isn't jarred and shaken, but also, because you don't have to
be studying the road surface to pick out a good path, you can actually
take in the world around you. Which, in this case, was well worth
taking in.(**)

Our home in Darby was the Bitterroot Hideaway RV Park and Campground,
which was not, in any real sense of the words, hidden away. Unless by
"hidden away" you mean the mere fact that it was located in Darby MT.
There's some merit in that logic, but basically it was situated pretty
much right on the highway heading into town. It was ok, actually --
not bad at all. Especially since we were sharing the grounds with a
bunch of the other flavor of bikers, the ones with engines attached to
the wheels. And, completely independently, right across the road was
some sort of major gathering of off-road motorcyclists. I expected the
roar of engines deep into the night. Nothing; not a peep, mechanically
-- just some nice, neighborly interactions and occasional
conversation. In fact, one of our co-campers -- big, burly, tatoo'd
guy, travelling with his big, burly, tatoo'd wife/girlfriend -- had
the classic, by now fairly familiar, open-mouthed reaction when he
heard where we'd biked from, and where we were going: "You're doing
WHAT?!? Holy shit!" I also had a long conversation with Jerry, a
lawyer from Phoenix, who was moto-touring with his brother. He was
himself a veteran of some long-dx bicycle rides. (He was looking for
our Jerry, because he wanted to talk about recumbants.) "All that time
on the road -- don't you miss your wife?" I told him about the 40th
anniversary celebration in Carbondale, and our rendezvous in
Breckenridge, but that's not enough -- I do miss my wife.

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(*) I faced an interesting moral dilemma having to do with the
inadequate food supply. At the map meeting the night before we had
decided that whoever got up first should set out the breakfast and
lunch food. Fine; I got there at about 5:45 and opened up the van and
started to set things out; Hugh soon joined me. That's when I noticed
we had maybe 4 or 5 fruit cups, and about the same number of yogurts
and bananas. (Just for reference, we typically go through 2 dozen
bananas in the morning food scrum, and everyone, just about, has a
yogurt.) So... Do I take advantage of my position at the front of the
line -- pre-line, actually -- and grab the rare, precious items? On
the one hand, it would be my prerogative, wouldn't it, for getting up
early and doing the food set-out work? On the other, wouldn't it be
kind of a sneaky, jump-the-gun way to hog the not-enough-for-everyone
food? I opted to just leave the scene, and go and pack my tent and
luggage. When I got back to the food table 10 minutes later I had no
problem grabbing one of the two bananas and a yogurt. The fruit cups?
Gone.

(**) Too bad the smooth pavement didn't extend to the downhill side,
which was pretty rough and scraggly and rock-strewn -- one of those
"Beware of fallen rock" zones that really meant it. I tried to stay on
the shoulder, like a good boy, but an intense encounter with a small,
stationary rock while the bike and I were at high speed left me
convinced that I was safer out in the road. Fortunately, there wasn't
a lot of traffic.

(Sent from my iPhone)

The hardest ... [ADDENDUM]

1. We ate dinner on Friday night in the dining room of the Jackson Hot Springs Lodge. (They don't allow their tent campers to deploy stoves. I wonder why...?) A sign above the door lists the maximum capacity of the room as 38. Which means that exactly everyone who lives in Jackson could eat there at the same time, but no one could bring a guest.

2. There's live music at the Lodge tonight -- The Congress is playing, to a crowd that I would estimate is solidly in double figures (i.e., high teens, 20, maybe more). They're pretty good -- R&B, country, a little reggae, some jazzy stuff. I talked to the band members just before the 9:00 show time -- they seem like nice guys, trying hard to make it, having a good time touring, and they had the grace to be impressed with the X-C bike ride. I told them not to be offended when I walked out after 15-20 minutes of the show; they said they understood. The lead singer actually gave our group (Dennis, Kath, Robin, and I were the only members in attendance) a nice little shout out from the stage, and I got waves/nods/thumbs up as I left to call it a day. But here it is, 9:45, and I'm out in my tent in the Lodge's back yard, and the music is loud, and I JUST WANT TO GO TO SLEEP. BTW, if they don't name an album "In Session" then they don't deserve to make it big.

(Sent from my iPhone)

The hardest 48-mile ride ever

FRI 7/23 -- Dillon to Jackson (48)
Well, maybe not the hardest, but possibly the sloggiest. Two big
passes to... umm... pass, I guess -- up about 1500 feet to cross
Badger Pass (6760'), then down about half that height and back up
another 1400 feet to cross Big Hole Pass (7360'). It was just a lot of
work, both for the major "ups" and the strong headwinds. (Have I
mentioned the headwinds? They've been strong, constant, and somewhat
noxious.) The photo shows the spectacular view after crossing the
second pass -- beautiful snow-capped peaks in the distance to the NW.
(I have no idea what peaks...)

We're camped on the grounds of the Jackson (pop 38) Hot Springs Lodge,
which means that we increase the town's population temporarily by
almost 40%. The lodge is a classic; a big wooden structure with a
large common room, overlooking which are dozens of stuffed animal
heads -- ox, moose, bison, bear, sheep, deer, antelope. As Robin said,
"No animals were harmed in the construction of this lodge."

Montana (cont'd.)

THU 7/22 [HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RICH!] -- Ennis to Dillon (72)
We left the Madison Valley with a vengeance today, with a big 10 mile
climb shortly after leaving Ennis, over which we gained 2000 feet in
elevation. The photo is from an overlook about 3/4ths of the way up,
looking back down into the valley. It was another beautiful summer
morning -- about the 17 zillionth in a row, it seems. (I'm not
complaining!) The climb was long, and hard, but mostly just a matter
of keep-cranking-and-you'll-get-there. I have a suspicion that a few
weeks ago I, and others, might have thought it was a monster, but with
today's legs and lungs and experience it wasn't.

What almost always happens after a big up, of course, is a big down,
which is what the road did for the next 10 miles. I'm actually not a
big fan of the big downhill ride, because I'm too chicken to really
cut loose. So I ride the brakes a fair amount, which alway seems like
a big waste of all the effort that it took to get me to the top in the
first place. At least in this part of the world, unlike the hairpin-
turn downhills "back east," you can see where the downhill road is
going, and what's on the road, often for several miles (and it's
generally nothing). So I do cut loose, a little.

This particular downhill brought us into Virginia City, an old mining
town whose main street looks like a set for an old western movie. I
was tempted to blast on through -- we still had 50 miles to go, with
rumors of a strong afternoon headwind on tap -- but my eyes espied
Mike and Kath sitting in very civilized fashion at a little table
outside a cafe that was mentioned at the previous night's map meeting
as being worth a stop. And it was -- Swiss raspberry tart, almond
biscotti, and a delicious cup of coffee, as I sat in the morning sun.

At the bottom of the descent, 30-some miles from the top of the pass,
we turned and headed southwest toward Dillon. Now, we've been riding
basically north and west for quite a while -- weeks, it seems -- and
into some strong and steady headwinds just about the whole way. So,
when we turned south for the last 25 miles we found ourselves with a
delightful... headwind. Life isn't fair.

We camped at a KOA campground just outside of Dillon, on the banks of
the Beaverhead River. It was actually quite a pleasant and scenic
place, and they have this thing there where you take off your skanky
bike clothes and step into a little room and turn a knob and warm/hot
water comes through a pipe and out of a sprayer set in the wall and
gushes all over your tired, sweaty body. Fantastic!

The easiest 73-mile ride ever

WED 7/21 -- West Yellowstone MT to Ennis MT (73)
It was COLD this morning when we got up -- the Weather Channel said 32
degrees. I kind of doubt that it was quite that cold where we were --
I didn't see any frost anywhere -- but I can attest that it was finger-
numbing cold. West Yellowstone registered the coldest temp in the
lower 48 last Sunday -- 34 -- so it clearly can be a pretty cold place
in the early morning in mid-July. It was cold for the first couple of
hours of riding, too, but gradually over the course of the morning I
shed the thermal undershirt, the skull cap, the glove liners, and
eventually the jacket, and just rode naked. (No, not really; even
after removing all that stuff I still had plenty on. Plus, you can't
ride naked on an Adventure Cycling tour -- you always have to wear a
helmet.)

Today's ride was an almost-totally downhill jaunt through the
beautiful Madison Valley, mostly along the Madison River and its major
man-made lake, Hebgen Lake. The river is a gorgeous rushing thing
surrounded by high mountains, and from the look of it (and the number
of fly fishermen, and fly-fishing-related businesses) is prime trout
water. That seems to be one of the main things, if not THE main thing,
that draws people to the area.

Hebgen lake, though, was the first main feature of the day -- we
basically rode for about 20 miles along its eastern and northern
shores. Mountains all around -- beautiful. At the far NW end of the
lake was the dam that forms it, after which the road plunged down for
a mile or so, hard by the river. At the bottom was a sign for a cafe,
touting its breakfast offerings, and I said to myself, "Jeff, you've
been feeling a bit peckish lately, and not quite yourself, and a
little achy and run-down, what with the achilles tendon thing and all
-- maybe you're just not getting enough pie in your life." The cafe
was picture-perfect, with a wall of windows facing the rushing river
(Kath was there before me and had claimed a prime table), and the pie
(blueberry, warmed, avec ice cream (of course!)) and coffee extremely
tasty and very medicinal, I'm sure.

The entire Madison Valley is an earthquake area (see photo), and a big
one (R 7.5) in 1959 created Quake Lake (see photo) just a couple miles
past the dam, through the complete collapse of the side of a mountain
into the river (see photo). Pretty cool place to see; very glad I
wasn't there when it happened.

From that point on the ride just hugged the Madison River or its
tributaries, and we coasted (or could have) all the way into Ennis.
Easy, as, pie. (Mmmmmmmm........ pie.........)

Robin and I were the cooks for the day. He and Lucille were likely to
arrive in camp quite a bit later than me, so we had already arranged
that I would take the lead. Robin sous chef'd, Lucille and Steve
assisted. Cooking was outdoors, in the rain, but we caught a HUGE
break in that the RV park/campground we were in had a big garage with
a roof extending 8-10 feet off one side. A leaky roof, but a roof. So
we hunkered down there to prep and cook, and eventually the whole
group gathered there to eat, on a couple of commandered picnic tables.
The menu was a veggie-intensive (broccoli, carrots, snow peas, spring
onions) soy sauce chicken, over white rice (I had carefully prepared
Michael the day before -- white rice, not brown; he took it like a
man), with egg rolls (frozen) on the side and a very simple salad;
pudding was angelfood cake with fresh berries (black, blue, straw, and
rasp) and vanilla yogurt. It played to good reviews, both verbal and
non -- i.e., at the end everything was gone.

Numbers

You gotta occupy your mind with something during the hours on the
road. Here are a couple of random thought-streams having to do with
numbers:

(1) Outside of Ordway CO (or was it Eads? who cares?) there were miles
and miles and miles of empty railroad cars just sitting on the tracks
-- no engines or anything, just the cars. One stretch of parked RR
cars went on for 11 miles, with only a couple of breaks for roads to
cross, and a good part of that 11-mile stretch was a double track,
with cars parked on both tracks. And there were several other somewhat
shorter stretches. Let's say there were 25 miles of parked RR cars; I
think that's a conservative estimate. Two different estimation methods
led to the same conclusion as to the number of cars per mile: about
60. Which means 1,500 cars in all, just sitting there. I learned later
that the cars -- and they were all the same type of car -- were
designed to transport automobiles, and they'd been sitting where they
were for about 18 months. This struck me as (a) a huge waste of
resources; (b) a horrible blight on the landscape for the poor people
whose houses faced the tracks; and maybe (c) a very concrete indicator
of the ill health of the US auto industry.

(2) In "normal" riding circumstances, on a reasonably flat and smooth
road, it takes me somewhere between 250 and 300 complete (360 degrees)
pedal strokes to go a mile. Let's say 250 -- that's a nice easy number
to work with. So, if I ride 4,000 miles, that's one million pedal
strokes to get from the Atlantic to the Pacific

(Sent from my iPhone)

Tetons-->Yellowstone-->So Long WY, Hello MT

MON 7/19 -- Colter Bay to Grant Village (Yellowstone NP (WY), by van);
Grant Village to West Yellowstone MT (56)
and
TUE 7/20 -- rest day in West Yellowstone
Bike groups aren't allowed through the south entrance to Yellowstone
-- this is both for our safety and to keep traffic moving, I think.
Traffic in the summer can be very heavy [it was], and full [check] of
too-wide RVs [yes!] driven by distracted people [in Yellowstone it's
hard not to be distracted], many of whom don't seem to have any idea
how big their behemoths were [there certainly was some evidence of
that]. So we loaded all the bikes on the van and shuttled our way for
about 35 miles from our idyllic campground in the Tetons through the
south entrance and on up to Grant Village, about 20 miles inside
Yellowstone. (See nice group photo with van impressively a' la mode.
Standing L to R it's Phil, me, Dawn, John, Clive, Jerry, Kath, Mike,
Dennis, and Robin, with Hugh and Lucille kneeling in front.) We biked
from there about 55 miles along the lower left quadrant of what is
effectively the figure-8 pattern of the main road system in
Yellowstone, and then out the west entrance to (exit from) the park.

I stopped almost immediately at the very cool geyser and hot springs
area on what is called the West Thumb of Yellowstone Lake (see photo),
and then several more times for various stuff on the way to Old
Faithful (see photo). I think it's against federal law to visit
Yellowstone and not see OF go off and take a picture, and many many
people were there to abide by the law. Me, too.

The mob scene at OF and along the road afterwards was a little too
intense for my tastes, and that (and, I'll admit, some geyser fatigue)
got to me after a while, sapping my will to stop and take a look at
everything there was to see. For me, the park's beauties and wonders
cause the very conditions that make it almost impossible to really
enjoy. I don't want to make this sound too negative -- just riding and
gawking at the beautiful scenery that rolled by was often a great
pleasure.

Moving to more mundane issues, I also continued to be troubled by very
painful achilles tendons; they were ok in the morning, but really
tightened up after the hour-and-a-half or so stop at OF, and when I
tried to stop at other places as well. So that added another problem
for carrying out my initial plan, which was to stop and see whatever
looked interesting.

The 15-mile ride out of the park, away from the figure-8 loops of the
main, central roads, was a truly lovely meander down the Madison
River. I saw antelope, osprey, a bald eagle nest (but no actual
eagle), and lots of beautiful cliffs and ridges. I've always been a
big fan of the rocks-sky-trees-water scene, so this was pretty primo
riding for me.

Yellowstone's western boundary extends a couple of miles into Montana,
so right at the end of the day's ride we slipped over the border into
our 8th state. This is a big deal to us bikers, and many states get
into the spirit by trumpeting their arrival with pretty -- or at least
substantial -- signage. But just look at the pathetic announcement we
got. Borrowing from Fred Hines' immortal and spot-on words: weak
sauce, Montana.

In camp I treated my foot problems with an aggressive, multi-pronged
approach consisting of (a) ice packs, (b) Clive's knee liniment, (c) a
couple of Dennis' tylenols, (d) a baking soda poultice prepared by
Kath, and (e) a pair of compression tights, also Kath's, to aid
circulation. And a beer or two. I'm not sure which prong or prongs of
were effective -- although I'd be surprised if the beer wasn't a
critical component of the treatment regimen -- but I'm better today.

For the rest day a small contingent headed back in the van for a more
extensive tour of the park. They left at about 8; as I write this, at
just after 4, they're still not back. I just couldn't see spending
that much time vehicle-ized. Plus, I needed to take care of some
business, including buying my own Tylenol supply, and picking up a new
set of arch supports for my shoes. After the cold/rainy/hail-y ride
into Fairplay several days (weeks? months?) ago, I set my shoes on the
baseboard heater in my motel room to dry, and basically fried my
original arch supports -- especially the right one -- into exciting
new shapes. They haven't felt uncomfortable, but lack of good heel
support can cause achilles tendon pain, so I decided to attack the
problem on that front, too. Back in the saddle tomorrow, so time will
tell.

The best ride so far -- again!

SAT 7/17 -- Dubois to Colter Bay, Grand Teton National Park (66);
and
SUN 7/18 -- rest day
Following close on the heels of the best ride so far comes the new
best ride so far -- a scenic 30(*) miles up from Dubois along the Wind
River to Togwotee Pass (9,658 ft), and then especially the payoff -- a
long, 36-mile(*) descent into Grand Teton NP, with the spectacularly,
amazingly, stunningly beautiful mountains in front of us the whole
way. Here are a couple of photos of the view on the ride in, and one
of the view of the mountains across Jackson Lake, near where we're
camped. It's a little bit incredible to me, that I've ridden a bike to
the Tetons! As a group, both approaching and in the park, we've had
several bear sightings, plus bighorn sheep, moose, deer, and, for Hugh
and me, a wolf (or maybe a very big coyote -- but we decided to
declare it to be a wolf).

We're camped in the Colter Bay campground, which is -- finally! -- a
place really worthy of the term "camping," a place where we're
outside, in tents, for reasons other than the cheap lodgings they
provide.

Today, on the rest day, the group opted for white-water rafting on the
Snake River, near Jackson. Speaking of heels (see opening sentence), I
bailed out of the raft excursion(**), due to an attack of MDRF --
mysterious decrepitude of right foot. My achilles tendons were acting
up (stiff and painful) most of the day yesterday, and when I woke up
this morning my RF was noticeably swollen. So I decided to give it a
day of real rest -- I want to be ready to ride again tomorrow. It's
been a long, quiet (boring) day, foot elevated, guarding the campsite,
and especially the food bins, from bears. (That was another "benefit"
of my staying behind -- no need to pack all that stuff in the van,
which meant room for all the people.) I will say, with no small amount
of pride, that I have done a bang-up, 100% successful job on the
keeping-the-bears-at-bay front. Also, notably, anteaters, cobras,
dingos, egrets, fire ants, great white sharks, hoary marmots, ibises,
jackals, kingfishers, [etc. etc.], voles, wombats, X-men, yaks, and
zebra mussels -- not a one anywhere near our tents or the food!

Also, the foot seems better after a day of rest.

----------
(*) Because of a major road construction project (now in its 7th
year!), we didn't actually ride the full way up to the pass, or the
full way down. Near the top of the pass we had to stop and load our
bikes on a pick-up truck, which ferried us over the pass and around
about 2 miles of major work (and major road bust-up), and then we did
the same drill again a few miles into the descent.

(**) I had some pithy, footnote-worthy thought to add here at one
point, but it's gone now.

I need to pick better days to have flats

FRI 7/16 -- Lander to Dubois ("dew-BOYS") WY (76) [WARNING: This one's long]

The ride was long (76 miles), the direction was mainly up (2,000 ft elevation gain), the weather forecast was hot (mid 90's), and we knew that strong west winds (10-20 mph, with gusts up to 40) were gonna arrive in the afternoon -- so all signs indicated that the prudent rider should get an early start and not dawdle. And start early I did -- I was on the road at 7:00.

All went well for an hour or so until I had a flat(*). On the back wheel, of course, since they're a little more difficult to fix. Oh well -- flats happen. But when I took the wheel off I noticed that the tire was pretty ragged, with lots of cuts and scrapes, and paper-thin where the tread was worn away -- not worth putting back on, in other words. I waited for Michael (the van driver for the day) to come by so I could grab the new spare tire I'd stored in the van since the beginning of the trip. Good planning, but I should have noticed the problems and changed the tire days before. The wait and the repair took an hour and a half -- so much for my early start. I took off again. It's getting warm already.

But wait, there's more! Tell us, Don Pardo. About 5 miles down the road I noticed that I was feeling all the road's bumps in my hands and arms via my front tire, but almost nothing in the saddle via the back tire -- more comfortable for my backside, but not a sign of bike health. Sure enough, the supposedly fixed back tire was soft, meaning I had a slow leak of some kind. I pumped it up -- maybe the valve just wasn't tight?-- and set off again. Well, about 3 iterations of ride/stop/re-inflate/ride convinced me that that strategy wasn't going to cut it, and that I needed to bite the bullet and replace the tube again. More delay, more heat, and now my good friend, Mr. Wind-in-the-face, showed up as promsed to join the fun. And I'm still 50 miles from the end of the ride. Michael arrived to assist (he'd stopped to take care of some errand) and get me back in the saddle, battling the wind even on the downhills.

Insult to injury: A few miles after the second tube replacement I caught a very large bug in my mouth -- or possibly a small to medium-sized bird. ("I caught" is probably the wrong way to phrase it; I wasn't moving fast enough to play an active role in the bug/bird capture event. "The wind blew" would be more accurate.) Gag, choke, gag some more, chug on water bottle, spit, repeat a few times -- problem solved! And the emotional scars fade with each passing day.

Blah, blah, blah, whine, whine, whine -- the day was very long, and very hot, and very dry, and very windy, and I was generally unhappy to be where I was. (Some of the riders who beat the worst of the wind, and could ride without the top of their head facing forward, talked about the pretty scenery. Personally, as a head-downer, I didn't see much of it, but I must have looked around at one point and agreed, because I did take the one photo shown here.) It was so unpleasant that when I hit 60 miles I started shouting out the remaining miles as they crawled by -- "15!" Then, I don't know, 6 or 7 minutes later, "14!" ... If I'd been offered a chance to quit I might have accepted it. But I wasn't, so the only thing to do was slog on. 

I stopped at one point to scramble down the bank to the aptly-named (and beautiful) Wind River to soak my shirt in order to try to stay cool, which helped for a while. Still I was at risk of running out of water during the long, hot afternoon -- many of the group had the same problem. I refilled once at an out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere artist/artisan's workshop -- the guy made incredible stuff (wine racks, floor lamps, chandeliers, jewelry, etc etc etc) out of antlers, wood, stone, and other found materials. Later, a few miles from the end, and running dry again, I caught up with Robin and Lucille; Lucille was nearly out, so I shared half of my remaining half bottle of water with her. Before accepting my relatively-fresher water, Lucille, not thinking clearly, I suspect, dumped out her few hot but precious tablespoons on the road. Gaack! I almost jumped off the bike to lap up the tiny puddle! Fortunately, although we didn't know it at the time, we were just a couple miles from a motel/RV park where we found enough water to get us into camp. (And where we also ran into Michael, who had brought the van out with water for those of us still on the road.)

I was pretty much spent by about 4:00 when I limped into the KOA campground -- the pretty nice KOA campground, to be fair, with good showers, a laundry, and even a pool. I tossed in a load of laundry, took a shower, then went back to the laundry room and hung out there due to the presence of an electrical outlet, so as to charge up this bad boy I'm holding in my hand right now. As a result of my laundry sojourn I missed some major interactional fireworks back in camp, having to do, I heard later, with food storage details and the lateness of dinner. Long, hard, hot rides are tough on everyone.

A positive note for the end of the day: it was rodeo night in Dubois, and Steve, Kath, Robin, and Lucille were pumped up to go and have a look. Lucille urged me to join them, which I declined initially on grounds of exhaustion. But she persisted, so I hopped in the van with them. It was great -- possibly the whitest and most cowboy-boot-intensive event I've ever been part of, but just a wonderful small town scene. There was bull ridin' (or attempts thereof; each instance was very very brief) and calf ropin' and bronco ridin' and lassoin' and horses doin' stuff and little kids trying to ride a sheep and teams of people trying to catch a rampaging cow and remove the rope around its neck and all manner of points awarded and penalty points assessed -- all accompanied by the cheers of the crowd (500 people, maybe?), who seemed to know most of the participants personally. We were back in camp a little after 10 -- very late, in other words -- but it was worth it, a great experience, and a great way to end the day. 

----------
(*) In the interest of an accurate and complete depiction of trouble on the road, and its reverberations, I'm going to risk providing more detail here than anyone could possibly care to know. You can skip to the end and not miss anything important.

(Sent from my iPhone)

(Sent from my iPhone)

The best ride so far

THU 7/15 -- Jeffrey City to Lander (59)
The first 50 miles of today's ride were fantastic -- the best riding
we've had on the tour so far, IMHO. The winds were calm, temperatures
were cool, the sky was blue blue blue, the scenery spectacular, and
the route almost 100% downhill -- including a couple of major, 30+mph
coasters that went on for miles -- with very little traffic. Perfect-
o. Hugh took this shot of me fairly early in the day, when we had a
beautiful backdrop (which you can't see very well) of snow-capped
mountains. The real scenic treats came later, however, when we dropped
down through rocky canyons, including one stretch that reminded me of
the red rocks of Sedona.

For the last 9 miles we rode into the bustling little town of Lander
on a standard-issue state highway, so that was just travelling-where-
we-needed-to-go. Home for the day was the completely shadeless tent-
camping area of a local RV park, which provided lots of trees and
shade for its heavily A/C'd RV customers -- what's THAT all about? At
sunset, though, our barren little site was transformed into a quite
spectacular viewpoint -- high above the town, and with mountains all
around.

Jerry and Clive were on cooking duty, so naturally we had dinner at a
local brew pub. J and C generously covered the "overage" (the excess
cost of the meal over our daily budget) AND the bar tab. Sweet.

My Own Personal City

WE'D 7/14 -- Rawlins to Jeffrey City (69)
A long ride, but not quite as windy as the last few days. I actually
found this ride less difficult than the previous day's 25-mile-shorter
ride.

About 20 miles out of Rawlins we dropped -- and I mean we REALLY
dropped -- down into the Great Basin Divide, which is a huge, flat
expanse of pretty much absolutely nothing. It's considered a special
feature of the continental divide, even though it's a space, not a
line, because no water flows out of it. It was not a place to have a
bike problem -- or any other kind of problem, for that matter. Even
though it was windy (a headwind, of course), I think we caught a big
break weather-wise because it was relatively cool. It felt like an
area that could, under the right (wrong) conditions, be extremely hot.
But it wasn't.

We emerged from the basin after 25 miles or so, after which we rode
through starkly beautiful, mostly western-range-type terrain -- rocky
and sagebrush-y with mountains in the distance on either side. And, at
the end of the day, snow-capped peaks came into view in the far
distance in front of us. Frequent sightings of pronghorn antelope --
even by me, Mr Oblivious when it comes to wildlife. About 10-15 miles
from Jeffrey City we came upon Split Rock, which, from a distance
looked like just another massive rock formation. But it turns out it
was a vital signpost on the Oregon Trail -- see photo of descriptive
marker, with Split Rock itself visible in the far background. On the
other side, the western side, the split was easily visible for 25-30
miles.

In Jeffrey City (pop 106) we stayed at the Top Hat Motel, which opened
its doors especially for our group. Thank you, Top Hat. An astounding
place, the Top Hat. Michael had prepped us the night before: "Think of
the worst motel you've ever stayed in, and then multiply that by 10."
That was about right from the outside -- see photographic evidence.
But on the inside, not bad -- running water, including hot running
water in several of the rooms, flush toilets, beds with what appeared
to be clean linens, working electrical outlets here and there; home
for the night, in other words. The Top Hat, in Jeffrey City -- I'm
sure I'll never forget it.

Freeway; Wind; Different Strokes; More Wind

TUE 7/13 -- Saratoga to Rawlins WY (42)
A very short and nondescript ride, except for two things:
(thing 1) We rode a chunk of miles -- 13, I think it was -- on I-80, an interstate freeway. That's the official Trans-Am route. I saw a few west-to-easters on the other side, heading in the opposite direction. And it wasn't too bad; we've ridden lots worse roads on this tour. The shoulder was very wide and smooth, and it wasn't too busy. Some pretty good antelope sightings, too. (Really!) I've often joked about biking the DC beltway or some other comparable road; now I've actually done it. I don't feel a lot of need to repeat the experience, though, so I think I'll check it off my list and move on to other things.
(thing 2) We faced, once again, a terrifically strong west wind just about the whole day -- it took hard pedaling just to keep from stopping dead in one's tracks.

Because it was a short ride I didn't pack a lunch -- I find I've grown a little weary of cheese/tomato/lunch meat sandwiches on whole wheat, even though I often change it up and go lunch meat/tomato/cheese -- so when I got to Rawlins I rode through town looking for a place where I could buy one. I found a perfect spot -- a little hippy-dippy (i.e., multi-pierced wait staff) coffee shop/cafe/ice cream parlor on Main St, and settled in. Remember how I said there was plenty of sand but no sage at the Sage and Sand Motel the night before? Well that gap was filled about midway through "lunch" (it was about 10:30 in the morning) when Sage wandered in, in full bulging-backpack-and-walking-stick hiking regalia. She's hiking the "Great Divide" trail, from Mexico to Canada, by herself. Been at it for a couple of months; got a couple more months to go. Spent some spells of time in the company of other hikers but found it frustrating and unsatisfying to have to consider what others might want to do, so she's happier going it alone. She asked how I could stand having someone else control the pace of the ride, and decide where I'll stay, and for how long. I talked about tradeoffs; I don't think I convinced her. She gave me a gift, which I accepted on behalf of the team -- a package of Outward Bound Granola -- because "I am so sick of granola that I don't think I'll ever be able to eat another bite." Funny -- she looked like, and carried the name of, the granola type.

The wind was howling even harder when I reached the wind- and sand-swept and completely shade-free heights of the Western Hills "campground, which was primarily an RV parking lot. With the help of others I was able to wrestle my tent into some semblance of set-up-ness, then I listened to it flap and snap in protest through much of the night.


(Sent from my iPhone)

The Riders (part 14 of 15 -- finally!)

This is Dennis. I have had great trouble getting a good picture of
Dennis, and when I say "great" trouble I mean I've had a little -- two
unpublishable photos about 5 weeks apart and a lot of forgetfulness in
between and after. But all that is in the past now, and I don't want
to dwell in the past; I want to put the past behind me and move on.

When I present some key facts about Dennis you'll see how eerily
similar he and I are. He's 60-ish, and Caucasian; I'm 60-ish and
Caucasian. He rides a LeMond bike, I ride a LeMond bike. He lives in
(Seattle) Washington, I live in Washington (DC). Dennis takes anti-
clotting drugs; yup -- me, too. A couple weeks ago Dennis stopped
somewhere and had his blood checked; I thought that was an excellent
idea. Dennis has a sweet jump-shot, just like me (in my dreams).
Dennis is a CPA by training; all 3 of those letters are in "social
psychologist," my field, and in almost the same order. Dennis has held
CFO and other administrative-type positions in hospitals, and is
currently a lecturer in hospital administration at the U of Washington
(there's the Washington thing again!); I have both given and attended
lectures, and have spent significant time in hospitals in recent
years, where lots of hospital-type stuff was administered to me.
Dennis doesn't care all that much for beer; I personally know several
people who feel the same way. It's almost like one of those twins-
separated-at-birth things, isn't it?

Just yesterday Dennis took a planned leave of the tour for a few days
to fulfill an annual, week-long summer teaching commitment in Denver.
He'll rejoin the gang somewhere in the Tetons, or maybe Yellowstone, I
forget. The break comes, perhaps, at an opportune time. Dennis has
seemed to thoroughly enjoy the rides themselves, and is one of our
most enthusiastic explore-what-every-place-has-to-offer guys. But he's
also been more dissatisfied with certain aspects of the tour -- e.g.,
how decisions are made, and what "van supported" means -- or more
vocal about it, at any rate, than anyone else, especially recently. So
I'm hoping that a little time off will be medicinal, and help him cool
off and really enjoy the home stretch weeks.

Goodbye, Colorado; Hello, Wyoming

MON 7/12 [HAPPY 30th BIRTHDAY, SON!] -- Walden CO to Saratoga WY (66)
Just 20 or so miles into the ride we left Colorado and entered Wyoming, which seemed like the operational definition of big empty space -- starkly beautiful, but, except for the post and wire fencing along the road, pretty much devoid of any sign of human habitation. Even the fences disappeared along some stretches, leading to occasional COR (cow-on-road) situations. I got a late start on the ride due to my meal clean-up responsibilities, so there was no one around to take my picture at the border crossing. You'll just have to take my word for it that I was there and took the photo. The two accompanying pics are just random shots of the typical surroundings along the route (including pretty roadside flowers).

We continue to be plagued by s-t-r-o-n-g, mostly westerly winds; on today's ride all but about 15 miles was either into a big headwind (hard slogging) or a big cross-wind (treacherous).

Our lodgings for the evening were provided by the Sage and Sand Motel, of which I will say this: they got it half right(*). Hugh and Mike were on cooking duty, so they got bunked together in a room with a kitchen. I shared one room of a "suite" with Phil; John and Dawn had the other room; we all shared a bathroom. Two nighttime tidbits: (1) Words from Phil in the middle of the night, while sound asleep: "That's ok, man, that's cool. Whatever you want; doesn't make any difference to me." He IS generally a very agreeable guy, even, apparently, while unconscious. (2) I'm in the bathroom late at night, answering nature's 2nd or 3rd call; the walls are very thin; I hear a lot of gasping and moaning from John and Dawn's room, which I naturally attribute to, umm... romantic activities. "Sweet," I think. I should have known better than to jump to that conclusion; they're an old married couple from Minnesota, after all! Turns out it was John having another bout of muscle cramps. Ouch. I get them myself sometimes (none yet on this ride, knock on wood), so I know very well how incredibly painful and debilitating they are.

----------
(*) Sand a-plenty was blowing everywhere; I think the final cycle of my bathroom sink clothes-washing chore, when I hung things out to dry, was "sand-blast." Sage was nowhere to be seen. (Until the next day, that is; see subsequent post.)

(Sent from my iPhone)

(Sent from my iPhone)

Chapt 1: Cold; Chapt 2: Pernicious Expectations

SUN 7/11 -- Hot Sulphur Springs to Walden CO (68)
We awoke, in our bug-infested, water-free, train-in-your-face, party-hearty little campground, to cold -- as in frost/ice-on-the-side-of-the-tent, really-hard-to-leave-the-warmth-of-your-sleeping-bag cold. [That is, no doubt, the most hyphen-intensive sentence I've ever composed -- and I've slung around a lot of hyphens in my day, you betcha. Even now, when I'm using the bloody f... that is, when I'm using the "level (c)" iPhone keypad, I still unleash boatloads of hyphens, even though it's a lot of work. I like hyphens; hyphens are in my blood. ... Where was I? Oh yeah, cold.]

So -- biking tights, lotsa layers, hat, glove liners, etc etc etc, for me and everyone else. (Everyone else except Clive, that is, whose only concession to the temperature is the gloves. Not surprising, I guess, from the guy who turned down my offer of shelter from the hail a couple days ago because we were "only" about five miles from the end. "Only" five miles of riding in hail, people, and he's got shorts on and a short-sleeve shirt! That krazy kiwi... What was I talking about? Cold, right, the cold...)

So we set off in the cold -- it's maybe 40 degrees by hit-the-road time? -- on a bright, sunny, beautiful 30-mile ride up to Willow Creek Pass, at 9,621 ft, another point on the continental divide. [Sorry; no photographic evidence; a man(Clive)-machine(iPhone camera) interaction failure of some sort.] Great rocky/craggy landscape up high, lots of meandering river and forest below. Beautiful; the kind of riding I feel like I paid for with Kansas. Road signs warned about moose, and it did look like perfect moose country. (I didn't see any; Jerry saw a calf but no adult. Other reported wildlife: a zillion pronghorn antelope; a couple of coyotes; I saw nothing.)

Here's where the expectations come in. I had it in my head that the last 30+ miles, after the pass, were going to comprise a long, easy, beautiful downhill. That's what the elevation profile on our maps showed. Well. Long? yes; downhill? yes; beautiful? not so much, different "high plains" terrain, but that's ok; easy? uh, no, the result of a smack-in-your-face, 20 mph (with gusts that had to top 40) headwind. It was hard work to hit double figures, speed-wise(*), even going downhill. So, expectations cruelly dashed, I struggled very unhappily to the finish line, in Walden, where I had the good fortune to find a barmaid who was willing to tune the establishment's 2nd tv to the World Cup final. (No sound 'til the OT portion of the match, though -- the local cowboys were watching Oprah or something on the other screen). By the end of the match, a small crowd of mostly other bikers gathered.

I was on cooking duty, but I was teamed with Kath, who had generously released me from grocery-shopping duty so I could catch the match. Thank you, Kath. (I reciprocated the next morning by releasing her from pack-up-after-breakfast/lunch duty.) Dinner (all Kath; I chopped and helped execute the plan) was a success -- fish (not fresh, alas) and shrimp (ditto) sauteed in garlic, butter, and lemon juice, boiled potatoes, waldorf salad, and a spectacular trifle for pudding.

What with the soccer and the dinner prep and cleanup I had had no time for setting up camp or for my own personal clean-up -- a vital, vital stage of the day for me -- and it was closing in on bedtime and I was cold and tired. And the official campground had no shower facilities. Cleverly, I had forseen this likely array of problems -- well, not the chilled and really tired part -- so I booked a room at a nearby motel. Shower, flush toilet, bed, roof, walls, heat -- what more could anyone want?

-------------
(*) I'm still peeking. My friend Laurie brought me some replacement rubber bands to cover up my bike computer's mph reading; guess I'll have to deploy one.

(Sent from my iPhone)

Breckenridge and Beyond

FRI 7/9 -- A much-needed rest day in Breckenridge, with my much-needed
honey, as well as long-time good buddies Jack and Laurie. Breckenridge
sits in just an incredibly beautiful setting, with the huge mountains
all around, and is also, once you chop through a lot of the touristy
stuff (e.g., approximately 10,000 t-shirt stores), kind of a quaint
little town, with lots of old, small little houses that people seem to
take great pride in maintaining and pretty-fying -- for example, with
gorgeous flower gardens. As if it weren't good enough already, we also
stumbled into town during Bike Week, which meant that I got a free
tune-up and general assessment of my bike while I gondola'd and chair-
lifted up and down the peaks on a beautiful summer day.

SAT 7/10 -- Breckenridge to Hot Sulphur Springs (75)
After a lovely day and a half together, I bid a sad adieu to Kris and
set off on what proved to be a beautiful and almost totally downhill
ride, slightly marred by 3 factors:
(a) Lousy map instructions about 15-20 miles into the ride made it
almost impossible to transition smoothly from the Breckenridge-Frisco-
Silverthorn bike trail to the appropriate road. I didn't get lost, but
that was only because I stopped about 6 times and asked locals where I
was. The Adventure Cycling maps are fabulous -- this is the first time
they've let us down, I think.
(b) A pretty strong headwind most of the day. Whaddya gonna do?
(c) A brief but painfully hard rain. [See (b)]

Much of the day we rode along the Colorado River, heading upstream.
(Apparently we're not too far from the headwaters -- 30 miles, maybe?)
The last 5-10 miles of the ride were along a gorgeous red rock canyon
-- too bad it was overcast and kind of spitting rain. But still really
wild and beautiful.

Hot Sulphur Springs? An interesting series of a couple dozen (?)
springs, diverted into man-made swimming-type pools, which were
succesively hotter as the elevation increased, but not something I
found very appealing. The middle name says it all.

We spent the night in a free campground right next door to the hot
springs, which I would highly recommend to anyone who (a) really
really likes mosquitoes, and I mean really likes them a LOT; (b) does
not care all that much for drinking (or cooking with, or washing up
with) water; (c) finds a working railroad track about 50 ft away -- 6
trains during the night! each repeatedly blowing its melodious warning
whistle! -- restful and sleep-inducing; and (d) takes great pleasure
in listening to other groups of campers have loud, boistrous fun
(fireworks included!) deep into the night. But if you're not one of
those people, take a pass on the free campground, is my advice.

(Sent from my iPhone)

BIG Mega-Up

THU 7/8 -- Fairplay to Breckenridge (23)
Today's was both the shortest ride we've had yet and the tallest. The
first half was up from Fairplay, at just under 10,000 feet, to Hoosier
Pass (11,500) -- with just about all of the ups crammed into the last
4 miles -- and the second half was a screaming downhill into
Breckenridge. The shots below are: (a) me on the bike path which
comprised the first part of the ride out of Fairplay, (b) just a
random mountain scene about halfway up the ascent to the pass, and (c)
proof that I made it.

Because we approached the high altitude gradually, over many days, I
think I'm pretty acclimated to it -- no breathing problems or anything
like that coming up to the pass.

So now we're in Breckenridge, with a rest day tomorrow -- yay! -- and,
best of all, a visit from my wonderful wife -- BIG YAY! (FYI, we'll be
in a little b&b, apart from the rest of the group, surprise surprise.)
And just to ice the cake, my/our buddies Jack and Laurie are
delivering the WW, and treating us, and Hugh, to dinner tomorrow
night, in celebration of our having made it this far. We're halfway
across Colorado -- I can hardly believe it myself!

Mega-Up

WED 7/7 -- Canon City (Royal Gorge) to Fairplay CO (67)
The toughest ride of the entire tour, we were told at the map meeting
the night before. Starting from about 6,000 ft., we're going to spend
the whole day climbing (well, not the whole day; we actually went down
for a few miles first) up to Fairplay, at just a hair under 10,000 ft.
Everyone was a little apprehensive, me included, as we started out in
the morning cold. (Cold! That's a first on this trip!)

I'm telling you, people -- piece of cake. Yeah, we had one tough climb
early on, which lasted maybe 4-5 miles, but after that we spent the
whole day in beautiful high ranch country, with mountains all around,
and big snow-capped peaks in the distance. My, my, my but Colorado is
a relief after the mind-numbing boredom of Kansas. We still climbed
almost all day -- the main (and lovely) exception being the few miles
after crossing Current Creek Pass (9,404') -- but it wasn't all that
noticeable, and certainly not difficult. Really.

There was no civilization on the route for the first 50 miles, so when
a cafe materialized in Hartsel (pop [??-small]), I jumped on it
(blueberry; pretty tasty; coffee was kinda weak, though).

The major excitement of the day was weather-related. A few miles after
Hartsel I rounded a bend and saw that the bright sunshine I was in was
local -- there was a big bank of huge black clouds to the west that
not only looked ominous but were also making noise. I thought maybe
the tailwind (yes!) I was in would push the mess on ahead of me, but
no such luck. About 7 or 8 miles from the end it started to rain --
not too bad at first, but pretty soon I heard a tapping on my helmet
and realized it was hailing. Now, some people might like to ride in
hailstorms, but, truth to tell, I'm not one of them. I saw a couple of
small buildings next to a huge propane tank at some sort of industrial
site up ahead, and ducked off the road to seek shelter. I parked my
bike under the tank and checked the buildings. No luck -- padlocked.
But there was a big propane truck parked right by the tank and ...
Yes! Unlocked! I sat in the cab for 20 minutes or so until the worst
of it had past, and then, after leaving a thank-you note on the
driver's seat, headed on into town, got into my motel room, turned on
the heat (!), and had a long, hot, extremely rejuvenating shower. And
a beer. Life is good.

(Sent from my iPhone)

Up

TUE 7/6 -- Pueblo to Canon City CO (52)
I was wrong about Tuesday being a flat ride (except maybe in comparison with what's to come on Wed.) -- we had a couple of monster climbs, one early and one late in the day. We also had a spectabulous 11-mile downhill, from Wetmore to Florence -- that was the "payback" downhill after the first climb, and the downhill we paid FOR on the ride up to our campsite near the Royal Gorge, outside Canon City. (The Royal Gorge, for those who haven't seen it, is a pretty spectacular ... ummm ... gorge carved out of the rock by the Arkansas River, but it's also very "tricked out" and theme-park-y.) Canon is pronounced "canyon," BTW -- the budget situation is so bad in CO that they apparently can't even afford tildes.

Hugh and I rode into Florence together, which, refreshingly, appeared to be a thriving, viable small town -- we haven't seen too many of those. I was on a pie mission (of course!), and we hit paydirt at The Pour House, a great little coffee shop, which also offered stuff from the bakery next door, including a very tasty pie of the apple persuasion. With ice cream. And then their banana bread looked good (it was) so I had a slice of that, too. After 45 minutes or so we waddled off to complete the rest of the ride.

Or about half of it, anyway. We got to Canon City a little before noon, found ourselves a nice brewery/grill, and settled in to watch the Netherlands-Uruguay semifinal World Cup match. Perfect-o. So we didn't actually start the final 7 miles of the ride until 3 hours (and 3 beers, and a chipotle turkey burger, with onion rings) later. It's possible that the unpleasantness of the home stretch was at least in part a function of the day's food/beverage consumption patterns, but I'm gonna contend that the heat, the heavy traffic, and the BIG uphillishness of the road were also factors.

I set up my tent in a 9-zillion mph wind (Hugh and Jerry helped hold things down), which continued well into the night, making sleep a little difficult -- is this thing going to hold, or is it going to bust its moorings and fly off into the might, me inside? It held.  

(Sent from my iPhone)

(Sent from my iPhone)

Holy crap -- mountains! Big ones, it looks like. Why didn't anyone TELL me?!?

MON 7/5 -- Ordway to Pueblo (58)
As we left Ordway this morning we were treated to our first distant
view of what will soon turn into the Rockies. (See first photo; they
were clearer "live," I'm afraid.) Uneventful ride except for (a) a
lovely little meander through some pretty neighborhoods, plus the city
zoo, in Pueblo, the first city riding we've done the entire trip; and
(b) the dramatic change in the landscape as soon as we got outside the
city limits -- very rock-formation-y and desert-y (see second photo).
We're in a state park 5 or so miles past Pueblo; Pikes Peak is visible
in the distance.

One more flat-ish day of riding tomorrow, I believe, and then we start
climbing some serious mountains.

Happy Birthday, USA!

SUN 7/4 -- Eads to Ordway CO (61)
Well, THAT was different! And refreshing! A cool enough morning as to
require an extra layer of clothing; heavy cloud cover, including a
very light mist early on; and a to-die-for (for us east-to-westers)
wind pretty much out of the east at about 15-20mph. (The photos are of
the spectacular sunset the night before, taken from our motel in Eads.
You could just tell that some new weather was moving in.) On a road
with very little traffic, to boot. I got to our lodgings -- the Hotel
Ordway, a really charming old place -- at about 11am, and that was
after stopping for a leisurely breakfast (breakfast #2) at a local
cafe. Like Mike said, it felt like cheating.

Had a nice chat with some local folks (a family group of some sort) at
the cafe, who said they'd passed me on the road coming into town. I
asked if they'd given me a wide berth, and the patriarch said,
"Absolutely." When I thanked him for that he said that I already had,
with a hand-wave as they passed. Good. Whenever anybody coming up from
behind slows and waits a little bit for a safe time to pass I always
try to give a wave and even mouth the words "thank you" as they go by.
Occasionally I get a wave in return, but not very often, so I'm rarely
sure that the message is received. Nice to know that these folks got
it. And appreciated its meaning.

For tonight I believe that the plan is to pile in the van and drive
5-6 miles back up the road to Sugar City, which hosts a fireworks
display. I dunno how many of the group will make the trip; it'll get
us home waaay past bedtime.