Biking 'Cross the Country for Food Allergies

Day 62

2009-02-10T12:02:00.000-08:00

I'm home from school sick today, and I remembered that I still have some days left... I'd pretty much forgot.

August 9 Lincoln, NH to North Waterford, ME

Leaving the condo in Lincoln, we immediately began the climb up to Kancamangus Pass... about twelve miles and 2000 or so feet. The rain from the night before had stopped, but the ground was wet and fog hung in the valleys and rose off of the trees in little plumes. Our maps showed this climb as one of the worst in New England (after the Middlebury Gap), but in truth it was a pretty easy climb. We reached the top around mid morning, and after getting our picture taken at the sign, started down the other side. The road dropped steeply down the other side for about six miles, before levelling off to a more gradual descent for the next fifteen miles into Conway.

From Conway, we struck out onto a rather busy road that would take us into Fryburg, the first town in our last state. We kept our heads down and rode for the first few miles, staying in the shoulder and trying not to inhale too much Carbon Monoxide. Half way to Fryburg, we came to the beautiful blue sign declaring "Welcome to Maine." Everyone posed for multiple pictures in front of the sign before starting off again down the road; at the time it was almost surreal, but as we rode away from the sign, I began to realize that we were REALLY IN MAINE! I began to think of all the miles and days we had put in to get here. I remembered the people who had taken us in, and the cyclist we had met along the way. It all suddenly seemed much more monumental.

We stopped for lunch in Fryburg at a rather slow restaurant, and called home to let everyone know we had made it to Maine. Then we pushed on, hoping to make it to a campground in North Waterford. Everything went normally, the road dropping and rising through a series of shallow valleys, until we had nearly made it to the campground. As we glided down one side of a valley, we saw ahead of us the road climbing back out at a grade just shy of vertical. All five of us began to pedal frantically in order to build momentum for the climb back out; within a hundred yards of starting up the other side, our momentum was gone, we were all in our very smallest of gears, and were standing in our pedals just to keep from toppling over. We inched our way up the other side, weaving dangerously back and forth when our speed dipped too low. None of us dared to stop because we knew we'd never get started again. Finally, we made it to the top and all stopped to congratulate each other. "Whew... that was crazy." I said.

My dad laughed giddily, "Jeez! I can't believe that hill!"

"You're a man now, after climbing that hill, Seth... we're all men now." Rick panted.

Michael grinned, "I can feel chest hair growing."

"My altimeter says that hill was a twenty-four percent grade!" my dad added. We all lapsed into silence, both in awe of our accomplishment, and for lack of breath.

It started to rain as we finally rolled into our campground, and we were left hiding in the convenience store until it let up. Our final night camping was also our most expensive one, with the site costing $58. Luckily, the rain let up and the ground was only mostly muddy, so we had a reasonably comfortable night. We made a big batch of spaghetti for all of us, and then dad made a blue berry cake for desert. As it started to get dark, we retreated into our tents for the final night on the trip.

Day 61

2008-11-03T18:20:00.000-08:00

AUGUST 8 Sharon, VT to Lincoln, NH

The day began with another New England hill: short (well, relatively short at only four miles... looking back now when I'm not in shape, I doubt it would have seemed so short) but fairly steep. We crossed into New Hampshire late in the morning, then wove back into Vermont a few miles down the road for a second breakfast. After breakfast, we returned to New Hampshire, for good this time.

That afternoon we came to an intersection flanked by fair trucks and orange tape. They were directing traffic away to the left because the flood had damaged the road ahead of us. "There was another cyclist earlier," one of the firemen told us, "he just rode straight through... he didn't even stop to ask for directions." All four of us (Jerry was still eating his second sandwich at a sub shop back up the road) shared a knowing glance: this could only be Steve's handi-work. The detour, though a bit longer, was also much gentler than the road we avoided (which the map said was quite steep.) We rolled along for the extra mile and a half before coming to the real climb... and the rain. As we began the ascent, the sky darkened, then began to spit lightly. We made our way to a shallow valley between two hills before the rain really struck.

The ground was already soaked, and within minutes there was standing water on the road. The rain fell harder. Suddenly, Michael, then Rick, and then dad veered off to the left. Instinctively I followed. Ahead of us was a the yellow opening of a battered old garage, with a car up on stilts blocking most of the entrance. Rick rolled up to one of the mechanics, "Mind if we watch you work on that truck?" he asked dryly.

The mechanic shook his head and grinned, "Nope. Ya can come in all the way if ya want." A woman appeared around the side of the car and beckoned us all further into the garage. Our coats dripping on the floor, we watched the mechanics work replacing a wheel. At one point I dug out my bag of goldfish from my panniers and I heard the mechanics joking with dad, "Yeah, lookit that one. Eatin' his goldfish!"

"I would be too." A second mechanic said.

When the rain seemed to have slackened as much as we could hope for, we set off up the other said of the valley. The rain stopped entirely, and the sky stayed a murky gray for the rest of the climb. The sky grew progressively darker as we rode down the other side, and by the time we reached the bottom, it began to rain again. As we began frantically searching for a hotel in Lincoln, Michael got a call on from Jerry, "Hello, this is Jerry and I don't want to camp!" Michael assured him that we didn't either, and that we'd have a hotel by the time he arrived in Lincoln.

Surprisingly, most of the hotels were already full, and we were just checking into a condo (not too expensive when split five ways) when Jerry arrived. The rain kicked up to full throttle as we stashed out bikes on the porch and hauled our bags into the living area. The dripping, muddy pile on the floor looked like something from a refugee camp. We all showered, and I made myself a cup of hot chocolate, then we ordered pizza. "I'll have a small garlic and anchovy." Rick said. My dad gave him a disbelieving look, "No really, I'm serious. It's delicious! That's how my wife and I knew we were meant for each other: I took her out for pizza on our first date, and she said, 'It's sort of weird, but I want a garlic and anchovy.' and I said, 'Me too!'" The rest of us ordered pizzas and salads. As we ate, the TV got switched to some old Clint Eastwood western... none of us really watched, but it added to the masculine mood. After dinner, a couple of Michael and Rick's friends stopped by; they had been taking a chocolate making class in Vermont, and as dad said in his journal, "they brought free samples!"

P.S. Sorry for the quality above writing... so far after the fact, everything seems rather surreal and vague. Sometimes it seems hard to remember that all of this actually happened to me. I remember the images and settings quite clearly, but only the occasional dialogue. This is also the part of the trip that I gave up keeping a journal on because I'd just cover it in the blog as soon as I got home... well, three months later it's a lot harder to do that than I imagined. So, my apologies if it feels rushed or vague, and my apologies for taking so long to get this far (I can't imagine anyone has really put up with me procrastinating this long...). Hopefully (but no promises) I can finish the last four days by the end of the month(?).

~Seth

Day 60

2008-10-05T19:01:00.000-07:00

AUGUST 7 Brandon to Sharon, VT

We had breakfast at the Inn the next morning along with an Elder Hostel group who were hiking the Appalachian Trail "the gentleman's way"; they spent each night at the Inn, then drove out to the trail each morning to hike a segment. As we ate, we all prayed that the road over the gap would be open. The rest had been nice, but we were all anxious to move on. We left the Inn around 8:45, but not before Rick threw out his back while loading his panniers. The sky was clear and the roads dry, but we were surrounded by signs of the flooding: flattened grass, debris on the road, and orange "road closed" signs. The ride began casually, then started to climb, up over the Brandon Gap. The climb began gradually, similar to many of the roads in the Cascades, but then we turned a corner and the road shot upward, "Uh-oh!" Michael said when he saw the increase. The last two miles of the climb were some of the steepest on the trip. I was in my lowest possible gear (which is lower than on most bikes) and I still had to stand in the pedals and hammer to get to the top (If only I knew about the hill that was yet to come!)

Dad and I reached the top first (me in none to pleasant of a mood). My face was bright red, and I felt like I had taken a shower in sweat. Looking back, I could see the countryside below, at the bottom of the hills. The brick buildings and rolling fields tiny from such a distance. Dad took pictures of Michael and Rick as they reached the top (Rick still in excruciating pain because of his back), then we all pulled rain coats over our sticky bodies to keep us warm on the 12% descent. "I'm trying not to use my breaks," Michael told us before we started down what would be one of the steepest downhills of the trip, "They're pretty worn out, so I'm trying to save them as much as possible." I had no such limitations, and part way down Michael flew by me and quickly closed the gap between himself and dad.

We finished the day in the town of Sharon, just before another major climb. Jerry had been trying to reserve a motel room all day, but he hadn't found any. We flopped our bikes down behind the Congregational Church, and dad rode off to try and find a place to stay. Rick (quite painfully) tightened some loose spokes, then sat down next to Michael and I in the grass to wait for dad.

"Well, the hotel is closed," dad told us when he came back, "But I met a man who said we could camp in his year." His eyes turned to the church, "Wouldn't it be great if we could stay here? Look, there's even a canopy we could cook under if that thunderstorm gets any closer." We had already all noticed the sky slowly bruising to a dark purple, threatening another deluge.

"We should send Seth to ask at the church," Michael suggested, "He knows a lot about religion."

"And he's young and cute and can act pathetic." dad added.

It turned out that dad, Michael, and I all went to ask if we could stay at the church. First, we tried the door to the church itself, but it was locked, so we wandered our way over to the neighboring house. The lights were on, music was playing, and the door was open, but no one seemed to be around. We called around the yard for a second, and had just decided no one was home, when a man stepped out carrying a thin strip of lumber. He stared at us in shock for a second, and dad hastened to explain, "We're cross-country cyclists, and were looking to stay at the church, but no one was there, so we came to see if you knew anything."

"Ah, sorry, I don't." he paused for a second, "Y'know who you could ask... two doors down there's a carpenter, Ronald Potter. His wife, Phyllis, is the organist at the church. You might try asking her. And if that doesn't work out, you could stay in my barn; it's big, and clean, and you'd have a roof over your heads. Bathrooms might be an issue, though..."

"Thank you!" dad said, and Michael and I echoed him, "And what was your name?"

"Oh, I'm Hull." He saw the blank looks on our faces and added, "H-U-L-L."

"Well, thanks Hull. Have a nice day."

We found Phyllis in her yard with three other ladies, all chatting politely. "Excuse me, is one of you Phyllis?" Dad interrupted their conversation.

"Yes." the oldest said, "That would be me." she was easily a head shorter than her companions, and she had a warm, grandmotherly air to her, "What can I do for you?"

"Well, we're cross-country cyclists and we heard that you were the organist for the church up the road there, and we were hoping to stay there tonight..."

"I'll see what I can do." she said. First, she introduced us to her guests, a woman from the town and her pen-pal from Ireland, then made her way inside to make some phone calls. The guests wished us well and walked off. Phyllis came back a few moments later, "Well, I made some phone calls, and I'm trying to reach the deacon. It'll be a while if you want to have a seat." she gestured to the deck, but we all sat down on the lawn, "Used to be we left the church unlocked all the time. But then they put in the interstate, and we started to worry about bums going in there and smoking in the pews. We don't really have anything valuable in there, but we couldn't risk the church burning down." She shook her head for a moment. "Now, I'm gonna go in to finish my poies."

As she walked into the house, I saw Michael mouthing "Pies!!" to me across the lawn.

I grinned back, "Now we just have to look really pathetic..." Despite our best efforts to evoke sympathy, we never even saw a slice of pie. Instead, we got to spend the night in the Congregational Church of Sharon... more than a fair trade.

We set up our sleeping bags in the upstairs Sunday school room, showered at a house across the street, and picked up dinner from a convenience store a short walk away. We cooked our dinner in the kitchen down stair (the church was definitely equipped to support cyclists.) After our meal (for dad and I, a stir-fry followed up by a quart of Ben&Jerry's), we returned to the Sunday school room. Rick stretched his back, Jerry called home, dad updated his journal, and Michael and I engaged in a grueling game of Biblopoly. After that, we all headed off to bed.

Day 59

2008-09-13T09:38:00.000-07:00

AUGUST 6 East Middlebury to Brandon, VT

In the middle of the night, I woke to the persistent sound of raindrops on my tent, a few of them finding their way in through my open rain fly. Groggily, I zipped my fly door close, then drifted back to sleep.

By 6:00, I was half awake, listening to the raindrops still hammering on my tent, waiting for them to stop so I could get out of my tent. I waited for an hour and the rain didn't slacken even once. Around 7:00, my whole tent suddenly shook. Ah, great, hear come the winds. I thought, wondering if we were still planning to meet up with Michael and Steve at 8:30. "Hey bud," I heard dad's voice and realized he had shaken my tent, "Time to get up." I mumbled a response, then started packing up my gear.

As I rolled up my thermarest, I noticed that the floor under it was the only wet spot in my entire tent. I put my hand on the wet spot to see how much water had really got in, and the whole floor rippled: a lake was forming under my tent! I redoubled my efforts to pack up my gear and get ready to leave. As I crawled out of my tent, I saw dad already loading bags onto his bike, "I was figuring we'll skip breakfast and pick something up later," I nodded emphatically, my head already soaked from the ten seconds I'd been outside, "How'd your tent hold up?"

"Pretty good. The floor's leaking some, but then there's a bit of a lake under it." I strapped one of my bags onto my bike, "How about yours?"

"Sierra Design is getting a letter from me when we get home. The fly leaked, the floor leaked. I have standing water in their right now." We both rushed to get everything on the bikes, taking down our tents very last. "Y'know, Seth. I'm thinking today would be a good day to find a hotel and dry everything out. We can ride again tomorrow when it's not so bad out." I nodded hesitantly, reluctant to stay behind a day if Steve, Michael, and Jerry planned to keep going.

We got to the gas station we had met Steve, Michael, and Rick at the night before around 8:00. Dad had just pulled out his cell phone to call them about maybe not riding today, when all of them, plus Jerry, rode up out of the rain. After an hour of eating gas station muffins and breakfast sandwiches and drinking gas station tea, Steve had us all at least mostly convinced we should push on (dad still wanted to go find a hotel some where, but I wasn't ready to lose all of them after just catching up the day before, so we pushed on).

At 9:00, we decided that the rain didn't look like it would get much better, and started off, riding toward the Middlebury Gap (what an ideal situation? Going up an incredibly steep climb in a Noah-style deluge.) Nearing the base of the hill, we heard a roar and began catching whiffs of a muddy, rotten smell. Around the next corner, we discovered the source: a river, swollen by the rains and turned the color of hot chocolate by all the mud in it, raged along next to the road. Beneath the the overall roar, we also heard a dull thumping: boulders rolling along the bottom of the river.

We crossed a bridge, but stopped in the middle of it to take pictures of the river. A green Subaru zipped down the mountain, then stopped next to us on the bridge, "Are you planning on going over?" we all nodded, "There's four or five inches of water on the inside of the road, and the outside is crumbling away as you watch-"

He was interrupted by a little white car coming down the road and honking. When it came level with us, it stopped and the driver stuck her head out the window, "You can't stop here!" she said angrily, "It's not safe! Get off the road!" The man in the Subaru shrugged helplessly and drove off. We started up the climb.

Dad and I chugged away up front in our smallest gears for about a quarter of a mile. "Turn back! Turn Back!" Rick started to shout from behind us, "The road's completely washed out!" Looking back, we saw him talking to the driver of a truck.

As we started to turn around, a little blue car drove down the mountain. Dad and I waved frantically at it and it squealed to a sudden halt, "How is it?" dad called to the driver.

"Terrible!" she told us, "Half of the road is gone, and the other half is under three to five feet of water. It was the scariest experience in my life!"

"That makes the decision pretty easy." Michael said as she drove away.

"Yeah, it sounded pretty conclusive." I agreed

Just as we decided to turn around, Jerry came puffing up the mountain, "Whew, what a climb."

"Bad news, Jer." Rick said, "We have to go back down. The roads washed out."

"We have to go back down? Aw, gee..." We all did an about face and rode through the continuing rain back down the road, stopping at the bottom of the hill in a small parking lot. Steve went inside to ask for an alternative route, Dad called a bike store to ask for direction, and Michael looked over his map. The rest of us watched as a road crew drove up and stopped in front of the parking lot. They unloaded a "Road Closed" sign from the back of their truck and began shutting down the road and re-routing traffic. An hour later, we left the parking lot headed south, hoping to cut over the Green Mountains down the road. The weather cleared as we pedaled, and eventually we had all stripped off out rain jackets and thinking we might actually make some miles before the day was over.

Apparently we had hoped too soon: a few miles down the road, we pulled into a small convenience store, big clouds growing overhead. Steve wandered in to ask directions to a hotel or camp ground. He returned a few moments later, "Well, they're saying the road behind us has been washed out, and the road we want to turn on has standing water a couple of feet deep. We can camp here, or there's a campsite a coupla miles down the road. And there're two B&Bs around here."

"We can't really camp." dad said, gesturing at himself and me, "Everything we have is soaked. It would be completely miserable."

"Why don't we look for the B&B's?" Michael suggested.

"If everything's flooding, they'll be full." Steve waved off the idea, "Lets try and ride on. We either make it over the gap or stay at the campground up the road."

"Seth and I can't camp." dad said.

"And that standing water..." Michael said, "It won't be just standing still. It'll be rushing across the road."

"Well, if it's rushing, we won't go through it." Steve said. At that point, there wasn't much use left in arguing. We tried dissuading him for a few more minutes, but before long we were back in the saddle, riding on towards the Green Mountains.

By the time we had reached our first patch of water, about 100 feet across and clearly rushing, Steve had changed his mind, "Ah, that doesn't look so bad! I'm gonna try going across." He pedalled off, water spraying up behind his back wheel.

Michael shook his head, "Y'know, they say not to do that in a car! And here Steve is on a bicycle."

"I think Steve likes all this shit!" Jerry said.

"I know Steve likes all this shit!" Michael agreed.

Before any of the rest of us followed Steve across the water, a sheriff car pulled up, "Where ya all headed?" the man inside called to us.

"We're going to Bethel, over the Brandon Gap."

"No you're not." the sheriff said, "I just came down this road, and I past through at least a dozen spots like this. And I haven't even been to Goshen; it's always worse up there. You'd be crazy to try to go over the gap today. Your best bet is probably Brandon, about five miles south of here."

"Is there any hotel there?" dad asked.

"Yeah, the Brandon Inn. It's pretty nice." We thanked him and headed off, but not before asking a car driving across the water to tell Steve (who was already out of site) where we were going.

The Brandon Inn was a beautiful brick building first built in 1786. Before long we were checked into our rooms and spreading our gear across the furniture to dry. For the rest of the afternoon we lounged about, eating lunch at a local cafe, and wandering the town. A river runs through Brandon, over a small set of rapids; when we first saw it at lunch, it had over flowed its banks, flowing the same muddy color we had seen that morning. The pub situated above the river, which normally had a nice view of the waterfall, was closed in case the supports gave way under the torrent of water. After such an eventful morning, it was nice to have so much free time in the afternoon (although I didn't get a chance to write on my blog since the Library closed down it's computers in case of lightening strikes).

After checking in at the library, I wandered back to the hotel and crawled into bed for a nap. When I woke up, the room was empty. I wandered the halls, searching for dad, Rick, Michael, or Jerry, but I couldn't find any of them. When I couldn't find him in the inn, I became more frantic, expanding my search to the neighboring buildings: the bookstore/cafe, the antique/ice cream shop, the library (where I asked if the librarian had seen any other cyclists dressed in goofy clothes come through). I even walked down to the waterfall and the surrounding restaurants.

As I walked back to the hotel, beginning to panic (the dark sky had already set the mood, and I was beginning to wonder if I had been dropped into some horror movie, and everyone else had been axed) a woman in a pink sweater, wearing a gaudy white necklace, stopped me, "Have you been to the water works?"

I nodded distractedly, "Yeah, they're pretty full. Have you seen any other cyclists around? Four guys wandering around somewhere?"

"I haven't, but I'm going up Franklin Street, so if I see them, I'll tell them.... what was your name?"

"I'm Seth."

"I'll tell them Seth was looking for them. Where are you riding to?"

"We want to get to Bethel, over the Brandon Gap."

"Oh... I think 73 and all of 100 are closed. Those are the roads over the Gap." her tone changed slightly, "Don't go near the water: it's so dangerous! I saw some boys over by the falls looking at the current. I warned them to be careful. This water just scares me! Well, Seth, good luck finding your friends." I thanked her, promised to be careful, then walked into the hotel.

As soon as I stepped in, I spotted dad in the back. I hurried over to him, and discovered that he, Rick, Jerry, and Michael had been in the bar all along. "Always check the bar first!" Rick told me. We went out to dinner (bland shepherd's pie) at the tavern over the waterfall, now open for business because the water had receded. Then, we went back to the inn, organized our gear, and went to bed.

Day 58

2008-09-11T16:56:00.000-07:00

AUGUST 5 Middlebury to East Middlebury, VT 15 miles

Another lazy day as we planned to visit Middlebury College that afternoon, then only ride a little way out of town to spend the night in a campground just before the Middlebury gap. We lounged around our hotel room until we were forced to leave at noon, then made our way to a bakery to pick up lunch. As we rode through town, a man by the side of the road waved us down; we slowed to a stop before realizing it was the miss-matched-sock-man from the night before. "I saw you riding!" he called, "Too bad, if I'd known you were staying in town last night, I could have found you a place to stay. I have some pals at the AA hall who'd 'a bin more'n happy to let you stay there." As he spoke, I noticed he was still wearing his clothes from the night before, miss-matched socks and all.

"Ahhh...." dad managed, trying to sound regretful. "too bad..." his voice trailed off as he decided not to even try.

Luckily, the man didn't seem to notice, "Now, come over here an' tell me where yer goin'." Reluctantly we rode over and pulled out our maps. He didn't bother to look at them. "You should go down to Manchester. It's a bit outta yer way, but ya miss all the hills that way, an' there's a good place to stay. The Friendlies. Tell 'em yer on bicycles an' they'll let you stay with them." Dad and I nodded politely as he spoke until we managed to disengage ourselves.

"So, wanna stay at the AA hall?" dad joked as we rode away.

I shook my head emphatically, "And Manchester..." I started, "It's all the way at the bottom of the state. Probably a hundred miles away!" Both of us laughing, we picked up sandwiches at the bakery, then ate them sitting on a lawn at the college.

Middlebury was one of the neatest colleges we've seen. They have awesome language and international studies program, a quidditch team, and a beautiful campus. Our tour ended at three, and both dad and I changed into our bike clothes then set off into the overly-hot afternoon sunshine.

Midway through our short ride, dad suddenly stuck out his arm to signal a turn, then darted across the busy road into a gas station parking lot. Sighing, I made to follow, wondering what dad was playing at, when I saw Steve standing at the edge of the parking lot, leaning against his bike. "Hey buddies!" he called, "Long time no see!" Dad got off his bike to give him a hug while I hung back sort of awkwardly (for some reason, I'm always nervous about hugging people). "Let's go get some snacks and sit out here on a bench!" Steve said, as enthusiastic as ever. We all walked over to the convenience store and leaned our bikes against the stucco-textured wall. As dad and I took off our helmets, Steve (who still wore his) suddenly stared at my head, "Whoa! You have hair!" I grinned as we all walked into the store together.

Eating our snacks outside the gas station, we saw Michael and another cyclist ride past. "Hey!" Steve yelled, then got up and ran over to wave them over to where we sat. Dad hugged Michael and we both introduced ourselves to his friend, Rick, who had ridden with them since Buffalo, New York. In a way, it felt monumental to meet back up with them after weeks a part. But another part of me felt like it was completely natural and we were just picking up where we left off. After 15 minutes of talking, with no sign of Jerry, Steve was itching to get back on the road. While the rest of us sat and talked, he was straddling his bike and trying to encourage Michael and Rick that it was time to go. They gave in and headed off to the hotel they were staying in for the night; before they left, we all made plans to meet at the East Middlebury post office at 8:30 the next morning.

Dad and I wound up staying in an expensive, 'resort' campground that night, in a small spot sandwiched between to other two other campsites. Dad went off to shower and I started in on dinner. I set up our stove, then carefully allowed a little fuel seep into a holding cup; you're supposed to light this on fire to warm up the metal before starting the stove up all the way. A lit a match and touched it to the fuel. Flame sprang up, then reached beyond on the little stove, a plume of fire flickering towards our fuel bottle. "Oh, Shit!" I muttered as a snatched the fuel bottle out of the way.

"I heard that!" a dark haired woman in the site to our left scolded. Then she smiled, "I'm just kidding. I don't mind, the kids aren't around to pick it up."

"Sorry anyway." I said glancing over at her, "The fire just sort of shot out..." I went back to cooking, "By the way, what book are you reading?" I asked.

"Oh, just some fantasy novel. I read anything with swords and magic and dragons." We talked about fantasy novels until dad got back and took over with dinner while I went for a shower. When I got back, she had given us a zucchini and offered us sausage for breakfast the next morning.

After dinner, a man wearing running shorts and a jersey unzipped to his belly-button, and eating gruel from a little metal bowl came over to out site. "'ello! Other bike tourists! What-do-you think about the sites. Twenty-six dollars for a night! Dirty rotten swindlers! It's scandalous! Just came over to say 'ello!"

"Hi. What's your name?" dad asked.

"Ah, I'm Smilin' Joe!" Smilin' Joe had left Portland on June 10th, came up through Seattle and "Spokin", then stopped in Cour'de Lane, where he volunteered at the Iron Man wearing a grass skirt and a coconut bra. Then he went down to Wyoming and Yellow Stone and cut his way back up to Michigan, "Only they wouldn't let me go inta Canada because... well, I have a bit of a record, and the papers I needed to get through hadn't arrived yet, so I had to go aroun', down through Michigan right by Detroit." He suddenly turned to look at me, "You keep your hinnie strait! You don't want no criminal record! It'll come back to bite ya latter! Ah... the bug's are comin' out, so I hafta keep movin' fellas. G'night!" Smilin' Joe made his way back to his site and dad and I crawled into our tents to escape the mosquitoes. As soon as we were inside, the woman in the campsite to our right (who we hadn't met yet) walked over.

"I know you can't carry any wood on your bikes, but I have a fire if you want to come over and sit by it" When dad and I arrived, we found her sitting in a campchair, a puzzle book in her lap, in front of a large tent with two young girls inside. "I'm Katheryn." she introduced herself, "I bet you have some pretty crazy stories!" For the next twenty minutes she listened intently, watching us with eager eyes, as we told her about our trip. Finally, dad and I said goodnight, then retreated to our tents. I wrote for a while, then went to sleep with the door to my rainfly folded open to let in a little breeze.

Day 57

2008-09-07T10:27:00.000-07:00

August 4 Fort Ticoneroga NY to Middlebury VT

Exhausted after our ride into Fort Ticonderoga, dad and I slept in till nearly 8:00 the next morning. When I woke up, my tent was full of sunlight and I heard dad talking to a couple in the next camp site. Ron and Suzanne were just on a weekend vacation up to the Adirondacks from their home a couple hour drive away. "We've had some weird weather." Ron told us, "about six days of sunshine in all of June. The rests been all rain."

"There was even a tornado up in Vermont last year!" Suzanne put in. This trend of strange weather had been true all across the country: the great plains were a lot wetter than usual, which explained why they were so green (I expected North Dakota to be a dead brown) and why there were so many mosquitoes; Ontario, and now New England, were being doused by rain; and every time we called home to mom, she told us about the weather in Oregon, which certainly didn't sound normal. The odd weather did have some pluses: we never rode in extreme heat (I expected 120 degree days, but the worst we had was in the upper 90s); and the humidity, though annoying, was never absurd.

Dad and I took a lazy morning, stopping for breakfast in the town of Fort Ticonderoga (I had some blueberry pancakes that left me nauseous for the rest of the morning) then rode a short ways to visit the historic fort. Leaving the fort at about 11, we crossed a cable-ferry into the state of Vermont (state number nine!) The ferry deposited us on the opposite shore, and we rode off along narrow winding roads, through rolling farm land and wooded hills. The scene, with the sun shining as it hadn't for the past week, looked like it came out of a story book about quaint, rural America. Unfortunately, the roads steadily deteriorated the farther we got into Vermont: after stopping for a picture of an 18th century blacksmith shop, fissures and pot holes began appearing in greater numbers, ready to grab our wheels and pull us to the pavement. After 20 miles, our shortest 'riding' day of the trip so far, we entered the town of Middlebury, home to Middlebury college, and full of stone buildings and surprisingly patient drivers.

Dad and I maneuvered our bikes through the streets, searching both for a bike shop to fix my rack, and a hotel to stay in. We found a bike shop first, and I went in to ask about replacement parts while dad tried phoning hotels in the town. "Ah, excuse me." I said to the mechanic, "I'm on a bike tour and my rack's broken... you wouldn't happen to have any replacement parts, would you?"

"Oh, I bet not. But how but we take a look at your bike and see what we can do." He came out to look at the broken supports and shook his head, "Nah, the best I could do is sell you a new rack, and that's probably more than you want to spend on this. Hmmmm... You could try the bike shop just down the street; they usually have more of these spare parts just kicking around. And if they don't, c'mon on back. I have some zip ties and we'll see what we can do."

"Thank you." I said, beginning to panic that I would be stuck with a broken rack all the way to Maine. I picked up dad and we rode over to the second shop.

The second shop looked much more like a true, hard-core bike shop: where the first had been on the main street, advertising skies, snow boards, and bikes in the window, this one was tucked away on the far side of a little plaza; it's single window was plastered with bicycling posters, and the inside was dark, lit by a dull yellow light coming from in back. Bikes lined the floor, and hung from the ceiling, and bike posters covered the walls. The mechanic, a white haired man, leaned on the counter talking to a customer about an up coming bike race. As I walked in uncertainly, my eyes adjusting to the dark interior, the customer looked over, "Looks like you have some business." he said to the mechanic, "Talk to you later."

"You too." the mechanic replied, then turned to me, "So, what can I do for ya?"

"I'm on a bike tour, and the support from my rack to my seat stay is broken... do you have a replacement part?"

"I bet so... Let's see the bike." he followed me outside and waited as I took off my panniers. He glanced at the broken parts and nodded, "Yeah, I have some of those." he wandered back inside and reappeared moments later with the pieces I needed, "En garde!" he said, waving one in the air and then handing it to me. He and dad watched as I sweated (partially from the heat, partially from the scrutiny) to remove the broken pieces and replace them with the new ones.

"That piece there looks like it's been held together." the mechanic said, pointing at the contraption of bolts and washers.

"Yeah, a mechanic in Ithaca did that. He said that it should hold together until we got to Bar Harbor. He was sort of right: that was all that was really holding the rack together till now."

"This mechanic... was he an older fellow?"

"Yeah, probably in his 50s or 60s. He's a machinist at Cornell and runs a bike shop at night. I guess he used to be a pretty good bike racer."

"Yeah, I know him." the mechanic nodded, "Glen something or other. I used to be faster than him."

"So, are all the roads round here as bad as the one we came in on?" dad asked,

"You think the one you came in on was bad? That's the good road for around here. Wait till tomorrow... you're going over the Middlebury Gap, right? That road is terrible. And steep! It starts out at 18%. And going down the other side..." he shook his head, grinning bemusedly, "just as steep and the road is even worse! You have to be really careful." I finished the repairs and dad paid the mechanic 3 dollars total for the pieces, and then we went off in search of our hotel.

The Middlebury Inn was a ritzy hotel, but then, all the hotels in Middlebury are pretty ritzy; the whole town is a bit of a tourist trap. We got to the hotel just in time for afternoon tea. When dad checked in, we both took a couple of the complimentary scones, then, after dropping off our bags, we returned for more. We sat in the fancy, high backed chairs in the lobby, feasting on scones, cookies, and lemonade, leaving a healthy halo of crumbs. "This is probably the last time they let cyclists stay here!" dad joked.

"They should expect this if they offer us free food." I replied.

Dad and I lounged for the rest of the evening, going out for pizza and wandering through the cute little town. As we wandered down a side road, a man with matted blond hair and mismatched socks stared at us, not looking away for even a second. Disconcerted, we hurried on, stopping to look at the town's waterfall before returning to the hotel to go to bed.

Day 56

2008-09-01T12:57:00.000-07:00

AUGUST 3 Blue Mountain Lake to Fort Ticonderoga, NY

As I loaded my panniers onto my bike the next morning, I noticed a little problem: the supports from my rack to my seat stay had broken, just like in Ithaca. Only now, the only thing holding my rack in place was the little contraption of screws and washers that the mechanic used to fix my rack in the first place; if that broke, my rack would likely fall backwards, hit my wheel, and send me flying into the pavement. Not a very happy scenario. "Ah, dad? My bike's broken."

Dad walked over and I pointed at the broken rack, "Ughh. Why do we only notice these things right when we're getting ready to ride!" He tried to imitate the mechanics jerry-rigged support, but the parts we had didn't quite cut it. "Oh! I know!" dad suddenly said, walking over to a stump on one side of the camp site. He picked up a little piece of string that had been left there be some earlier camper, "It's funny, when we first got here, I had a feeling that this string was important." he said as he walked back and began to tie it around my rack. When he was finished, the string connected my rack to my seat post, "Now, at least if the last support does break, the rack won't immediately fall off. Still, we need to find a way to fix this really soon. I don't want to be stuck in the middle of no where when the rack goes." Despite the fix, dad and I spent a half hour sullenly silent, both of us terrified that the rack would break.

I'm sure some of this is beginning to sound a little repetitive: we rode all day and the sky was gray; it rained some; we stopped for a second breakfast in town X (in this case, in Long Lake, and the timing was perfect! As soon as we were inside, the sky split open and it rained the entire time we ate, but stopped before we got outside); it rained some more. The truth is, the time in New York, though beautiful, largely was repetitive! That said, every day was different, and something special always happened. The special part of August 3rd was our descent out of the Adirondacks.

All day we had been climbing short, steep hills, that were always followed by short steep descents, which left us feeling like we were back at square one. Apparently, the descents weren't quite as far as the climbs, so by the end of the day we found ourselves on a hill overlooking the town of Fort Ticonderoga. The clouds were big and purple, glossed lightly yellow on the bottom by the sun; the road twisted out of the hills and forests of the Adirondacks, dropping to the valley and fields below; the town was visible in the distance. Exhausted, and fearing the impending rain, dad and I didn't stop to appreciate the view: we took the hill head on. As the road slanted away, I felt myself picking up speed and thoroughly enjoying it. I coasted most of the way into Fort Ticonderoga. It was only after we had stopped, at the bottom of the hill, that dad and I bothered to enjoy the view: behind, the road wove its way back into the green and gray of the mountains, fog rose off the forests, and the sun glowed faintly behind it all.

We stopped for dinner supplies in town, then rode a couple of miles off route to a camp ground. The first camp site we were assigned to was all mud, with large puddles and patches of muck that sucked at your shoes. As we set up our tents, dad finally shook his head in frustration, "You finish setting up the tents and I'll go see if there's an open spot nearby that we can switch to." He walked off and I finished setting up my tent, then put on the rain fly, then put on dad's rain fly... what seemed like a long time later he returned, "Well, I've got some good news and some bad news. Good news: I got us a dryer site; bad news: it's on the other side of the campground."

"Isn't there one just over there?" I asked, pointing at a vacant site just across the road.

"It's reserved. C'mon, lets just bundle the tents up... no need to roll 'em up... then we can strap 'em to the bikes." We repacked our tents then slowly rode to the other site. "Oh... I think this looks too wet!" dad joked, "I'll go see if we can switch."

I glared at him, "There could be a lake in this site and I wouldn't move!" I said, "I'm dead." We put up our tents, and I went to shower while dad made dinner. When dinner was over, I did dishes as the sun sank below the trees, finishing in the dark. Without my headlight, I fumbled my way to my tent, flopped inside, and fell asleep without bothering to write.

Day 55 continued

2008-09-01T12:16:00.001-07:00

This is my first post back at home... It's great being back, but now it's harder to focus on writing my blog. My rough plan, subject to change: I will have our days spent in New York written about by the end of today, and the rest of our trip done by the end of next weekend. Hopefully, I'll be done by September 7. Of course, I go back to school tomorrow, so that date might get pushed back a little.

When dad and I arrived in the town of Blue Mountain Lake, the sky still hadn't cleared up. We pulled into the gas station and asked for directions to the nearest camp ground, "Oh, there's a state one about 3 miles down the road that way." the clerk pointed in a direction we didn't want to go.
Sighing, dad and I perused the convenience store for any last minute additions to our dinner (we already had some packets of ramen noodle and fresh vegetables in our packs.) "Where are you from in Oregon?" one of the shoppers suddenly asked. I stared dumbfounded for a second, then realized I was wearing my bright yellow jersey with 'Oregon' written across the chest.
"Ahm... Oregon City. It's a little town just south of Portland." I said.
"I know where Oregon City is! I used to go to Canby High School." For a second time in 30 seconds I found myself dumbfounded.
"I go to Canby High School." I said shakily.
The woman laughed, "Really? Oh, then I have to ask if this one teacher is still there. He was my favorite teacher... he really changed my life. Sort of weird, though." She thought about it for a second, "He was my literature teacher..."
"Was it Mr. Mikulec?" I asked quickly.
"Yes! Yes! He's still there?"
"Yeah, I just had him last year."
"Oh, wow. I can only imagine what he's like now. I mean, he was strange when I had him." I found myself grinning as she spoke.
"He's definitely a different sort of person." I agreed, "So do you still live in Oregon?"
"No," the woman shook her head, "I graduated in '82, and now I live just south of here in Saratoga." She nodded silently for a moment, "So, did you ride out here?" I nodded, "Wow! Well, good luck on your trip!"
"Thanks!" I said as she left the convenience store.

Our campground was a state park just south of the route. We were given a site slightly removed from the road, that could only be reached by a short trail. Dad and I wheeled our bikes up the path, then raced to set up our tents before the rains came. Since the campground was already almost full, dad and I crammed our tents together in one corner of our site, so that if Liz, Cate, and Sarah showed up they would have some where to put their tent. Dad and I hurled our gear into our tents, then scurried in after it just as the first drops started to fall. For the next fifteen minutes, we both sat in our tents, munching on goldfish, gorp, and snickers bars, and listening to the rain fall. As the drops became fewer and farther between, I heard dad climb out of his tent, "I'm gonna go take a shower." he said, "I'll probably get more wet on the walk than in the shower, but oh well... When I get back, I'll start dinner." I heard him shuffle off to the shower while I slowly started to organize my gear (very early in the trip, I developed the nightly routine of listening to my iPod while repacking my bags, pulling out the clothes I'd need for the next day, and so on.)

When dad returned from the shower, the rain had stopped almost entirely, so I took my turn to clean up. I gathered together my 'street clothes' (by that I mean, non-lycra clothing) and my towel, then headed down to the bathrooms. Unfortunately, after I had peeled off my wet bike clothes, I realized I didn't know how to operate the shower (I couldn't figure out where I was supposed to put in my quarter to make the water run.) After five embarrassing minutes of fiddling with the controls, I gave up and switched shower stalls, not bothering to get dressed again (luckily, no one else was in the bathroom to see me hurry into the other stall). After my shower, I went back to camp to help dad finish dinner (ramen noodles with chopped up salami, and a corn, cucumber, and balsamic vinegrette salad that we had seen the girls make the night before.) I got the dishes, and then crawled in my tent at about 8:00.

Ooops

2008-08-26T16:52:00.000-07:00

I didn't mean to post the last post yet, so it's only half done... I'll finish the rest of it next time I'm on a computer.

~Seth

Day 55

2008-08-26T16:26:00.000-07:00

AUGUST 2 Boonville to Blue Mountain Lake, NY

Dad and I had started to break down our tents by the time the girls woke up. Again, dad wandered over to talk to them with me in tow, and soon we were helping eat their pancake breakfast. Cate mixed up the pancake batter, then while it was in the pan, Sarah shaved pieces of chocolate (from a mass of chocolate chips that had melted then hardened together) into the it and added slices of a tart apricot. The overall effect was quite good: sour, but sweet enough to be tasty without any syrup. We all ate them with our hands as soon as they came out of the pan. When we left, dad promised that if we camped with them again we would make them a cake using the double-boiler method Pat had taught us.

I played a game with myself as we rode, making up characters using names I saw on signs: the name Joslin on a mailbox became Sir Joslin, a young knight who wears glasses and fights with a mace; the town of Woodgate became Gregoire Woodgate, a traveling wizard who collects flowers; Timberlane Road became the Timberlane family, who rule a small barony as part of a larger kingdom. By the end of the day, I had created 15 such characters, all together on a Chaucerian pillgrimage across an imaginary world. Though not my most.... memorable characters, they certainly helped pass the hours of sitting on a bicycle seat.

Just under a mile from Old Forge, where we planned to stop for a second breakfast, dad's tire went flat with a sudden rush of air. As he pulled to the side of the road and began changing the tube, it began to rain. Gritting his teeth in frusteration, he continued the process, finally replacing the tube and jerking his wheel back into place. We started riding again, the rain letting off now that the tire was changed, and were suddenly confronted by more people in one place than we'd seen since Niagara Falls. Apparently Old Forge, as well as most of the Adirondacks, serve as a popular vactaion spot, especially on weekends (it was just our luck that the days we were riding through the Adirondacks were a Saturday and Sunday.) We managed to squeeze our way into a restuarant for breakfast, then left town in a hurry.

The rest of the day passed smoothly; the landscape was some of the best on the entire trip: at times, we felt that we were back in the Skagit River Valley in Western Washington. The weather was damp, but not wet, and the skly remained an exciting swirl of gray clouds. For the first time since Montatna, we were surrounded by more pines and firs than oaks, maples, or birches.

Day 54

2008-08-21T16:11:00.000-07:00

AUGUST 1 Fulton to Boonville NY

We were up and out of the Fulton campground early the next morning, still enjoying the thrill of being back on the road. After a brief detour to view Lake Ontario (our third Great Lake), and an encounter with a rider from French Canada, Guyton Champagne, dad and I arrived in the town of Pulaski around 10:30 in the morning. Since our ride was going to be on the shorter side, we decided to stop for an hour or so to use the computers in the Pulaski Public Library. We rode up to the library and propped our bikes against a wall. A man leaning on the wall a few paces down looked over at us, "Where ya comin' from?" he asked.
"Washington State, just above Seattle."
"Gah'!" he exclaimed in an east coast accent, "An' where're ya goin' to?"
"Bar Harbor, Maine."
"Chris'! You guys're crazy! Good luck!" He stood up, shaking his head and smiling, and wandered away.

I walked into the library, still grinning at his surprise, and confidently stepped up to the Librarian, "Can I get on a computer here?" I asked.
She eyed me suspiciously, clearly thinking Another one of these cyclists!?! How many are there? and gestured at a sheet of paper, "You can sign in there, but there's a 45 minute wait." Crestfallen, I scrawled my name on the line and walked back outside, shaking my head at dad.

I pulled out the bag of gorp, and dad and I were just planning our next move (Lunch in the park? Wait the 45 minutes? Ride on?) when a man walked out of the library and right up to us, "Sorry, I have to ask, cross country?" He said eagerly, grinning like a kid.
"Yeah."
"West to East or East to West?" he asked.
"West to East. We..."
"I don't know why anyone would do it the other way! The head winds would be awful! So, are you ending in Bar Harbor?"
"Yeah... How do you know so much about this? Have you followed the Adventure Cycling Route?" dad asked.
"No, just lots of cross country riders pass through Pulaski. Following AC, then? Going into the Adirondacks?" he didn't wait for a reply, "So, tonight you'll stay in... West Leyden?"
"That's the plan..." dad responded.
"It's beautiful up there... here, let me see your map!" he sat down on a stone wall next to the road, letting his feet dangle above the ground. Dad and I climbed up on either side of him, "Oh, here in Old Forge, they rent Kayaks... and there's a really nice hike up over here, up to an old viewpoint... and over here..." he listed off all the possible tourist attractions in the area. "Well, I have to go, off to my own bike tour. We ride through Canada every year. You should check out the park... the Lion's club is barbecuing chickens as a fundraiser. Have a great trip, guys."
"You too!" we called as he walked away, waving over his shoulder. Dad and I ate a chicken lunch in the park, watching the BMXers do a very different kind of biking, then left Pulaski.

The hills began just outside of West Leyden, the first since Montana. The pavement dropped out below our front wheels, then rose steeply in front of us, time and again. By the time we reached the town, both of us were more then ready to stop for the day. We pulled into a convenience store that our map said let cyclists camp out back. As soon as we stopped, a quartet of mountain bikers made their way over to us, "You don't happen to have a pump for presta tubes? The little valves?" the lead one asked; he wore a cowboy hat and jeans, and had a scraggly brown beard.
"Yeah, actually we do!" dad said as I took my frame pump off my bike . Although dad had drilled both of our tires to accommodate Schraeder valves (the big ones), because they are easier to find in small towns, our pumps could be converted for use with the presta valves as well. I switched my pump around and handed it to the man in the cowboy hat.
"Thanks, man." he said and began furiously inflating his tires, "So, where're you guys headin'?"
"Maine." I said casually. He looked up at me, his eyes round.
"Really?" cooed the girl standing next to him, "That's a long ways."
"And where are you comin' from?" a third mountain biker asked.
"Washington." dad said in the same casual voice I had used.
"As in State?" the girl asked. Dad and I spent the next five minutes reveling in our celebrity status until the leader had pumped up the tires. "Good luck!" they all called, heaving their mountain bikes into the back of a muddy pick up truck and driving away.
As soon as they left, dad looked at me with a mischievous grin on his face, "Wow... she was... well-endowed. I kept telling myself, look at her face, Chip, look at her face!"
I laughed, mildlyshocked, "I kinda notcied that too, but I don't know if you're allowed to think that!" I said indignantly, "You're my dad!"
"What's that got to do with anything? I was just noticing it..." he turned around and walked into the store. Minutes later, he returned, rolling his eyes, "They don't know anything about letting cyclists camp out back. They said Fred and Glenda who used to own the store might have done something like that..."
Sighing, I pulled out the map, "Looks like our next option is in ten miles: Stysh's Big Barn... that sounds sort of ominous."
"Don't really have much choice, do we?" dad asked, climbing onto his saddle. I shook my head, and we rode on to Stysh's Big Barn.

It turns out there was nothing ominous about the Big Barn. In fact, it was the very opposite: our site was cheap, the showers were free, and we even had a little kitchenette to use for cooking dinner. Dad and I showered and ate, and were just starting the dishes, when the three girls rode into camp. We finished cleaning up, then walked over to talk to them. The oldest, Liz, who we had met in the library, was showering, but her two younger sisters were starting to cook dinner: Cate, who has just finished college, boiled water for noodles, while Sarah, who is a freshman studying physics at Princeton, diced a Cucumber. Dad started talking to them about the ride, while I stood on shyly listening to the conversation. Liz returned and set up their tent, then joined the conversation. "So, whose on the Trek 520?" dad asked, pointing at a bike identical to ours.
"That's Cate's." Liz said, "Sarah and I decided to go with the cyclo-cross bikes. Cate just wanted something different."
"Her name's Wanda." Cate interjected.
"So how're the cyclo-cross bikes working?" dad asked.
"Fine for me..." Liz said, "Sarah's has had a few problems..." Dad raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"Well, I broke a spoke, and the back wheel is getting more and more out of true." Sarah said, "We just keep loosening up the brakes when it starts to rub."
"We haven't been able to find any good bike shops around." Cate said, "Like one of the ones we found was called Pedals and Petals, as in they sell bikes and flowers."
"We had nicknames for ourselves in the beginning." Sarah put in, "So I was Gravel Panda Bear at first, because I fell down whenever I hit gravel, and now I'm just General Chaos Panda Bear."
"Hear that, Seth." dad teased, "Your not the only one who has trouble staying vertical." he turned to Sarah, "General Chaos? Has something else happened to you?"
"Well, besides the spoke, I lost a pannier..." she said.
"Lost it?"
"Well, yeah. I was riding down the road and I looked down and realized one of my front panniers was missing. We rode back ten miles to the spot that I thought I had lost it, but we never found it."
"Wait, you rode ten miles without noticing your pannier was gone?" Sarah nodded, "And you're a physics major at Princeton?"
"I know, my parents gave me a lot of crap for that." she laughed, "I kept saying, 'Can't you give me some sympathy?'"
"So you're still riding with a broken spoke?" dad asked. She nodded again.
"We met some people who were having wheel problems." I put in, thinking of Greg and Caroline. I stared at the table while I spoke, for some reason too nervous to make eye contact, "And I read on their blog that they just got skunked...." Everyone grimaced.
"I heard somewhere that if you get sprayed by a skunk, you're supposed to capture it." Cate said, "And then you take it to the vet to get de-stinked. Then you can keep it as a pet."
"I wouldn't think that's a very good idea...." dad said.
"But they're so cute!" Cate said.
"And they have sharp teeth."
"Ah, well...." We spent hours talking to them that evening until it finally got to dark to see. They invited us to eat pancakes with them the next morning, then we all headed off to bed.

Day 53

2008-08-21T05:24:00.000-07:00

JULY 31 Ithaca to Fulton, NY

Leaving Ithaca, it felt great to be back on the bike... there was a certain sweetness in my legs as I pedalled, a very contented, eager feeling. Unfortunately, large purple clouds were building on the horizon, and a few scattered drops fell from the sky. In my bags, I carried the latest batch of letters from Aunt Kathy's first graders, one of my most prized possessions on the trip, and I was terrified they'd get drenched. After a few tense minutes, dad spotted a solution: a post office. We sent the letters home, along with a few extra items we decided to purge from our bags. Of course, when we walked out to our bikes after mailing the letters, the sky was perfectly clear.

The rest of our ride that morning passed easily along the eastern shore of Lake Cayuga, until that afternoon, we rode back onto the Adventure Cycle route. A few miles shy of our destination, dad spotted a vegetable stand by the side of the road, advertising "Sweet Corn" on a fading wooden sign. He paused a second, staring at the sign, then turned around and rode back to the stand. Before we even stopped, the woman behind the counter had two cucumbers in each hand, "Here, take these, they have a high water content... a good way to stay hydrated." Thanking her, we took the gifts and stowed them in our bag. Three dollars later, we had enough corn, potatoes, zucchini, and broccoli for dinner for the next few days.
I proffered our water bottles, "Do you think you could fill a couple of these for us?" I asked.
"Sure!" she said, taking the bottles behind the counter and filling them with ice water from a small refrigerator she had to store produce. "And take some of these!" she gave us some packets of Crystal Lite powder to add to our water.

We set up our camp then rode into the town of Fulton to use the computers in the library. As I wandered in, clad in lycra, my bike cleats clicking faintly on the floor, a red head at one of the computers looked up, "Are you biking across the country?" she asked. I nodded, surprised that she had guessed so easily, "We are too!" she said, then glanced around her, "Well, I'm the only one here... I'm riding with my two sisters."
"Are you staying in the campground just outside of town?" dad asked, "We saw you ride in... but you were unloaded, so we didn't figure..."
"Oh, our parents met us for a couple of days, and they carried our bags. It's been so nice for our knees... but they're leaving tomorrow." she grimaced, "I'm not looking forward to riding a loaded bike again."
By now, dad and I had both settled down in front of a computer, "You should come over this evening," dad prompted, "It'd be great to hear about your trip."
"Oh, definitely." the girl agreed, turning back to her computer screen.

Back at camp, we showered, ate dinner (which was excellent thanks to all of the fresh vegetables), then went out for ice cream at a near by store. When we got back from our ice cream run, I wandered off to the bathroom while dad looked around the camp, making sure everything was put away. Returning to camp, I found it empty and assumed dad had gone to bed. I crawled in my tent and began writing in my journal until it was too dark to see the page. Just after I had closed my journal and slipped inside my sleeping bag, dad walked into camp, "Oh, hey." I said, surprised he wasn't asleep, "Where were you?".
"I was talking to those girls." He said, "I ran into their dad while I was taking pictures of the lake, and then we started talking, and then...." he grinned, "Well, you know how much I can talk. I finally decided it was time to leave when it started getting dark. I think they're planning to stay the same place we are tomorrow night, so you'll probably get to meet them then. Good night!"
"Good night, dad." I replied as he climbed into his tent and went to sleep.

Days 49, 50, 51, & 52

2008-08-14T07:51:00.000-07:00

JULY 27 Pittsford to Seneca Falls, NY

We woke up late and had a long breakfast with Mike and Pnina: omelets, fresh veggies (tomatoes and avocados), toast, jam, and Cantaloupe. Mike brought out a glass jar filled with a murky, white fluid; white chunks floated in the mixture, "What's that?" I asked.

"It's herring. It's a... kind of fish?" he looked questioningly at dad, who nodded, "I thought so, but I couldn't remember if that was the name of the process done to it. I've only ever seen it pickled. Try some." He offered me the jar. Hesitantly, I took a tiny piece and an even tinier bite. "Now you can say you've tried herring."

"And I don't think he'll ever try any again." dad smiled, catching the look on my face.

Reluctantly, we left Mike and Pnina's house around 10:00 (one of our latest starts). They offered to let us stay for a "day of rest", but we were nearly to Amelia's house in Ithaca, and had to decline. "Thank you for everything!" we said as we left.

"Thank you for being kind to Yoni." Mike replied. Our night at Mike and Pnina's was one of my favorite stops on the trip.

We rode along the Erie Canal for much of the morning. About 20 miles into our ride, we spotted two cyclists up ahead. As we rode ast, I recognized the people we had met on Bike Fridays outside of Niagara Falls. "Hello again!" I called, coming to a stop.

At the same time, the other three all shouted too, "Stop!" "Wait!" "Hello!" and all stopped as well.

"I told my husband, if we saw you again, I wanted to get your pictures for my journal!" the woman said.

"I was thinking the same thing!" dad answered. Each pair of us posed for the other's camera, then dad asked, "So, what are your guy's names?"

"Dean and Elner." The man piped in.

"And you are?" Elner asked. She copied our names down on a note pad, as well as the blog. When she heard about FAAN, she dug a $5 bill out of her purse and handed it to me, "My granddaughter has food allergies too. Good luck with your fundraiser. I thanked her, and we all wished each other well, then rode on.

We stopped for lunch by the Erie Canal, feasting on cherries and blueberries Pnina had given us. Then, we turned off the Adventure Cycle Route, heading south towards Ithaca, where Skipper's friend Amelia lives. The heat and humidity slowly climbed as the day progressed, but the miles still felt easy and a gentle breeze kept us cool.

Suddenly, there was a metal clank, a rush of air, and an imperceptible drop in the front of the bike: my front tire had just gone flat. Swearing to myself probably more than necessary, I climber off the bike and began to take off my front wheel. "At least the weather's nice for you to change the tire." dad noted.

"I have a sinking suspicion," I said drily, "that by the time I have the wheel changed, the weather will seem far to warm for me." I was right. By the time I had my tire off and my tube changed, sweat coated my face, and my jersey stuck to my back uncomfortably. As I tried to pump up my tire, dad suggested I hold the pump differently, "I got it!" I snapped, more irritably than dad deserved. He backed away to let me finish with my wheel. I changed my hand hold on the pump. When I had my bike back in a running condition, I rolled it over by dad, "Hey, sorry for griping at you back there." I apologized, "I think the heat was getting to me a little bit."

"Hey, don't worry about it." he reassured me, "Everyone gets a little grumpy changing tires."

We picked up groceries for dinner in Seneca Fall (where we also saw a statue of Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, put in place because of a woman's rights convention they held there in the mid-1800s), then headed off to our camp ground in Cayuga Lake State Park for the evening.

JULY 28 Seneca Falls to Ithaca NY & JULY 29 and 30 in Ithaca, NY

The ride into Ithaca was truly uneventful, except for an annoying rattling coming from my rack. I rode tentatively half the morning, until I discovered that the sound was caused by a loose screw. We tightened it down as much as we could using our hands, then I continued to ride, much more confident that my bike would hold together at least until that evening. After one of our shortest rides of the trip, we made it to Ithaca, and waited in a co-op to meet Amelia. She rode up on a bright red racing bike, then walked over. "Hello, hows it going?" she said when she got near.

"It's been great." dad told her, "And Ithaca looks like it will be amazing."

"Oh, it's a great town for riding in." Amelia told us, "So, there are two ways to get home. And they both involve hills." She smiled knowingly at the chagrin on our faces, "One way, theeasier way, is four miles of up hill. The other way is two miles of really steep uphill, and then it mellows out some."

"I don't know..." dad said, "What do you think, Seth?"

"Lets go for the steep one," I said, "get it over with faster."

"All right!" Amelia said eagerly, "The fun way!... and if we get there and it looks like it might be a little too fun for you, we can always switch and go the other way." The last part had me a little worried, but when we got to the hill, it didn't turn out to be as horrifying as I expected. I shifted down into my easiest gears, then spun my way up the steep, single-lane road that wound its way past a cemetery and a series of beautiful, old yellow-brick houses.

At Amelia's house, we met her dog (part German shepherd) named Indy, for Indiana Jones. We made our selves lunch while Amelia pedaled back to work at Cornell College. That afternoon, as dad was going over the bikes, he discovered a few mechanical issues with mine: one of the supports leading from my rack to my seat stay (the tube under the seat) was partially broken; on top of that, there was a big gash in my back tire, and cracks next to four of my spokes. I seem to be hard on bikes. (I blame it on the fact that Artoo, my mechanical good luck charm, lost his right leg. My good luck charm had a mechanical!) That evening we visited a local bike shop which a Cornell Machinist runs out of his house. He sold us a replacement tire, and cobbled together a few washers and a screw to hold the rack together (he said the break wasn't bad enough to really worry about) but told us we didn't need a new wheel: it was still in good enough condition to make it to Maine.

Over the next couple of days, I visited Cornell College (which was too big for my tastes) and spent plenty of time on the computer, trying to get up to date. Each evening at 5:00, Amelia's husband, Oliver, would bring their kids, Cady and Peter, home from science camp. The first evening, they were shy around the strangers in their house, leaving dad and I mostly to talk to Amelia and Oliver, or read. This changed the second night. A few minutes after arriving home, Cady (who is 6) walked up to me and flourished a wooden sword, "I challenge you to a duel!" to exclaimed in a French-English-generic-noble-person accent.

"But I don't have a weapon." I said with a sinking feeling that I would be stabbed anyway. Cady looked around, perplexed for a second, the ran over and grabbed a plastic back massager.

"Here, use this!" she said in her regular voice. Reluctantly, I took my weapon and stood. Cady began her attack. After a flurry of lightly placed sword blows, she dodged through my defenses and gently hit me on the wrist, "Ha! I cut off your hand!"

"Ahh, but there is something you don't know!" I said, thinking of the Princess Bride, "I am truly left handed!" I switched the back massager to my other hand. After a few more slashes, I tapped her just above the knee, "Ooops, I think I cut off your leg." Cady wrinkled her nose and sat down on the floor, then quickly cut off both of my legs. Soon, I was entirely de-limbed.

"Now you're like the Black Knight from Monty Python," Amelia joked as she walked by, "Come back here and I'll bite off your knee caps." Cady decided to finish me off, stabbing her sword down at my chest.

Thinking I had played my part and was done, I quietly retreated to the room dad was staying in and closed the door, settling in to read Crime and Punishment. Even as I read, I had a sinking feeling that I wasn't through with my new role, so I wasn't surprised when the door flew open and Cady rushed in, followed by her brother Peter (about 8) who was now brandishing the wooden sword. "Trying to hide from us Steph?" Cady said, "Now we'll get you!" The rest of my evening, as well as much of the next, was spent dodging sword strokes, or, as the case may be, failing to dodge sword strokes and thus "losing" an arm, a leg, or my head. The day before we left, Cady came up to me, and in an earnest, six-year-old fashion, said, "You know Steph, you're a lot more fun than that other man you're with. He's pretty boring." Amelia got quite the laugh out of that.

We spent three nights in Ithaca, and by our third morning, dad and I were beginning to get antsy from sitting still. We thanked everyone, then got back into the saddle.

Day 48

2008-08-14T06:42:00.000-07:00

JULY 26 Niagara Falls, Ontario to Pittsford, NY

We scarfed a couple of pop tarts in the hotel room before leaving the hotel, planning on finding breakfast somewhere. We ate at Dad's Diner, a small restaurant outside of the tourist section of Niagara falls, then zipped over to the Buddhist Temple. It still wasn't open for the morning, but we wandered the grounds, admiring the statues and artwork littering the compound. Signs around the courtyard read "This isn't Jurassic Park, but the path to enlightenment can be rewarding. Please, respect our holy place."

After visiting the temple, we went in search of the bridge across the Niagara River that would take us back into America. We followed the directions given on the Adventure Cycling map, but when the map finally called for a turn onto the bridge, there was nothing but a massive construction zone. Dad and I rode around frantically for a few minutes, searching for a sign leading to the bridge. The most irksome part of all, is that just above our heads, we could see the bridge, packed with cars waiting to get through customs; we just couldn't get there! Finally, we spotted a sign pointing to the highway saying "Bridge to America, 3 Miles." Irritably, dad and I began to ride the 3 miles; about half a mile in, we spotted an unloaded bicyclist riding towards us. Dad flagged him down and he pulled over, "Do you know, are we going the right way to get to the bridge to America?" dad asked.
"Only if you're a car." the man said, "Here, I'll show you how bikes get there." He rode back with us to the construction zone, and showed us a road that cut up through the middle of it, "It looks like a construction road, but you ride through it and you'll come to the Canadian customs. They'll let you cut through there, and you'll be in the line to get into America." We thanked him and followed his instruction into the customs line. Then we waited in line for 45 minutes in the rain, much to the amusement of the cars around us.

When we reached the crossing, the boarder guard walked over to us, "Passports." he said completely deadpan. We handed them over. "Where are you coming from." Still no emotion.
"We crossed into Canada in Marine City... and we started in Anacortes Washington." dad said nervously.
"You rode your bicycles all the way here from Washington?" he asked, still emotionless.
"Yes."
"Is that all you have?" he pointed at our bags, and his voice wavered slightly; he almost sounded as though he wanted to be impressed.
"Yes."
"Okay, you guys are fine. Go ahead." his voice reverted to its original monotone.

Once in New York, we took a wrong turn, and by the time we realized our mistake, we had already coasted down the Niagara Escarpment. Back on route, after a brutal climb back up the escarpment,we began to put down the miles, taking full advantage of the small tail wind we had. We hoped to make it to Pittsford, 100 miles from Niagara, to spend the night with Yoni's parents, Mike and Pnina (Yoni, who we met in Minnesota.) We pushed all the way into Rochester, New York, then rode our last 15 miles of the day on the Erie Canal Trail (the irony did not escape us.)

At the end of the day, we rode around a corner in he bike path to see a wiry man with thick gray hair, standing patiently by the side of the road. Seeing our loaded bikes roll around the corner, he smiled and walked over, "Hi, I'm Mike, Yoni's dad. And you are..." He addressed me because I was in the lead.
"I'm Seth." I said, shaking his hand.
"And you must be Chip!" Mike said, turning to my dad. "If you want to just ride up here, you can put your bags in my car and I'll show you over to our house." I hesitated out of instinct before parting with my handlebar bag. "You want to put that one in too?"
I started to mumble a no, "It's like our purse." dad explained.
"I'm not going to run off with it." Mike said, and I realized how silly I was for being worried. I handed over my bag. "Yoni's been riding with some boys in Montana who have a van sagging for them. He says it's liberating not to ride with bags." (Pnina later said Yoni also felt a little guilty giving up all his weight.)

At their house, we met Pnina, Yoni's mom, who was born in Israel. She cooked an amazing dinner of fish, brown rice, corn, red cabbage boiled in apple juice (which was amazing), and a vegetable soup that we ate with a horseradish & beet paste. "Pnina, this is incredible!" dad said, partway through the meal.
"It is edible." she said modestly.
"No, it's incredible!" dad corrected. Pnina just smiled.

"What part of Israel did you grow up in?" I asked her later in the meal.
"Jerusalem." she responded.
"I don't mean to be rude and ask how old you are..." I started awkwardly, "But were you born before '48?"
"It's okay. I was the first in my family born after 1948, in Israel as a nation."
"What was that like... I mean, there were some pretty tumultuous times?"
"It was different than now. Jerusalem was still separated into west and east, so you knew where you were allowed. Now, it is like Swiss cheese. If you go to Israel for the first time, you must be with someone who knows there way around or with a tour."

For his part, Mike works at a mental health center on a college campus, and is a Rabbi. "During Vietnam, I almost joined the navy to avoid the draft, but I was talked out of it by woman wise beyond her years. I went into the enlistment office and told her I wanted to be an officer on a ship stationed in San Diego. She suggested I consider alternate service. So I ended up working in a mental health clinic in Elko, Nevada."

As we went to bed (after a tasty dessert of berries and cream-custard), Pnina asked what we wanted for breakfast, "In Israel, we eat salads for breakfast, but Mike won't do that. Would you like an omelet?"
"Sure." I replied, "That sounds great!" The couch in their TV room has been the softest, most comfortable place I've slept all trip. I was asleep within minutes.

Day 47

2008-08-13T08:53:00.000-07:00

JULY 25 Stromness to Niagara Falls, Ontario

We got up early and left Rock Point, eager to get to Niagara. The first ten miles of our day were on roads right along the shore of Lake Erie, until we reached the town of Port Colbourne. While crossing a bridge in the town, dad decided to stop for a picture. I didn't see him stop, since I like looking through the metal grating on bridges at the water below, or hear him warn "Stopping". When I looked up, dad was at a full stop in front of me; I frantically snatched at the brakes, but I was too late, colliding into the back of dad's bike and toppling to the ground (Luckily, we were riding on the side walk). "you all right?" dad asked, and I nodded weakly, "are you still a guy?" He asked, noting that the bike seat had been rammed into my crotch by the fall.
"No." I snapped angrily, "And I'm going to throw your bloody camera into the river!" frustrated as I was, I managed to laugh: the crash was completely my fault... I simply wasn't paying enough attention. After the bridge, we crossed onto a bike path that we would follow for the rest of the day.

I was shaky and slightly unnerved for the next few miles (and sat rather uncomfortably on the bike seat) but eventually regained my composure. Half way to Niagara, we stopped for a snack, and for dad to check out his bike because it was making a strange noise. As dad took off his panniers, William rode up, "Everything okay?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah," dad replied, "my bike has just been clunking and I don't know why. That's always the part that bugs me... if I could just figure it out..."
"Hey look, your guy's favorite place." He teased, gesturing to a subway down the street, "Did you guys stay in Rock Point last night?" William asked. I nodded. "I went a couple more miles up the road to a campground right on Lake Erie. It was amazing."
"Yeah, our site was right by the lake, too." dad said, "I mean, we had to walk along a little path to get there, but there was this gorgeous view..."
"Ahh, good for you, good for you." William made the phrase sound sincere "Well, I'm off to pick up a sub. Catch you guys later." We never actually did catch William later; he rode off to the subway, while we munched on our goldfish and blueberries, and our paths never managed to intersect again. Funny how that works.

As soon as we were back on the bikes, up rode an older man with a knotted bandanna on a red racing bike (dad was impressed by its "nice lugs and down-tube shifters). After riding and talking for a while, dad finally asked the man his name, "Well, my biking friends call me Spike." he said.
"Spike?" dad asked skeptically.
"Well, my real name is Mike." Since then, dad and I have referred to him as Spike. "Just ahead," Spike told us, "We'll come out of the trees, and across the lake we'll see the Buffalo skyline getting closer and closer; it's really amazing. Sure enough, as we rounded a bend and popped out of the trees, the Buffalo skyline was visible over Lake Erie... it was pretty weird to be in a foreign country looking into America. We left at Historic Fort Erie; he kept riding while dad and I went up to the fort (although we decided not to actually go inside). "I don't know much about history," Spike said, "But Fort Erie was basically put in place as an elaborate toll booth. Make sure the English got their share of the fur trade. Oh, and one other thing. Up past Niagara Falls, there's a Buddhist Temple. It's not really a tourist attraction, but it is pretty cool to look around inside. Well, have a safe trip." We thanked him and waved as he rode off.

In the town of Fort Erie, dad and I stopped at a bike shop to have his bike checked out. When we walked in, the man behind the counter was selling a skate board to a couple of kids. The kids left, and he turned his attention to us, " 'ello, what kin I do fur ya?"
"Well, we're on a bike trip across the country, and my bike's making a weird noise. I was hoping you could check it out."
"Our mechanic's at the store... let me give 'im a call and git 'im over here." the man picked up the phone; after talking for a few seconds, he hung it up again, "Steve'll be here in a couple o' minutes. 'e's the best mechanic I've ever worked with. I'm Rex, by the way. You are..."
"I'm Chip, and this is my son, Seth."
"Seth.... 'at's a Biblical name, innit?" I nodded, "So, Seth, what're you interested in? Wait! Don't tell me... let me guess. You look like... an academic."
"Yeah, pretty much." I admitted, impressed that he could figure that just by looking at me. The way he said it, it didn't feel like just a lucky guess. "I enjoy school and learning..."
"I majored in sociology, so I like to try an' guess these things about people." Dad went out to bring his bicycle into the shop, and Rex and I kept talking. "So, are you in college?"
"No, I'm going to be a senior in high school when I get home. Then I go to college. It's sort of scary."
"Ah, nothin' to be afraid of. Maybe a bit nervous, but don' be afraid. You'll do fine." As we were talking, Steve walked into the shop. He looked over dad's bike and tried to convince dad that he needed a replacement bottom bracket; dad decided to risk it with the one he had.
"Okay, then." Steve said skeptically, and started to put dad's bike back together. he leaned on the rack a little bit, and the same creaking sound we'd been hearing all day came out of the bike. Steve started laughing, "Well, there it is! It's your rack!" Rex gave us directions to the grocery store, where we went to pick up lunch, then we started into the last 20 miles to Niagara Falls.

Almost immediately after we started riding again, we spotted another cyclist. The woman pedaled over to us and began talking to dad. She introduced herself as Carol, and wound up riding with us all the way to Niagara Falls. "My husband started a program called Teen Trekkers, taking kids on bike tours. " She told us when she found out what we were doing, "This year is the first time they have a group going across the country. My husband's in Europe, though."
"Have you ever read the book Hey Mom, Can I Ride My Bike Across the Country?" I asked, and Carol shook her head, "oh, it's a really good book about a middle school teacher taking some of his students across the country. It sounds a lot like what your husband's doing."
"I'll have to look that up some time." Carol said. We rode with her to a rest stop by the falls, also talking to an older couple riding Bike Fridays (bicycles that can pack into a suit case).
"I want to bike across the country for my 70th birthday." the woman said, "But I'm not so sure it will happen. As it is, we're driving around the country with our Bike Fridays and a 6-by-12 trailer. It can seem pretty small some times."

Leaving the rest stop, dad and I were on our own again, and finally we rode in view of the falls. The natural part of the falls, the sheer power it exerts, is incredible. The tourist build up around the falls makes it one of the most vile places on earth. The entire city was a zoo, far worse even than the strip in Las Vegas. It left me feeling rather dirty even just passing through it. We checked into our hotel, a ways off the beaten path (but still far too close for comfort), ate an over priced dinner, then went to bed.

Bar Harbor

2008-08-13T08:39:00.000-07:00

I have to interrupt the regular stream of days to say WE MADE IT TO BAR HARBOR! We got in yesterday around 5, after 4006 miles of riding. But those are just the dry numbers... I'll write down the interesting stuff when I get there chronologically in the blog, so please KEEP READING.

Coming up we meet new cyclists, reunite with Michael, Steve, and Jerry, survive a flood, spend a night at a church, and climb the hardest hill of the entire trip (That was my attempt at a teaser for next week's episode)

~Seth

Day 46

2008-08-04T14:54:00.000-07:00

JULY 24 Houghton Center to Stromness Ontario

For the first time on our trip, I was out of my tent before dad (it's been my goal all along to get up first and start the hot water boiling... dad usually does that). Because we woke up early, we actually an earlier start than usual, leaving around 7:30.

That morning, we ran into William, a high school history teacher from Florida, "I can't get over this street name!" he commented, gesturing to the street sign over our heads, "Spooky Hollow. Back in the states, it would say Sleepy Hollow." Dad told him that I was interested in history, so William pulled out a weathered sheet of note book paper, "Here, you can look at this. I made a list of all the historic sites we'd pass through along the trip. That section's for New York." The list had sites as famous as Fort Ticonderoga, and as obscure as the birthplace of Milicent Fillmore. I scanned the rest of the paper, noticing that he had no sites down for Wisconsin.

"So, nothing historic happened in Wisconsin?" I asked, knowing Bill and Dave would have argued that point.

"Well, basically. Not that I'd say that in Wisconsin." William admitted sheepishly, "But it has been by far my favorite state for riding conditions and scenery. I guess there was some history, but all the big stuff happened in the south, near Madison, and we didn't go there. Well, my man, I'll see you on down the road."

"You too!" I called as he snapped one last photo of the 'Spooky Hollow' sign, and rode away.

Ten miles down the road, dad and I stopped for lunch in Port Dover. We ate at our first Subway of the trip, largely because dad felt that we needed all the veggies they put on their sandwiches. I enjoy eating at local shops, but the subway sandwiches still gave us the needed calories. As we finished, William rode up with a bag of blueberries, "I found a u-pick blueberry farm and had to stop. It's sort of embarrassing, but I've never picked blueberries before. Want some?" he proffered the bag, and dad took a handful. "Boy, the weather sure is nice today. I always see the big clouds on the horizon-" (lately, as we ride, there are always big black clouds ahead of us, and clear, blue sky behind us.) "- and ride on to get as many miles in as possible while it's dry. I don't even stop to have a bowl of cereal by the grocery store any more. I was like that with the winds in North Dakota, too. You never know when they're going to change. It makes it harder to take the time to really enjoy my trip." He poured himself a bowl of cereal for lunch, clearly enjoying the sunny weather. "Did you ever read the book on the Northern Tier?" he asked between bites of cereal.
"No..." dad said, "But I've heard a bit about it."
"I was just wondering if you had the same impression about it as I did. I thought the author was a real jerk! He kept putting down his wife, and other people he met. I talked to another pair of cyclists who thought the same thing...."
"Oh, was that Barb and Bob?" I asked excitedly, remembering that Barb had made a similar complaint about that book.
"Yes! I think it was they! I met them way back in Glacier. I haven't really seen any other riders since then, so it must have been they." he took another bit of cereal, "Well, the only thing I got from that book was to bring pepper spray to use on dogs. Usually, I just use my water bottle, but the author was pretty adamant about pepper spay. So I went out to a military surplus store and bought the pepper spray and carried it with me the whole way. I never used it once! And then, at the Canadian boarder, the confiscated it!" he smiled, shaking his head, "Not like I really need it." We talked a little bit more with William, then wished him well and traveled on.

Riding that afternoon, we ran into six new cyclists (poor, poor souls). First, as we rode along, a strange contraption traveled into view: it was lime green and riding low to the ground, carrying two riders; as it got closer, we saw that it had two front wheels, a single rear wheel, and a bob. The best way to describe it would be an inverse-trike, tandem-recumbent. The riders, Ken and Kari, had just started their trip out of Rochester New York, heading to see family in Rochester Minnesota, "Ken's been retired for a while," Karin told us, "But I just retired last Friday. We started this trip on Sunday." We exchanged blogs, and then two more riders showed up.
"It's a biker convention!" I joked.

The two new riders, Lizzie and Rachel, are both twenty-something year old girls from Seattle, "We flew out to New York to start," Lizzie told us, "So that if we're broke when we get to the east coast, at least we're home. We also figured it would force us into doing it: if we started from Seattle, we could always push it back just one more day."

We left them, but just down the road, we spotted a very tan couple heading towards us. They swerved over to our side of the road, and pulled out their iPod ear phones, then introduced themselves, "I'm Don and this is my wife Vicky. Where're ya from? And where're ya going?"
"From Oregon, to Maine." dad told him.
"Wow, that's impressive. We're just on a short trip around Lake Erie. We live in Ohio, so we started out riding along the south shore, and now we're going home along the north shore. How far do you go a day?"
"Our longest day was 120 miles, but we had really good tail winds," I told them, "Our shortest was about 40 miles. We usually average 70 to 80 miles."
"We only go about 40 miles a day, but that's good for us."
Dad nodded, "Yep, it's however it works for you. That's what's important."
"It's funny, our kids are really worried about us. They make us call them every night to let them know everything's okay."
"My wife does the same thing." Dad said knowingly. "Hey, did you know there's four riders just a couple of miles in front of you?"
"Oh! No we didn't!" Don said, and soon they were wishing us farewell and gearing up to catch Ken, Karin, Lizzie, and Rachel.

We rode all afternoon right along the shore of Lake Erie, until some miles later, the road bent inland. Just ahead of us, the road glistened slightly, and the air had a hazy shimmer to it. "Seth, do you think that's rain?" dad asked.
I squinted at it for a second, then pulled over to the side of the road, "I'm putting my rain covers on." We both frantically started pulling on the yellow covers to our panniers as the first drops started to fall. I had just covered my last bag and pulled out my rain jacket 30 seconds later, when the storm hit full force. I never got the jacket on; the rain and the hail fell so hard that they stung when they hit uncovered flesh. All I could do was shelter my face and fore arms behind the raincoat, which I held in front of me like a shield. Suddenly, I found my self laughing hysterically. Peering out from behind my raincoat, I noticed dad was too. The rain fell, and we laughed harder and harder, the same maniacal laughter that struck me as we rode into the headwind our first day in Minnesota. What were we doing out here?? By the end of the storm, five minutes and at least an inch of water later, I was thoroughly drenched.

We sloshed our way into Dunnville, stopped at the bike shop to pick up a replacement for my broken water bottle cage, then headed to the library. I tried to type up a blog entry, but found my fingers were too cold to hit the proper keys, and that I was simply too wet and tired to think clearly. So I just wandered the rows of books, finally pulling out a biography on Tolkien to read while dad caught up on his emails. Outside, we ran into William, who had completely missed our freak thunderstorm. We ate dinner at a bar called Jonny Rottens, then rode six more miles to Rock Point Provincial Park, a beautiful park right on Lake Erie. Unfortunately, exhausted as we were, dad and I only spent a handful of minutes appreciating the scenery before curling up in our tents and blacking out for the evening.

Day 44 Part 2: Canada

2008-07-31T13:15:00.000-07:00

JULY 22, continued

After our stop at the post office, dad and I got two enormous cinnamon doughnuts at the bakery, then raced down the street to catch the ferry across the river and into Canada. Five minutes after that, we stood in our second country of the trip. We stopped in Sombra, just over the boarder, to ask directions at a souvenier shop. Afterwards, we had a snack at the Fry House, next door; I had onion rings, which sat in my stomach for most of the day. Deep fried food and bike touring don't play nicely together. Trusting the directions given us by the man in the souvenier shop, we stuck to high way 2 all day, cutting inland across Ontario... What a mistake! Our ride on the highway was long, straight, edged by corn, and devoid of all human life. At our camp in Port Glasgow, we just climbed into our tents for the night, when a big storm hit, the torrential rains lasting for a full hour. Our last episode of such perfect timing.

JULY 23 Port Glasgow to Houghton Center, Ontario

Our first stop of the day was in Port Stanley, where we planned on a mid-morning library visit. Port Stanley, as with many Ontario towns, is situated on a river feeding into Lake Erie. These rivers run through steep and narrow valleys cutting into Southern Ontario, meaning great descents in, and brutal climbs to get back out. We descended the hill into Port Stanley, but before we turned left to go to the library, dad yelled out, "Turn right!" To our right, three loaded bikes stood in the park, and three sopping rain flies hung over the benches, and three college-age bike tourers poked through their bags, searching for clothes in need of drying. As we talked to the three riders (we never got their names), a blond woman on an unloaded mountain bike rode over.
"Hello! I'm Margaret. I just had to come over and see where you're from and where you're going!"
"We left Madison, Wisconsin a couple of days ago." One of the biker told her, "And we're headed for Boston."
"Good, good. And you?" She said, looking expectantly at dad and I.
"We rode out here from Washington... the state... and we're headed for Maine." I told her.
"Ahh! More cross country tourers! Did you two meet Rick and Rick?" dad and I shook our heads. "Oh, they stayed with my husband and I. Their heading west across the country." we couldn't help but wince, knowing what the winds are like in the prairies, especially for riders out of the east. "Well, if you need anything at all, I live in that brown tower house just over the river. Feel free to come on over!" she extended the invitation to all of us, then rode away, followed shortly by the three boys (one rode wearing flip-flops!) Dad and I decided to stay for a snack, but soon it started to rain, forcing us on.
We had gone less than a mile and were stopped at an intersection, staring at our maps, when Margaret rode up again, "Lost alreaedy?"
"Well, yeah..." dad admitted.
"To get out of town, you need to go up that hill." she saw both of us cringe at the suggestion, "Or you could come have breakfast with me. I have eggs and bacon, and I just got this bread at the library." I could tell part of dad wanted to press on through the rain, but he also looked tempted. "Curvy hill, or breakfast.... curvy hill, or breakfast..." Margaret pretended to weigh the options with her hands.
"What do you want to do, Seth?" dad asked, "It's up to you."
I only had to think about it for a moment, "Let's go with her... if that's okay with you."
"Sounds good." he said.
"Great!" Margaret said, "It's just down this road. We let strays... that's what we call you, the bike tourists we take in... we let you put your bikes in the garage."
As we propped up our bikes in the garage, I looked outside to see the rain falling harder, "Looks like we timed this stop well, dad."
"Dad?" Margaret asked, "A father and son? Oh, you're so lucky!" she looked at dad, "And you're so lucky!" she said at me.
Minutes later, she had whisked us into her kitchen (I noticed the rain had stopped while we spoke.... so much for our timing!) and pulled out a pair of stools for us, "Washroom's just around the corner!" she told us.

The house itself was pretty amazing. As Margaret cooked the bacon, she told us about it, "All the houses round here used to be fishing cottages. We bought two of them and built the tower here in the middle. Nine levels, or something like that." The house looked like a dream for hide-and-go-seek (well, maybe not for the seeker) with lots of small rooms and nooks tucked away into various corners. Margaret also let me use her lap top to catch up on my blog some, "You're that far behind? Well get writing! Do your homework!" In truth, I didn't get very much written... I had too much fun trading stories with Margaret.

After our brunch of egg and bacon sandwiches, Margaret offered us ice cream, "...or popsicles! Oh, who can say no to popsicles!" She hurried off, and soon returned with three frozen snacks. Reluctantly, dad and I left all of the hospitality (both of us wished we could have stayed the night, but we needed to be in Niagara by Friday). We said goodbye and thankyou to Margaret, the most full-time road angel we have met, then headed up the "curvy hill."

While at Margaret, we had watched the weather channel, where a glowing red banner flashed across the bottom of the screen, warning about 75 mm (3 inches) of rain in the next 3-4 hours in Eastern Ontario... where we were headed. As we crested the curvy hill, the sky decided to prove the weather man true. I had taken my rain jacket off during the climb because I was overheating, and I never bothered to put it back on. Surprisingly, my mood only got better in the rain, as I shouted out snatches of the Phantom of the Opera into the storm, the rain slowly soaking through my clothes.

After half-an-hour, the rain stopped for most of the afternoon, but just a mile from our campground it started again. We checked in, then unloaded our bikes under a covered picnic area. It stopped raining, and we set up our tents, then made dinner, then went to bed.

Day 44 Part 1: America

2008-07-30T13:39:00.000-07:00

JULY 22 St. Claire, MI to Port Glasgow, Ontario

I slept on the floor at the Murphy Inn... and did my best to stay in my sleeping bag Tuesday morning, even after dad had crawled out of bed. Leaving the hotel, we had some difficulties finding the route, and only made it 8 miles into Marine City by 10:00.

At the Marine City post office, we displayed our pass ports and asked for any mail, "Greendale? Oh, yeah. I think you guys got a bunch!" the woman behind the counter said. She left, then returned with a stack of mail for us, including a cardboard tube with a spare set of tent poles for my tent (Big Agnes, my tent's manufacturer, was more than helpful when we told them about my breaking tent poles. They replaced the poles, sending them to us on the road, without even asking how we had broken them.) We also received some personal letters, plus a packet full of more hand written letters from my Aunt's first graders. I know getting post cards means a lot to them, but I wonder if the know how much I love getting their letters. It's my favorite part of every mail stop.

As we exchanged the old tent poles for the new ones in the lobby, the woman from behind the counter ran out, "Oh, good, you're still here! I found one more for you!" she handed us a white express package.
"It's from FAAN!" Dad said excitedly. We opened it to find a letter signed by all of the staff at FAAN, as well as 5 rubber wrist bands that say "Food Allergy P.A.L." (PAL stands for Protect A Life).

(This is a good chance to remind everyone that my ride isn't solely about the adventure... I'm also trying to raise Funds and Awareness for FAAN, the Food Allergy and Anaphylaxis Network, becuase my cousin Nathan is deathly allergic to peanuts and tree nuts. My goal is to raise $10, 000 for FAAN. To learn more about my mission, read the very first most on this blog; to learn more about FAAN, visit them at www.foodallergy.org, and to donate to FAAN, go to http://www.firstgiving.com/cycling4allergies)

Day 43

2008-07-30T13:19:00.000-07:00

JULY 21 Caro to St. Claire, MI

Not a lot happened for the majority of our last full day in Michigan: we got a late start to riding, took an hour in a library, and multiple snack and lunch stops, then stopped in Memphis, the last town with a store before our campground for the night. Unfortunately, the store was woefully lacking in food: four small shelves stocked mostly with condiments and canned vegetables, and some drink coolers along each wall; dad and I decided on subs from the store's deli for dinner. We ate our meal, then started in on the last few miles of our day.

Except they weren't our last few miles: just before our intended campground, we saw the ominous orange signs bearing the words "Road Closed." Ahead was an overpass, blocked off by more orange signs and supporting a massive crane-caterpillar. We maneuvered our way around the signs, then rode slowly up the overpass; I stopped off to one side while dad continued right up to one of the construction workers. They talked for a few minutes, and then dad rode back, hanging his head unhappily, "He says he could get us across this evening, "Dad announced, "but they're basically demolishing the overpass, and he doesn't know how much they'll get done tonight. We might not be able to get back across in the morning. So, how 'bout a hotel in St. Claire tonight?"
"Sounds good to me." Checking on the adventure cycle maps, I found there are three hotels in St. Claire: the St. Claire Inn, the Burkemo Cottages and Inn, and the Murphy Inn. The St. Claire Inn sounded most reputable, so I gave dad their phone number to try first.
Dad came back shaking his head, "They only have smoking rooms left. You have any other numbers?" Disheartened, I gave him the number of the Burkemo Inn, listed second on the map.
"Any luck?" I asked when dad returned.
"They have rooms... but I don't know. Some weird guy answered the phone, 'Room? We have room.' I asked him if we could put our bikes in them, 'Oh no! Ask lady behind desk!' I don't know if I got the janitor, or what..."

We decided to ride into St. Claire, another couple of miles, and see what we could find. After a third phone call, we made our way to the Murphy Inn, and old white building with a 2-d leprechaun out front. Inside, there was a bar and restaurant downstairs, and a floor of rooms on top. It felt very much like an old world tavern and inn. We locked our bikes out back, ferried our gear upstairs to room 202, labeled Buckingham, and spent the rest of the evening watching Food Network and Hogan's Heroes.

Day 42

2008-07-30T12:18:00.000-07:00

JULY 20 Sanford to Just Outside of Caro, MI

I woke up before dad and tried to work quietly as I packed up my gear. Just as I got all of my bags out of my tent and took my rain fly off, it started to rain. Not a 'high', 'clean' rain, as is common in Oregon, this felt much more as if the humidity had simply risen too high, and the air had to drop some water; the sky didn't seem so much to weep as it seemed to sweat. Still, the rain felt good, mildly cleansing, and my only fear was that my bags and gear would get wet. The rain stopped early on, but the clouds remained, low and threatening off to our right.

Twenty miles into the day, we came to Bay City, Jerry's home town. Unfortunately, before we had even entered the town itself, a sign reading "Detour, road work ahead!" sent us off course. Within minutes, we were lost. "Do you know what road we're looking for?" dad asked.
"Yeah, Jeanette."
"I thought we were paralleling Jeanette; shouldn't we be looking for Walnut?"
"No, we're paralleling Walnut... well, sort of... We need to turn onto Jeanette to get to Walnut."

We pulled off to the side of the road and had our maps unfolded when a gray pick up truck pulled up, "You lost?" The driver, an unkempt old man, asked. Next to him sat a thin woman with a long face, drab hair, and glasses.
"We're looking for Walnut." I told the man.
"Ask about a bike shop!" dad whispered. My bottom water bottle rack had broken that morning, so we were in search of a replacement.
"Walnut, huh?" the driver said, "Well, ya drive ahead and the road bends to lef', then ya take a righ'-"
"Onta Marquette." the woman in the passenger seat supplied.
"Onta Marquette, an' that'll take ya to Walnut."
"Do you know if there's a bike shop in around?" dad interjected.
"Hmmmm... there's one was outta town-"
"It probably wouldn' be open ona Sunday." The woman put in.
"Yeah, probably not open ona Sunday... Le'see, is there another...."
"It's just a small thing. Not that important." dad told him, "So, right on Marquette to get to Walnut?"
"Yeah," the woman said, the driver still staring out the window, lost in thought, "right on Marquette at the Silver Swan-"
"Ya take a lef' at the chapel, an' a righ' at the convenience store, then bend off to the lef'... ya stay straight on tha' all the way down, then take two more righ's, an' another lef' at the bank..." the old man interrupted with a set of directions that left my head spinning, "Tha's how ya get to the bike shop."
"Well, it's okay, we don't really need a bike shop." dad said.
"Or ya could just cut onta the road under construction an' take that all the way down, an that'll get ya to the bike shop." The man gestured with his hand, oblivious what my dad had said.
The woman, who had broken into hysterics as the man spoke, repeated her directions, "Take a righ' on Marquette at the Silver Swan Inn, that's how ya know it's Marquette-"
"Silver Swan Inn tells you it's Marquette." The man echoed, "Or take the road under construction all the way down an' tha's your bike shop." The woman started laughing once more, and we thanked them, then watched as the drove away. Their directions were good, though, and soon we found ourselves riding along Walnut, right where we needed to be. Road Angels come in all shapes and sizes, I suppose.

Before we left Bay City, the rain set in, driving us inside. We ate lunch at Jimmy John's Sub Shop. The shop was plastered with signs such as "Sub's so fast, you'll Freak!" or "Bread so French, it needs to be liberated!" The rain lasted only about 15 minutes once we were back on the bikes, and by the time we were out of town, the sky was clear and dry.

Ten miles out of Bay City, as we rode along Akeron Road into the thumb of Michigan, dad spotted a house with a magnificent swimming hole. A high dive had been set up, and kids in inter tubes played in the water. As dad stopped for a picture, a crowd of adults beyond the swimming hole waved, then one elderly man detached himself from the crowd and walked over. "Hey there!" he shouted to us, "Where you headin'?"
"Maine." dad told him.
"And where you from?" he asked.
"Oregon."
"Oh, we had some other folks through here from Missouri. They started in Washington State and are headin' to Maine too. You know 'em?" We both shook our heads, "Ahh, that's too bad. Well, I'm Lerry Malroy. This is our family reunion. Over 100 people here. Feelin' hot?"
"Not really." dad said; after the rain shower, both of us were feeling a little cold.
"Well, we got a swimmin' hole if you are. We also got chicken and ice cream if you wanta come on down."
"You got my attention with ice cream!" dad said, and Larry led us over to his barn. We met his wife, Verness, and told her about our trip as she led us around the potluck spread out in the middle of the barn. As we headed to a pair of open seats, balancing plates full of food, some one whistled, calling the family reunion meeting to order.
"Doesn't matter to you guys." Larry whispered as we settled into our chairs. The reunion president began to call role, and each member of the Prine family would stand, introduce themselves and their family, and tell who their parents were (we later found out that the 'original' Prine family had 10 kids, 9 boys and 1 girl, which caused such a large family.) Part way through, Larry tapped me on the shoulder, "What's your dad's name?" he whispered.
"Chip." I whispered back.
"I just wanted to introduce my new friends from Oregon," Larry interrupted, "This is Chippie." He pointed at my dad.
"Or just Chip!" my dad muttered.
"And this is this is his son, Seth. They're ridin' their bikes across the country."
After a round of applause, the role continued, interrupted a second time as some one told a story about Aunt Midge's Beans. "Did you have any of those?" Larry asked us. Dad and I shook our heads, "They're really good. Navy beans... we grow 'em around here. Let me go get you some." Larry wandered off, and returned moments later carrying the pot of beans. "She uses extra sugar... that's what makes 'em so good." Larry confided. The beans were delicious. After an hour spent sitting, talking, and eating with the Prine family, we left the reunion, with an invitation to attend next year. "Third week in July!" Larry told us as we road away, "Every year, same time, same place."
"We might come back just for this!" dad said, "Thanks for everything." I added my thanks, and then we rode off, still more miles to cover that evening.

We road a little off course that afternoon, planning to stay in Caro, because it was a big enough town to have a grocery store (other wise, we would be buying our dinner at a party store, essentially a liquor store that also carries some food.) Pat, Bill, and Dave had stayed in the fair grounds at Caro a week or so before us, and we hoped to do the same. We picked up supplies for our meal for the night, and then started off through town, searching for the fair grounds. Almost immediately, I spotted a banner hanging across main street, proclaiming, "Tuscola County Fair, July 20-26." Checking my watch, I realized we were in town just in time for opening night; we wouldn't be camping in the fairgrounds that evening.

We stopped into Taco Bell for a pre-dinner snack (fast food isn't my favorite, but you have to use the cards dealt you.) As we started eating, an older man and his son at the table next to us began asking about our ride. By the end of the meal, they had offered to let us stay in their back yard for the evening. However, their house was an additional five miles from the nearest campground (already about ten miles away). We hated to do it, but after riding or half an hour, dad called to let them know we wouldn't make it to their house for the evening. We made it the campground, cooked up a quick meal, and then crashed in our tents after a long day of riding.

Days 40 & 41

2008-07-30T07:51:00.000-07:00

JULY 18 Ludington to Pere Marquette State Forest, MI

Riding in Michigan, we soon discovered that it was a flat state... even when compared to North Dakota. The scenery was interesting: at times it felt like Oregon (a very hot and humid Oregon) minus the mountains; at times it felt like Ohio, corn stretching on forever, with the occasional barn or cow pasture; and at times it felt like Louisiana, the marshy creeks and deciduous forests conjuring images of the bayou. But despite the ever-changing scenery, the pancake flat miles wore on us, numbing our minds; each pedal stroke became more and more difficult as we drew slowly closer to our campground.

Sunrise Lake Campground was nearly deserted when we got there that evening. There was no real running water at the campground (beside an old metal hand pump) which meant no real toilets and no real showers. But, because the campground was mostly empty, dad decided to make due with the hand pump. I walked over to him to ask him something, figuring he was just filling the pots, to see him wearing only his t-shirt and scrubbing busily at his legs. I gasped and spun around, heading back to the campsite. A few minutes later, dad returned, smiling at my embarrassment, "Looks like I have some pretty amazing timing!" he said, nodding at some cars just now driving into the campground, "I just beat the rush!" By comparison, my 'shower' was much more modest, but much less cleansing, as I only dabbed above my waist with a wet towel.

After dinner, as I climbed into my tent, I discovered that the slugs at Sunrise Lake Campground decided my tent made a good jungle gym, slithering all over the inside of my rain fly! Luckily, these were only tiny ones, no more than an inch long, but I was still flicking them off my fly all evening, shivering at the thought that one might discover how to get into my tent.

JULY 19 Pere Marquette State Forest to Sanford, MI

I woke up the next morning to find three new slugs staring at me through my tent's mesh ceiling. Horrified, I raced to pack up my sleeping bag and thermarest, then ripped off my rain fly and shook it out, hoping to dislodge my unwanted guests; in the end, I had to resort to prodding them off with twigs. We ate breakfast, then left camp around 7:30, riding off into our first foggy morning since Washington.

Forty miles into our day, we stopped in the town of Clare, and made the mistake of shopping for lunch on very empty stomachs. We came away from the grocery store with tons of food; lunch that afternoon was a feast. The last 30 miles of our day were on a beautifully kept rail-to-trails path, possibly some of the best riding of the entire tour: there was no traffic, smooth asphalt, and best of all, no raccoons smeared halfway across the path, reeking for a quarter mile radius (roadkill has become a growing nuisance the farther east we get... I'm not really sure why.) In Sanford, basically our final destination for the evening, we asked a couple unloading bikes from the back of their truck for directions to a grocery store. We got to talking, as the woman, Sharon, quizzed us about our ride. "Well, thank you for the directions!"dad said, "we'll let you two get off on your ride."
"Not much of a ride compared with you two!" Sharon said.
"Hey, you're riding bikes. That's what counts!" dad told her.

We stayed in Black Creek Campground, another state campground, meaning great scenery, but no showers. Since this park was more populated, dad had to leave his clothes on , but we both rinsed off at the spigot, wearing only our bike shorts. Dinner was noodles with tomatoes, veggies, and sausage, and we decided to get fancy for dessert, stacking our pots together to use as a double boiler (a trick Pat showed us) so we could cook a blueberry cake (yes, out of a box mix, but still....)

Days 38 & 39

2008-07-29T08:27:00.000-07:00

JULY 16 Wrighstown to Manitowoc WI

The ride to Manitowoc was one of the shorter rides of our trip, at about 55 miles. We started early in the morning, because we wanted to get in early to spend time with our friends, the Crousers, who were meeting us in Manitowoc (they were vacationing in Chicago and decided to drive up to meet us for a couple of days). And it was a good thing we began our ride early, because by 8:30, my arms and face were slick with sweat. The temperature and humidity kept rising all morning, so that by 11:00, dad and I had each drained three full water bottles, and still found ourselves parched. We stopped at a house by the side of the road and asked the elderly man out front if he could refill our water bottles; when he returned the water bottles, they had ice cubes floating in them, "Have a good ride, now!" He called as we pedaled away, the only thing he said throughout the entire exchange.

The temperature dropped drastically once we got into Manitowoc, situated on the shore of Lake Michigan. Dad and I stopped for lunch at Fatzo's Sub Shop, and then rode across town to the Best Western. We laid down our bikes in front of the hotel, and dad went inside to register; within seconds, the Crouser twins, Jonny and Eddy, had raced outside to say hello. Their older brother, Steve, and their parents, Jim and Brenda followed shortly, along with my dad. The 7 of us spent the next ten minutes standing in front of the hotel and exchanging stories about our trips. "Why don't we let these guys go shower, and then we'll find something to do with them around Manitowoc." Brenda finally suggested.

Dad and I jumped at the suggestion, wheeling our bikes into the elevator to take them up stairs. After each of us had spent a long time, luxuriating in a shower that didn't need to be fed quarters every 3 minutes, we went down to the hotel lobby to meet back up with the Crousers. That afternoon, we talked, played cards, braved a brutal thunderstorm to go to the movies (Jim was drenched after 15 seconds in the rain), and splashed around in the pool until it was time to go to bed. It was a glimpse at what our 'normal' vacations are usually like, one that I knew would make me homesick as soon as it was over.

JULY 17 Manitowoc WI to Ludington MI (mostly by Ferry)

The Crousers took the ferry, the S.S. Badger, with us across Lake Michigan. We spent most of the ride talking and playing cards, downing an entire box of Oreos and two bags of chips during the four hour ride. All too soon, the Ferry came into port in Ludington, and we were scrambling to get our bags and our bikes and get off the ship, "Goodbye!" we called to the Crousers.
"Goodbye!" they shouted back.
Then, 5 steps later we ran into them again, "Goodbye!"
"Goodbye!"
Another five steps. And another. Finally, Eddy asked, "How many times do you think we'll say good bye before we really leave?" Our last goodbye came in the parking lot, just off of the ferry. We all hugged, and wished each other a safe journeys, then turned and went our separate ways. As we rode away, I was more homesick than I've been all trip.

We stayed in a campground near Ludington. We chose a site, but then we noticed the young couple next to us unloading Tiki Torches, "They might just want to stay up talking..." dad suggested doubtfully.
"Right." I said sarcastically, "couple, young 20's, Tiki Torches-"
"And ears!" dad interrupted. We still decided to find another site.

As soon as we rolled into our next site, a 20-something girl walked over, "The rangers just told us a storm's coming in! We've been trying to tell everyone around us." We thanked her, and rushed to set up our camp; as I put up my tent, one of the poles cracked along the joint. We braced it with duct tape, our panacea, and thought nothing more of it. Later that evening, as I ducked into my tent, I heard an ominous cracking sound. Looking up, I saw that my pole was giving out through the tape! It had already bent itself into an odd, elbow shape, and was bowing even more as I watched. I scrambled back out of my tent and tore off my rain fly, ignoring the huge clouds billowing in overhead. Dad was off walking around the campground, so I frantically tried to repair the pole myself, but by the time dad returned, my tent had collapsed entirely, now no more than a lump on the ground. As the two of us worked to fix the pole, trying to splint it with sticks, and then with a spare spoke, a woman walked by, "Need any help?" she called.
"Not really... unless you got any spare poles!" dad replied.
"Sorry... looks like you two might be sharing a tent tonight. If you need anything, I'm in that tent just over there."
When nothing seemed to hold my tent up, dad set off around the campground, asking for spare tent poles. He finally found some, and a hack saw to cut them down to the proper size, and by about 10:00, we had my tent at least functional again. I went to sleep praying the whole thing wouldn't collapse on me in the middle of the night.

Days 36 and 37

2008-07-28T12:57:00.000-07:00

JULY 14 Neillsville to Steven's Point WI

The ride to Stevens Point was rather ordinary... we woke p early and paid our dues, putting in the majority of our miles before lunch. Mid morning, we spotted an odd yellow sign, with a silhouette of a horse and buggy on it. Not a mile down the road, we saw the real deal: a single horse pulling a low, wooden cart; in back sat a boy wearing a straw hat and a button up shirt. We stared at him as we rode by, and he stared at us, his face mirroring the wonder on ours. A little further down the road, we spotted another boy, dressed as the first, walking down the side of the road. "I think they might be Amish!" Dad said after we passed the second boy; I nodded excitedly.

We stopped for lunch at a cheese factory in the town of Rudolph, then rode the rest of the way into Steven's Point, the town Pat, Bill, and Dave are from. We spent the night at Bill's house, with his wife, Teri, and his two kids, Billy and Jillian; clearly, being married to a bike tourer, Teri knew what was important to us when we got there: just inside the door, she had a table laden with cherries, grapes, pretzels, and other snack food. She showed us to our rooms for the night, then next stop was the shower, where she had fresh towel already laid out for us. We had a pasta dinner with Bill's mom, Betty (although I think I used the wrong fork... I'm not used to formal dining, especially after weeks on the road.) and then returned to Bill's house to go to bed.

JULY 15 Steven's Point to Wrightstown WI

We were the first ones awake in Bill's house the next morning, and went about getting our breakfast, making ourselves at home. Partway through our meal, Betty drove up, wearing a pink sweater over a black dress, " I brought you some muffins!" she said, handing us a bag of blueberry muffins, "I made the first batch last night, but I fell asleep while reading the newspaper and I burnt them! I'm sorry.
"Oh, don't worry about it." dad reassured her, "These look great!" Teri woke up to see us off, but she said not even the tornado sirens would get Billy an Jillian out of bed. We thanked her for all the wonderful hospitality, and then hit the road.

Riding that day was long, hot, humid, into a slight headwind... and over all, very pleasant. The scenery looked like what we imagined entire Midwest would be: rolling cornfields, scattered trees, and occasional barns. Our pace was rather slow, but we plugged along all day, taking breaks for snacks, lunch, Dairy Queen, and more snacks. After our DQ break, we stopped into a Burger King to ask directions to Freedom, the next town along our route. "Do you know how to get to Freedom?" I asked the girl behind the counter.
"Well, you take this road... I'm not very good with directions. Let me go get someone-"
"Oh, it's okay." I said, "We just needed to know what road to take out of town. Thank You."
As I turned to leave, she asked, "Your riding bike all the way to Freedom?" Freedom was only 10 miles away, but she sounded shocked.
"Well, we need to be in Manitowoc by tomorrow." Her eyes widened even more (Manitowoc is 60 miles past Freedom.) I didn't tell her that we were headed to Maine, or that we had come from Washington; I can only imagine what she would have said about that!

In Freedom (after making the necessary cheesy puns about the town's name) we stopped at the grocery store for a pair of Gatorades. As we checked out, a woman behind us leaned forward, "It's too hot out there to be riding!" she warned us, smiling.
"Yeah, it sure is!" dad agreed, "That's why we're in here. But we only have a couple more miles to go today."
"Where're you ridin' to?" the woman asked.
"Well, tonight we're going to... Seth?"
"Apple Creek campground. But we're eventually heading to Maine..." As we told her about our trip, a small audience of shoppers and checkers gathered around, listening to our story. Just like in Carleton, we were celebrities for the next 10 minutes as we told them about the mountains, the winds, the mosquitoes, camping, and all the other little parts of the trip that have now just become a part of everyday life for us.

As we prepared dinner that evening, a man from an adjoining campsite walked over to talk with us, "Hi, I'm Michael. I saw the bikes and just had to come over and ask: where are you riding from?" We told him our story, and then he began to tell us his, "Right now I'm on a motorcycle trip with my best friend, and then I'm going to drive out to Oregon, pick up my kids, and we're going to spend a few weeks riding Candisk, a bicycle trip across North Dakota. This is my 6 week vacation in the United States."
"Oh?" I asked, "Where do you work?"
He grinned, apparently glad that I had asked, "Well, I work for an oil security company in Qatar... it's a small country in the Middle East..."
"On the north side of the Arabian peninsula, right?" I asked.
"Very good!" He said, "I'm impressed you knew that."
"So how is it living in the Middle East?" I asked.
"Hot...a lot of the year it's a dry hot, but some times we get a wind in off of the Indian Ocean, and then we get 120 degrees and 98% humidity. I have 11 air conditioners in my house! That's how people at home know how hot it is for me: I tell them how many air conditioners I have on. When I left in the beginning of July, I had... le'see... 1... 2, 3, 4..." He ticked them off on his fingers, "5 and 6...7, 8, and 9; I had 9 air conditioners running to stay cool! The heat's the hardest part for me. Otherwise it's great!"
"And how is it safety-wise over there?" Dad asked.
"Driving's the most dangerous thing I do. The people there are maniacs on the road. But all the stuff you hear on the news... well, it's at least as safe as it is in America, maybe safer! I mean, as long as you're smart, and don't go to like Iraq, or Afghanistan, you'll be fine. I've been to Jerusalem, and throughout the Arabian peninsula...no problems." Michael wandered away as we finished eating, calling over his shoulder, "I'm in that trailer over there. If you need anything, be sure to come on over and ask."

After cleaning the dishes, I went off to meet another bike tourer dad had talked to earlier in the evening (while I was showering). He was sitting in the lodge-restaurant building, half watching a baseball game on TV, and eating a microwave pizza. "Hello!" I said, walking over, "I heard there was another biker around and I came by to say hi. I'm Seth."
"Oh, hello. I'm Steve. Have a seat." He said, turning his attention away from the ball game, "So I was talking to your dad. All the way across the country?"
I nodded, "And you're going round Lake Michigan, right?"
"Yeah. I started in St. Paul, and I'm taking the ferry over the lake tomorrow, then I'll loop back over the Upper Peninsula and back down to St. Paul. Then I'm flying home."
"I hear that home is a ways away..." I said
"Your dad must have told you! I teach AP calculus to diplomat's kids in Libya."
"That would be really fun!" I could feel myself getting excited just talking about it, "Why Libya?"
"My wife and I have also taught in Egypt and Thailand. When I was younger I wanted to go into the Peace Corp, but then this opportunity came up, and, well, I got a bit distracted. I still haven't joined the Peace Corp."
"And what's it like in Libya?"
"Oh, it's great. The people are nice and friendly. I mean, they think George Bush is an idiot, and I think Kadaffi should be shot, but we all realize that those are just the governments. Beneath that, people are just people. That's what you really have to remember. We're all really the same." Steve showed me some of his pictures from Libya, and then we said goodnight, and he went back to his baseball game and I went off to my tent to write.

Day 35

2008-07-23T09:27:00.000-07:00

JULY 13 Elk Mound to Neillsville MN

We said goodbye to Ann and Flynn the next morning and hit the road around 8:00, a rather late start. Ten miles up the road, we stopped in Eau Clare to pick up some post cards to send to Aunt Kathy's first grade class (while in Minneapolis they sent me another batch of letters, so I was in the process of responding to all of them). At the first hotel we stopped into, I picked up 5 of the 7 post cards I needed; I figured there would be more hotels, so I only took the better post cards. As we rode away, dad told me, "In the future, you might want to consider getting all the postcards you need, just in case you can't find any latter." How prophetic he was.

The next hotel we stopped at didn't have any post cards, and neither did the 15 after that. At each hotel, I would walk up to the desk and ask, "Do you have any postcards?"

"No, but you might try at the...." was always the reply. I became more and more frantic as it became apparent that no where in Eau Clare had any postcards; hotels, gas stations, grocery stores... nothing.

Finally, dad and I gave up and began riding out of town. Suddenly dad shouted, "STOP!" Off to the left was a little run down shopping center with the name 'Hallmark' written on the facade in glowing letters. Beneath it, we found postcards in the 'variety' hardware store.
"Oh, thank you!" I cried when we found them, "we've looked EVERYWHERE for postcards, and you're the only place in town to have them!.
"Yep." the woman behind the counter agreed, "Only other place is the university, and they're closed on Sundays." I bought 5 postcards... 3 extras just in case!

Later that afternoon, we stopped at the Wisconsin State War Memorial, known as the High Ground. As we dismounted, an elderly man with a bent nose came up, "Are either of you veterans?" He spoke in a thick voice. Both of us shook our heads. "Well, I am."
He said, gesturing to his baseball cap, which had the emblem of some branch of the armed forces, "This is the High Ground. We- we call it that because in a fight, you always want the high ground. This is the highest ground around. You need some place to stay tonight? You can stay here off in the bushes..."
"Thanks." dad said, but neither of us were seriously considering it; the winds were strong enough that day, that to go 5 miles into Neillsville to get groceries, and then come 5 miles back... into a headwind... would have been excruciating. However, when we got to Neillsville, we began to think we might have to go back to the High Grounds: the next closest campground was 15 miles down the road, and we were both spent. After asking all around town, we ended up camping out behind WCCN radio station, after talking to Kevin, the DJ.

Day 34

2008-07-21T08:05:00.000-07:00

JULY 12 Minneapolis MN to Elk Mound WI

The first 30 miles of our day out of Minneapolis, through St. Paul and into Stillwater on the Wisconsin boarder, Chris and Steve led us along bike paths winding through the Twin Cities. In Stillwater, we stopped in the Daily Grind coffee shop, for a second breakfast. Steve's breakfast burrito came first, and with it, 4 bottles of hot sauce, "This one's mild," the server/cook told us, "These two are hot, and this one is hurt-your-friends." He gestured last to what appeared to a be a glass bottle full of water.
"Oooh, I'm gonna have to try this!" dad said, taking the clear bottle, as Steve selected one of the hot sauces for himself. Dad poured a drop on his finger and stuck it in his mouth. At first he shrugged, but then a minute or two later his eyes widened a little, "That stuff sort of grows on you." He said casually, "You have to try it, Seth!"
Dad still seemed fine, so I figured it couldn't be that bad, and poured a little more than a drop on my finger. Gingerly, I touched it to the tip of my tongue. At first it wasn't that bad, but then I swallowed, and a burning sensation swept through my entire mouth; the tip of my tongue felt like it had been dipped in molten metal! My lips were stinging too, and I gulped down all of my drink, "Maybe you should just stick your tongue in your juice." Chris suggested.
"Or just cut it off!" I moaned. After five minutes of agony, I finally gave in and went up to the counter to order a large glass of milk.
"Two-percent work? Or do you want skim?"
"I don't care!" I managed, then realized that that sounded awfully rude. Painfully, I explained my predicament, to the amusement of those behind the counter. It was only after the entire cup of milk that the pain shrunk to a more manageable level.

Our ride that day was easy, with a strong tail wind, but since it was our first day back to riding after 3 days off, we took a while to get back into the swing of it all. Still, we covered about 95 miles, more than we had planned, and arrived in Elk Mound just in time to end the day. Luckily, we had a contact in Elk Mound through the breed of dog Skipper has, a Leonberger. (Very few people have leos, so those that do form a rather tight-knit community. Skipper asked around for families with Leos along the way who would be willing to take us in.)

Since we hadn't planned to make it to Elk Mound until about noon the next day, we had told Ann (our contact) that we probably wouldn't stay with her; when we called to ask if we could, she agreed to have us, but warned us that she was also having a little party with a couple of friends. As we arrived at the small, white duplex, the screen door edged open, and out popped a round friendly face, "Hello, you must be Chip and Seth!" Ann called, bustling out the door. As we walked over, she stepped to one side, revealing her large, golden leo (all leos are large and golden!), standing shyly in the living room, tail between his legs, "This is Flynn. He warms up to women faster than to men, but I'm sure he'll get used to you." Ann opened the garage for our bikes, and told us where the shower and towels were. She seems to know what's important to cyclists! As we were stashing our bikes, a car drove up, the first of Ann's guests, "This is my cousin-friend Mary." Ann introduced the figure who emerged from the car, "Mary, this is Chip and Seth."
"We're crashing your party." dad told her. Mary just laughed.

Ann's second guest, Deb, arrived, bringing with her an adorable kitten she had found on the road on the 4th of July. She hadn't named it, since she didn't plan on keeping it (this is her 33 rescue/foster cat), but she wanted all of us to hold it so that it got used to people. "If it weren't for the bike, I think the kitten would have a new home!" Mary joked as she watched me play with it. Deb also brought with her some stalks of rhubarb out of her garden; I jumped at the opportunity to use them in a Rhubarb crisp (baking is one of the things I've been missing most while on the road.) Mary chopped up the rhubarb while I made the crumbly topping, and we threw it in the oven to add to the barbecued peaches Deb had already brought for dessert.

Days 31, 32, &33

2008-07-21T07:31:00.000-07:00

JULY 9, 10, & 11 Minneapolis, MN

For brevity's sake, I'm only going to summarise our time in Minneapolis; in truth, I spent much of it sitting in front of a computer, trying to get this up to date. When dad and I weren't catching up on journals, the blog, and much needed rest, we spent time with Steve and Chris, and their neighbors, Rhonda and Kelly. All of them are huge dog people: Chris and Steve have two dogs, Riley and Hanna (pronounced Honna); Riley's a hyper dog and Hanna is a cute Rottweiler who just wants to be petted. Rhonda and Kelly have one dog, Murphy, who is amazingly soft. Since neither Chris and Steve nor Rhonda and Kelly have kids, the dogs have filled that role for them.

On Friday, we drove down to North Field to visit the colleges of St. Olaf and Carleton. Just off of appearances, St. Olaf has a prettier campus, but then we visited Carleton in the afternoon, when it was close to 90 outside; that might have affected my opinion some what. Both struck me as very good colleges. That afternoon, as we left Carleton, I asked if they could send me the leaflets they give out at the end of the visit, because I was on a bike, "Of course!" the woman behind the desk said, "Wait, where did you say you were from...?"
"Oregon." I replied.
"And you rode here?!" I only nodded, smiling. For the next ten minutes, dad and I had an enthralled audience, as we told about our trip: everyone in the admissions office, parents, tour guides, admissions counselors, even prospective students, were silent as we spoke, then exploded with questions whenever we paused. By the time we left, we had given everyone a copy of our blog address, and both dad and I felt like celebrities.

That afternoon, I also called my Aunt Kathy's first grade class in Las Vegas (I have been sending them letters all trip, and Aunt Kathy thought they would enjoy having an actual conversation). "Hello, this is Seth." I said when Aunt Kathy picked up the phone.
"Well, hello Seth! You caught us right in the middle of a spelling test." I started to apologize and tell her I could call back latter, when I heard her saying to her class, "Okay everyone, put down your pencils and gather around the phone." They put me on speaker phone, and I was greeted by a thunderous, "HELLO!" from a classroom full of first graders. I told them a little about my trip, and then let them ask questions.
"Have you seen any bats?"
"Well, no, we're usually asleep by the time it gets dark."
"Have you seen any bunnies?"
"Oh yeah, lots!"
"Have you seen any black bunnies?"
"No, most of them are gray or brown."
"How do you get dressed?"
That one had me a little stumped. I figured I shouldn't give some sarcastic reply, which left me stuttering, "Well, ah, I'm in my tent...."
"Just like you do, silly." Aunt Kathy saved me. "Are there any more questions?... No, well then lets say goodbye!"
"GOODBYE!" they shouted.
"Goodbye!" I replied, then hung up, savoring my second dose of celebrity for the day. It's really amazing to see how excited that class got about my adventure. That night there was a big windstorm, so we sat inside, and went to bed around 10:00, the earliest night for our entire stay in Minneapolis. The next morning, we were heading back onto the road.

Edit

2008-07-19T10:41:00.000-07:00

There is new a post below "mail drops".... I started writing it before the "mail drops" post, but only just published it

~Seth

Mail Drops

2008-07-14T17:38:00.000-07:00

For anyone interested in sending us a letter (it's always fun getting mail!!), I have two mail drops for you. The first is in Marine City Michigan. We should be there around July 22nd, so try to send any mail early enough that it will get there in time.

Hold For Delivery (Seth and Chip Greendale)
Arrival July 22nd
460 S Water St
Marine City, MI 48039

Our second drop spot is in Ithaca, New York, when were staying with one of Skipper's friends. We should get in sometime early august.

Seth and Chip Greendale
109 Simsbury Dr
Ithaca NY 14850

Hope to get some mail!!

~Seth

Day 30

2008-07-14T15:03:00.001-07:00

The keys are messed up on the computer I'm at... they look like their in alphabetical order, with "A" in the upper right hand corner where "Q" usually is. Except "Q" is still there; it's REALLY confusing.... no button is what it says it is. So basically, expect a lot of spelling errors and typos on this post!

JULY 8 St. Cloud to Minneapolis MN

Our first stop after leaving Larry's house was a bakery in St. Cloud, ten miles away. We walked in and ordered two blueberry turnovers and six cookies from the woman behind the counter. We decided to eat them on the porch, and just about 30 seconds later we had polished off the turnovers (we decided to stash the cookies for later in the day). "Wanna get another?" Dad asked.
"I actually think I will." I said, standing up and fishing my wallet out of my handlebar bag.
"Grab me an apple one when you go!" dad called as I strolled into the store.
The woman behind the counter glanced up at me, "You're back!" she said surprised.
I smiled at her bewilderment, "I'll take two apple turnovers, please." She still looked rather stunned, "We burn a lot of calories out riding." I offered in explanation.
"I would imagine." she chuckled, beginning to regain her composure. She gave me the turnovers and I paid, then took them outside to dad. Despite my best efforts to savor the doughnut, these were gone at least as fast as the first.

Getting out of St. Cloud, we rode on some of the busiest streets of the trip so far. Fortunately, the traffic was short lived, and soon we were back onto quiet country roads. The doughnuts, however, were short lived as well, and two hours later it felt like we hadn't eaten a morsel all morning. For our third breakfast, we decided to have ice cream. We stopped in a Dairy Queen that was still in the process of opening for the morning (it was still only 10:00) and each ordered large servings of ice cream. My morning total of food that day came out to be 2 bowls of cereal, a glass of orange juice, a bagel, a banana, 2 turnovers, and a medium m&m blizzard. By 11:30 I was back to being hungry.

That day was just destined to be a big eating day (well, actually, we only ate a bit more than usual). At noon we stopped for sandwiches in a little butcher shop, and then a couple of miles down the road we stopped at a u-pick raspberry stand for a basket of berries. This is on top of all of the junk/snack food we eat while riding: gorp, fig newtons, snickers bars.... that's truly the wonderful thing about bike touring: you're always hungry so you can always eat!

Around 2:00 we came to Wayzata (pronounced wizetta), on the outskirts of Minneapolis, where we were staying with Chris, one of Skipper's biking buddies. Chris's husband, Steve, met us in Wayzata to lead us back to their house. The ride into Minneapolis was surprisingly tame for going through downtown. The city is riddled with heavily traveled bike paths leading to almost any section of town (at least that's sure how it seemed.) Of the 20 miles from Wayzata to Chris's house, all but about 5 were on bike paths. We reached Chris's house and dismounted from our bikes, not planning to ride again for at least 3 days; finally, a long overdue rest from pedaling.

Long List o' Links

2008-07-14T14:40:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to do this for a while now, and I'm only just getting around to it... as we travel, we've run into tons of other bike tourists; most of them have blogs of their own. I'm just going to post the links to all of those blogs for anyone interested in hearing another side of the story (we've ridden with these cyclists from anywhere from 20 minutes to 3 weeks... the stories will probably vary a lot!)

Pat, Bill, and Dave's Blog:
www.crossamericabikeride.blogspot.com
Steve's Blog:
Stelf@wordpress.com
Barb and Bob's Blog:
www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/grayling
Jay's Blog:
www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/jaybrosnan
Mike and Yoni's Blog:
www.Mikeandyoni.blogspot.com
Greg and Caroline's Blog:
http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/?o=3Tzut&doc_id=3661&v=7a

For most of these, if you can't find the blog using the link, you can google, "(cyclist name), blog, biking" or something to that effect. For those on Crazyguyonabike, you can google that website name, and then use the search box in the upper right hand corner to find their blog.

~Seth

Day 29

2008-07-11T19:59:00.000-07:00

JULY 7 Parker's Prairie to Saint Cloud MN

We got one of our earlier starts leaving Parker's Prairie... probably because of our early bed time... which meant that we had several hours of cool, predawn weather, perfect for riding. Twenty miles down the road or so, we stopped in Long Prairie for a second breakfast, greasy breakfast sandwiches at Burger King, effectively exceeding my fast food quota for the year. The rest of the ride was pretty normal that day, although dad was rather worried about the thunder heads building on the horizon. We stopped for lunch in the park in the tiny town of Sobieski, and ran into Barb and Bob for what was probably the final time on our trip, since we were taking a few days off in Minneapolis while they planned to push on through Wisconsin. That afternoon, we had our first sighting of the Mississippi River, looking exactly as I expected it would: broad, and brown, meandering by low hanging trees. We turned South, paralleling the river along its west shore, heading for St. Cloud, where we planned to spend the night.

Just outside of St. Cloud, we stopped for a candy bar. As we sat in the scrubby grass by the road side, a recreational cyclist flew by, waving as he passed. Finishing our candy bars, we climbed back on our bikes and continued our ride toward St. Cloud. Just after we began riding again, the recreational cyclist (by that I mean non-tourist biker) shot out of a driveway to our left, then pulled in next to us. "Hello! Where you guys from?"
Dad told him our story, finishing by asking, "Do you know anywhere to camp around St. Cloud?"
"Well, sure!" The rider exclaimed, "My house! Oh, I guess I should introduce myself. I'm Larry."
"Chip and Seth." Dad replied, "And thanks a lot for letting us stay with you. Your sure it's all right?"
"Oh, yeah, definitely. But we have to make a stop on the way home. I promised to show these two ladies a clump of lady slippers, the Minnesota state flower. It's very rare, so it's kind of a big deal to us." Soon we pulled into a small driveway, and Larry had ran into the street, flagging down a maroon Buick, "Virginia!" he called to the driver.

The Buick pulled off the rode, and two short old ladies climbed out, and began to walk over to us. Larry smiled and waved to them, "It's easy to remember these two's names." He assured us, "They're both Virginia." Larry helped the Virginia's over next to the flowers and motioned us over. We all oohed and ahhed; the flowers were pretty spectacular. Then the Virginias piled back into their car and drove away while Larry got back on his bike and led us to his house. On the way, he told us that both he and his wife are Lutheran ministers, but at different churches.

Larry's house sat right on the Mississippi River, so the first thing we did after unloading our bikes was go for a swim. What an amazing thing to get to do! I mean, the Mississippi River is really central to the American psyche, and we not only saw it, but got to swim in it! Dad said the whole time I had an enormous smile printed on my face.

We had an early dinner because Larry's wife, Elizabeth had an evening sermon to preach, and his son, Nate, had a ball game to umpire. Both left, and dad and I sat on the porch with Larry, discussing our ride. As we sat, the sky became steadily darker, until finally we decided it would be best to retreat inside. Dad grabbed the plates, Larry covered up the barbecue, and I collected the napkins; just as we stepped inside the door, the clouds broke open. The storm we saw made us glad Larry had taken us in: the wind howled, blowing the raindrops horizontal, and the rain fell so thick that we could barely see the Mississippi 10 feet away. Luckily, the fowl weather passed quickly, and when the sun came out, a beautiful rainbow arched over the lake.

Days 27, 28

2008-07-11T15:12:00.000-07:00

JULY 5 Fargo ND to Pelican Rapids MN

We left late the morning in Fargo, after a beautiful breakfast of 2 dozen eggs, scrambled with cheese and asparagus (dad ate my asparagus for me), orange juice, tea, toast, and water melon. As we packed up our bags in the garage, the Grays hovered around us, advising us on the best routes and snapping action shots of us strapping on our bags. Finally, around 9:00, we had to once again head out onto the road.

The ride through Fargo was pleasant, along well shaded, tree-lined streets (I hadn't realized how much I had missed trees until I saw them again!). We crossed a short concrete bridge, with a toll booth at the end. Dave stopped at the window, "Cyclists enter for free, correct?" he said, peering over his sun glasses as he tends to do. The girl behind the counter nodded. "Excelent! That's what we like to hear." Passing the toll booth, we entered into Minnesota without fanfare.

A wall of humidity struck us almost immediatly after we crossed the boarder; the temperature itself didn't rise any, but it took on a sticky, probing feeling that has been with us ever since. I think I prefer the dry heat. A few blocks past the crossing, we all stopped at a Holiday Gas Station for a bathroom and snack break. Dad and I got snickers bars, and apples that tasted more like cardboard than anything else. The Wisconsin Crew came away with handfuls of giant gas-station cookies. Just as I walked out of the bathroom, I saw Bill disappearing into the women's side. "That was perfect timing!" Pat laughed, "He had just given up waiting for you when you opened the door!"

That gas station was also where we parted ways with the Wisconsin Crew after having ridden with them for 18 days (in truth, it felt like much longer; in those 18 days, it sort of felt like we had become one big group, a road family, as opposed to two separate entities with separate goals.) "Y'know, you could ride with us for another day..." Pat suggested, shrugging, "we're only planning on going 60 or so today..." Tempted as we were, dad and I had to decline; they were on a faster schedule than us, and we needed a chance to set our own pace. Dad and I found ourselves saying an anticlimactic goodbye, and discovering for the first time on the trip that we were truly by ourselves.

After our goodbyes, we rode a difficult 20 miles through side- to occasional head-winds. During those 20 miles, the scenery began to change: the wild flowers began to disappear, corn fields replaced wheat fields, lakes began to become more common, and trees finally began to return to the landscape. Despite the wind, my mood improved drastically with the return of trees.

Arriving in the town of Hawley around 11, dad and I instantly spotted the Dairy Queen, "Wanna stop here or wait for the next town?" he asked me. I dithered for a few seconds, breaking one of the cardinal rule of touring: NEVER pass up a DQ. Before I answered, Bob and Barb rolled out of the grocery store parking lot. "Hey!" dad shouted and we rode over. Turns out, we never made it to Dairy Queen.

"Hello," Barb called back, "You should check out that store over there, great selection of food for lunch." She paused, and we both nodded. "I visited the cathedral today and lit candles for all the cyclists we've met so far. I did everything right... I don't know why we're getting this awful wind!"

"Did you light a candle for good wind?" Dad asked.

"Well, no..."

"There you go!" he said matter-of-factly, eliciting a round of laughter.

Barb and Bob headed on, while dad and I stopped for lunch, sheltering behind a wall of trees for protection from the winds. We knew that after lunch we would have to face the winds quite literally head-on over an 8 mile stretch heading directly due south. The ride into the wind took us about an hour (traveling at just about 8 mph, if that even needs to be said). Dad and I took turns pulling out front while the other drafted behind. At one point as I was pulling, I started to whistle 'Mellow Yellow.' And then I couldn't help laughing at the craziness of it all: riding my bike at 8 miles per hour, into a head wind, on a back road in Minnesota, whistling a 60s song to distract me from the pain in my legs. What the hell was I doing out there? Why wasn't I back home, curled up with a good Star Wars book? And why was I asctually enjoying myself?

After 8 miles, we turned out of the wind (now it was only a side-wind), and were met right away by an uphill. Our pace hardly changed. That was when my brain clicked into survival-mode, focusing on everything and anything but what was going on around me. The miles certainly didn't fly by, but at least I wasn't thinking about them anymore. In the town of Cormorant, we stopped for a snack... soda and candy. "I'm starting to think David was right." Dad said, refering to my swim coach, David, "Our diets are going downhill fast. He predicted we'd be eating soda and twinkies. I told him we'd be healthier than that, but..."

In Pelican Rapids, we met up again with Barb and Bob, who had decided to stay in a hotel because of the forboding black clouds on the horizon; dad and I decided to brave staying in the city park. The park actually turned out to be quite nice, with lots of trees overlooking a river. The sign on the bathroom door, however, was worrisome: "In case of tornados, take shelter in the bath house." Noting the clouds that had scared away Bob and Barb, we hurried to set up our tents before the rain came.

As we made dinner that night, two more riders entered camp and rode right up to us. "Hello, I'm Graham." One said, sticking out his hand; he hadn't even climbed off his bike or taken off his helmet.

"Seth." I introduced myself.

"And this is my friend James." Graham said, gesturing to the second biker, standing a few yards behind him. Both looked pretty young, in their mid 20s, and James had a couple of tattoos and piercings (including one in his nose, like a bull). They left to take showers, while we ate our dinner. Afterwards, we still had a decent amount of spaghetti left in the pot.

"Why don't you go offer it to them." dad suggested. I hesistated nervously, but decided to go for it.

"We had some extra pasta," I said, walking over, "We made WAY too much. Do you want the rest."

"Sure. Your sure your done with it?" I nodded, "Thanks!" they eagerly scooped the spaghetti into one of their own pans.

Just before we went to bed, and old man and his grandaughter came by with a plate of cupcakes, "Want some cupcakes?" he handed one to both dad and I, "My granddaugher wanted to make cupcakes, but it the box made 24, so we decided to give away some to the rest of the campground." Dad and I both thanked him, then polished off our snacks. It's things like this that make me want to keep going.

JULY 6 Pelican Rapids to Parkers Prairie MN

Our first morning on our own in a long while... we got on the road before Graham or James even woke up; they were both still curled up in their bivysacks, sound asleep. A couple of miles in, dad glanced down at his chain ring, "Hmmm, my bike is making an odd sound." he said distractedly, I glanced over at his bike to see if I noticed anything, and when I glanced back at the road, my bike was headed for soft gravel and a grassy ditch. My first instinct was to jerk back on the handle bars and pray that I remained upright, but I fought this down and kept riding in a straight line; that's probably what saved me any new scabs. My bike went off the road, through the gravel, and into the ditch, all with me still on the seat. From the ditch, I maneuvered my bike back up the side and onto the road, to dad's unbelieving stare, "Nice job." he congradulated me, "I was pretty sure you would try to stay on the road; then you'd of been toast!" I smiled proudly and kept on riding.

Mile 1834, in the town of Battle Lake Minnesota, a landmark more important even than our first DQ of the trip: our first bakery. Dad spotted the little building, and with an "ooh!", he steered his bicycle into the parking lot. I followed his lead. Before the trip, we had planned to doing our best to find bakeries in every little town we passed; turned out, North Dakota isn't known for its bakeries. Inside, we both ordered a cinnamon roll and orange juice, then took them outside to eat them on the porch. As we ate, an older couple walked by, "Looks like your on quite the adventure!" The woman said, gesturing over her shoulder towards our bikes.

"All the way across the country."

"Wow... I've always wanted to do that. I told myself that I'd do that when I'm 60... that's in three years. But I don't know if I ever really will..."

"If you want to, you will." Dad reassured her, "I'm sure you could do it."

The woman smiled, "Well, thank you. Good luck on your ride!" then her and her husband crossed the street and disappeared into a little store.

On the road again, dad and I enjoyed the general lack of winds for a couple of miles. Then, in the distance, we spotted another loaded down bike tourer, coming our direction. We swerved over to his side of the road, and waited for him to stop. We talked to him for a few minutes, then an older man on a recumbant rolled up as well. Together, they introduced themselves as Mike (on the recumbant) and Yoni. They had traveled from their home in New York, and were headed out west along the Adventure Cycle route... mostly; they're ultimate goal is Eugene, OR. We offered our house for them to stay at if they ever passed by Canby, and then we also traded blogs. "Bikingforallergies... so you're doing this for a cause, then." Mike said, reading my blog site, "I always hated it when people with allergies came into my restaurant. I just wanted to tell them to go eat somewhere else!"

"You worked in a restaurant?" I asked.

"Yeah, I was the head chef."

"What kind of restaurant?" Dad asked.

"A snooty French one." Mike replied.

"It sounds like we should be riding with them!" I said to dad, "We'd be eating a lot better than we are now."

"Only if you like Raemen noodles." Mike pronounced the 'a' when he said it. That's what we've been eating a lot of. Our crowning achievment was Raemen noodles with sardines." On second though, maybe I'll pass on the "snooty French" cooking; sardines don't quite do it for me. Later I asked Mike if he was related to Yoni. "Ahh, no. He's a friend of my son's. My son wouldn't go with me; he said he couldn't put up with me for that long. I'm not that bad!" Just one more reminder as to how lucky dad and I are that we both are willing to spend 10 weeks, almost round the clock, with each other on such a great adventure. I guess some families don't get along quite as well.

"May the wind be at your back!" I called as we wished Mike and Yoni farewell.

"Seth, no!" dad corrected me, "If the wind's at their back, it's a head wind for us!"

"How about a side-wind all around, then." Yoni said, laughing.

The campsite at Parker's Prairie left a lot to be desired: there was very little running water, meaning pit toilets and no shower, and our neighbors were a rowdy extended family, celebrating Fourth of July weekend up to the last minute. Periodically, a firework would exploded, followed by cheers from the revelers. We set up our camp as far from them as possible, and hoped that come bed time, we'd be too tired to notice the noise. In town, we ran into Graham and James (who Barb and Bob have nick-named the 'bivysack boys') while picking up groceries. They planned to push on to Long Prairie that evening, an extra 30 miles. "We just came from the pool!" James told us, "They let cross country cyclists swim for free!" That sounded too good to pass up, so dad and I headed over to the pool, and swam for a grand total of 5 minutes (I thinking we took more time in the locker room showers). Still, we came out feeling moderately refreshed and ready to eat.

Back at camp, we ran into Bob and Barb, who were also staying there, although Barb was none too happy about it, "We should have pushed on today; I knew I should have pushed on today. We could have made it to Long Prairie, it only would have been 100 miles." she said to dad, "But them, probably would have had a mutiny on my hands." Bob's feet have a tendency to begin hurting while on his bike, meaning he has trouble going really far or really fast. (He's actually discovered that the best way to alleviate the pain is to wear his Keens Sandles when he rides instead of his regular bike shoes... whatever works!) "Oh, I also talked to a priest today." Barb said, "I asked him why we had such terrible winds yesterday after I lit the candles! 'Well,' he said to me, 'God wants you to go straight to heaven when you die, so he's giving you some of your purgatory now.' you have to admit, that's a pretty good response!" After talking to Barb, we prepared dinner, and then I crashed, likely because of the heat: I was in my tent and asleep by 8:00.

Days 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26 The Great Plains Part 2: North Dakota

2008-07-10T07:36:00.000-07:00

JUNE 29 Culbertson MT to Williston ND

This was the shortest day of the trip so far, at 43 miles. It was also our second day of eating out for breakfast. we stopped into a little truck stop before hitting the road. The riding went fairly easily over some mildly rolling hills (yes, there are hills in the Great Plains!) and we passed into North Dakota around 10 in the morning... well, actually around 11 in the morning because at the boarder we switched over from Mountain Time to Central Time. The last miles into Williston seemed the longest, a problem dad and I call Last "Ten Mile Syndrome": without fail, every day, short or long, headwind or tailwind, hilly or flat, the last ten miles seem to drag on for ever; they're always the hardest miles of the day because the end is in sight.

Our first stop in Williston was the local Dairy Queen. After our lunch of ice cream, we headed off to find the city park to camp in, following instructions given us by the server at DQ. Just shy of the park, we ran into Michael who had ridden to Williston at his own speed, taking it easy in hops that his knee would get better. The three of us rode into the park together. Just as Michael unclipped his shoe and started to put his foot down, a couple hundred mosuitoes materialized around him. "I'm getting a motel." he bit out, then put his foot back onto the pedal and rode away. Dad and I looked at each other, then followed him, batting away mosquitos as we went.

The first motel we tried, the El Rancho, had no vacancies. We were astounded. What were so many people doing in a small town of 12,000 in North Dakota? The next motel we tried, Super 8, had only 2 rooms left. Despite the fact that they were on the 3rd floor, meaning we would have to lug our bikes and bags up 3 flights of stairs, we jumped at what were probably the only two rooms available in town. While normally this Super 8 might've seem like a rather low-end motel, for a bike tourer it was paradise: beds with real pillows and (mostly) clean sheets, air conditioning, a real shower that didn't require quarters every couple of minutes, and the best part, a continental breakfast for the next morning.

Dad and I took extra long showers, then shoved all of our dirty clothes into a pillow case and headed down to the laundromat. In the laundromat, dad talked to a young, heavy-set woman about riding through Michigan, "Oh, there're great fruit stands there," she said, "My husband visited there once and he still talks about the peach he ate, 'best peach ever.'" Dad and I smiled eagerly, imagining our arrival in Michigan late in July to find hundreds of tasty little fruit stands dotting the road. After cleaning up, we went out to dinner at Applebees with Michael, then returned to the hotel. Just as we were getting ready for bed, Michael called, "Dave Henneghan just called. He says be in the lobby in a couple of minutes for a special treat." (Dave, Bill, and Pat were staying with Leroy, a graduate from the Naval Academy like Bill).

All of us trooped down to the lobby and Pat, Bill, Dave, and Leroy walked in, carrying a paper plate covered in tin foil. Inside were what tasted like peanut butter rice krispi treats frosted with chocolate. According to Leroy, they're sort of a local treat. Pat, Bill, and Dave had also come by to discuss some possible course changes, "You see," Bill said pointing at the map, "The Adventure Cycle route goes way down here, then back up to Minot and Rugby, then all the way back down to Fargo. I talked to Leroy, and he said there's another road that cuts out Minot and Rugby that will take us right into Fargo. But you can't give me a hard time if my short cut turns out bad." He grinned at the last part.

"Would you give us crap if we had a bad short cut?" Dad asked

"Hell yes." Bill laughed

"Well, then..." dad left it hanging and grinned.

JUNE 30 Williston to Newtown ND

That morning in Williston, we took full advantage of the Super 8's continental breakfast: doughnuts, waffles, cereal, orange juice, apple juice, milk; our only complaint was the lack of any fruit (we'd planned to eat some with breakfast, but also to take a few apples and bananas with us for the road... no such luck.) Michael planned to stay in Williston for the day to give his body a chance to recover, so we said our good byes (after having ridden with him for over 3 weeks) and then headed out on the road.

The ride out of Williston was easily the hardest ride of the entire trip: worse than any pass in Washington or any century in Montana. The core reason to the days difficulty was that dad and I had bought into the myth that North Dakota is flat as a pancake. We expected an easy 70 miles over flats, maybe battling a minor wind, but nothing serious. As I said, flat is a myth. All day, the road rolled up and down next to the Missouri River, dropping down to cross some little creek before steeply climbing up the other side. At first, this wasn't to bad; in fact, it felt sort of good to have some decent sized hills to climb after the relative flatness of Montana (not that Montana is pancake flat either). However, as the day wore on, the temperature rose into the 90s, and the road turned so we were riding directly into the wind, our moods soured considerably. Worse, when we were still about 15 miles out, Newtown appeared ahead of us, across a bend in the river. "Last Ten Mile Syndrome" set in early. By the time we reached Newtown, both of us were about ready to throw our bikes down, stick out our thumbs, and hitch-hike to the nearest Amtrack home. At the Supervalu store in New Town, dad picked up a powerade, and I grabbed a quart of chocolate milk, my new second favorite recover drink, after strawberry milkshakes.

After our brief rest, I set off to find the library while dad went in search of a camp spot. A few blocks down the road, I was unsure where the library was, so I stopped to ask someone. "Oh, it's right here." she said, looking up from the bed of flowers she was watering, "It's closed right now, but I can let you in." She let me in, and I soon settled down in front of a monitor and began to write. Over and hour later, a heavy set woman with tattoos on her arms (this is the standard look for many North Dakotans, we discovered) came in to shoo me off.

"I have to lock up now. You need to get off."

"Doesn't the library open at 5:00." I said, having seen the sign, "It's 4:40 right now..."

"I know that, but I have to lock up when I leave, and I'm leaving now."

Sighing, I rose from my chair. "Thank you for letting me use the computers." I said, then hurried to leave.

The camp we were staying in was rather scuzzy; it just had a run down feel to it. But the showers were warm and functional, and despite the grime, I didn't contract any fatal disease from using them. The heat that night was oppressive, and after the long day, I found it debilitating. As I crawled into my tent, Steve and Michael showed up at camp! "There was no room left in Williston!" Steve called, "We had to press on. After forty miles, we stopped and Michael hitched the rest of the way in. Hell of a ride!" They went about setting up camp and preparing dinner while I brushed my teeth (a rather rare occurrence on the road), read Crime and Punishment, and went to bed.

JULY 1 Newtown to Fort Stevenson ND

Leaving Newtown wasn't nearly as torturous as getting there had been. We had planned on leaving early, but I slept through my watch alarm set for 4:45 and didn't wake up until 6:00. Needless to say, Steve, always the early rise, gave us a bad time about this fact. Nothing exceptional happened during the ride to Fort Stevenson barring a mail stop at the tiny town of Ryder to send home our cold weather clothes. (I also sent home The Illiad, my other summer reading assignment besides Crime and Punishment, this one courtesy of Mr. Bangs. I decided I'll be lucky to plow my way through one of them, let alone two).

The truly exceptional part of the day was Fort Stevenson State Park, where we camped for the night. The entrance road was lined with hardwoods, giving the place the feel of a plantation or military establishment (hmmm, maybe the name Fort Stevenson isn't just a coincidence.) Our camp spot was surrounded by trees, providing ample shade, and overlooking Lake Sakakawea, a dam lake on the Missouri River. This was easily our most beautiful campsite since Colonial Creek Campground in Washington, and this one had the added benefit of having free showers (colonial creek had no running water).

This was our first day off of the Adventure Cycling maps, following Bill's alternative route to Fargo. That morning was the last time we've seen Michael or Steve on the trip (although we keep in contact with phones) because they chose to stick to the actual route and head up to Minot for a couple of rest days so Michael could finally get his chance to recover.

JULY 2 Fort Stevenson to Goodrich ND

Day four in North Dakota was much like many other days riding in the plains, except that we decided to ride with Pat, Bill, and Dave all day, because camping up the road (now that we were off of the Adventure Cycle route) was unsure, and we thought we stood a better chance together than alone. As we rode, I made it my mission to get to know Bill and Dave a little better. I started out talking to Bill about being a physics teacher, and before long the conversation wandered over to Bill's time in the navy. Before long, I learned that he had actually been the captain of a ship, an LST Landing Tank, in Japan. "Did your ship get a name?" I asked.

"Yes, the San Bernardino." Bill replied.

"A city in California?" I guessed.

"Actually, it's named for the biggest county in all of America."

"So, are there naming conventions?"

"Well, there used to be." he said slowly, "All LSTs were named for counties, all submarines were named for fish or sealife, all the carriers for famous battles...."

"Like the Yorktown?" I supplied.

"Yes, like the Yorktown, or the Saratoga. There was also the Bonnie Rischard." He ran off the names slowly, trying to remember them.

"Wait, the Bonnie Rischard?" That wasn't the name of any battle I'd ever heard of.

"It's French." Bill explained, "Bonnie for happy, Rischard for King Richard. It was named after a ship John Paul Jones had when he attacked the much bigger British ship, the Sarapiss, and uttered the famous line-"

" 'I have not yet begun to fight!' " we both said together. He paused for a second, "I guess I could sort of understand getting a degree in humanities if it was about history." he said eventually, sounding as though he felt he were betraying physics, "Just don't go get a degree in literature! That's totally useless."

After my conversation with Bill, I drifted back to talk with Dave for a while. Our discussion soon turned to economic policy. Our views disagree, but I'll leave it at that to avoid stepping on any toes. For the most part, I asked questions about his views, because in truth, I know very little about economics.

After lunch, my mood took a turn for the worse, largely because of a brutal side-wind and a nasty side ache (I convinced myself that my appendix had ruptured and that at any moment I would fall from my bike and die, lying on the hot pavement in Middle of Nowhere, North Dakota.) Eventually, dad dropped back to ride with me, and taking it slow, my side ache started to go away. When I confided in dad my notion of a ruptured appendix, he did his best to calm my fears, "Oh, don't worry. Dave's a doctor, and we could sterilize my pocket knife above the camp stove. You'd be fine." He grinned at the obvious unease on my face.

We stopped for the night in the town of Goodrich, population 160 and shrinking because about 70% of the population is over 70 years old (statistics courtesy of Butch, one of the minority at only 60 years old). Rolling into camp, we saw Bill ambling out of the showers, "Better than sex." he sighed, drying off his hair.

"Liar." Dave said, never looking up from the bag he was rummaging through. Since we were the only ones in the park, I wound up taking my shower in the girls bathroom, since dad was using the guys side. The whole time, I was on edge, worried I'd be walked in on; that would have been mortifying. After the shower, I cooked dinner, while everyone else went off in search of beer. Bill and Pat came back after a short while, disgusted by the towns lack of stores. Ten minutes later, dad and Dave returned, triumphantly carrying 6 Bud Lites. Bill grunted disgustedly, but still took one. "I know, it doesn't really count as Beer." Dave said, "But it's the best we could do. we started talking to one of the guys out watering his garden, and before we knew it, he had invited us inside. His name is Butch" (Butch is in the picture above, between dad and Dave).
"Downstairs it was like a shrine to the New York Yankees." Dad said, taking up the story, "He also has a giant pantry, stalked up with all sorts of food because the nearest real store is 70 miles away. We told him we were looking for beer, and this is what he gave us."

"It might be better than nothing." Bill said, taking a drink.

JULY 3 Goodrich to Cooperstown ND

Again, another long day on the prairies. As Bill predicted, "The wind's coming from the South. A front's moving in." I never really noticed a 'front'. Still, he has an uncanny knack for predicting the direction of the wind; probably comes from being in the navy. Luckily, the wind had a slight bent to it, carrying us along all day.

That afternoon, when it was just dad and I riding together, we passed a beautiful, abandoned Lutheran Church, built in 1919 (there are tons of Lutheran Churches out here, you can barely go a mile without seeing one; I think it's because a majority of the original immigrants to this part of the country were Scandinavian, who are traditionally Lutheran.) Dad and I stopped to take pictures and read some of the names in the cemetery. As we stood in the midst of all the graves, up drove a silver car and out climbed two middle-aged ladies with curly blond hair. Dad and I began to head back to our bikes as they took pictures of the church, and as we passed we decided to stop and talk for a second. "Beautiful church, isn't it?" Dad said.

"Yes, definitely." one woman said, "Our grandparents used to go here. What I'd give to get inside."

"Oh, wouldn't that be cool." dad agreed.

"Yes. We're looking for our grandparents graves. No one in our family knows where they are. We even have an aunt who washed my grandma's body and sat with it for three days, but no one remembers where they're buried. We hope we'll find them here." We wished them luck in their hunt for their wayward grandparents, then climbed back on our bikes and rode off.

In Cooperstown, we met three new cyclists setting up their tents in the city park. We said hello, but soon rode away to set up camp by Pat, Bill , and Dave. After everyone had showered, we headed off to dinner. There were two options in 'downtown' Cooperstown: the Coachman Steakhouse, which was highly attractive to the Wisconsin Crew (Bill and Dave especially) because it offered a good selection of beer. The other option, the Pizza Ranch, while it didn't have beer, had an even stronger attraction: while Bill and Dave checked out the Coachman, a short man with white hair came over to us. When he talked, he displayed all of his upper teeth, "Y'know, you should eat here. An all ye kin eat buffet. I made it thru two plates. An' big sodas. Ya go ta the other place, ya only git what what ya order on your plate." He told us this at least three times, but our minds were made up after the first: an all you can eat buffet is like heaven on earth for a bicycle tourist. I ate until my stomach ached and bulged before I felt content.

JULY 4 Cooperstown to Fargo ND

During the ride out from Cooperstown, I got to know the three rider we had met at the park the day before, Bob and Barb (picture left) from Grayling, MI, and Jay (pictured below) from NC. Jay is a 67 year old who spent 20+ years in the marine corps. in 1976, he read an article about biking across the country, and wanted to do it until 2001, when he complete Adventure Cycle's Trans-America route from Oregon to Virginia. I'm amazed that he was able to wait 25 years before realizing his dream;I was getting antsy and eager after only two. This year, he decided to cross the country again, this time on the Northern Tier with his friend Jim. Everything went well until June 24th, in Eastern Montana. Jay got an early start, riding into a rainstorm, and expected Jim to catch up with him later. When Jim never showed up, he assumed they got separated in the rain. Jay arrived at his campground, he was accosted by a sheriff. Jim had died of a massive heart attack back at the last campground. He never even started riding that day.

"You're four years older...doesn't what happened to Jim make you a little worried?" I asked when he had finished telling me his story.

"No." Jay replied evenly, "I know my body. I know what I can handle. What I don't know is how many heart beats I have left. You can't know that." I thought that was a very good way to look at life.

At one point during the ride, I glanced in my mirror to see a car patiently waiting behind me. I quickly pulled in and waved apologetically to the driver (I later learned he'd sat back there for at least ten seconds.) Minutes later, dad rode up next to me, "Use your mirror or stay to the side of the road!" he scolded sharply. For some reason (probably a mixture of deep fatigue due to lack of a rest day, no trees, constant winds, and a high pace day in and day out) I became furious. I rocketed ahead at 16, 17, 18 miles per hour, ignoring the winds around me. Eventually, once I thought I had calmed down, I slacked off the pace a bit and let everyone else catch back up. Unfortunately, the anger wasn't quite out of my system, so dad and I soon fell to arguing. Luckily, a couple of miles along down the road I had calmed down, and we had both forgiven each other. I guess it was too much to hope for to make it all the way through the trip without bickering at all.

Our Fourth of July evening was pretty mundane. No fireworks. No parades. No parties. In truth, it was far better than that: we had a house to stay at. We stayed with the Grays (pictured left), whose son Beau is one of Pat's room mates at St. Olafs College. Beau, his brother Andrew, and his dad Brad were all rather quite, but his mom Cindy was very friendly and talkative. She was an amazing hostess, making sure we all had a place to sleep and enough to eat. At 10:30 that night, she walked up to me, "Were making smoothies with blueberries and strawberries. Whould you and your dad like one?"

"For tomorrow morning?" I asked, confused.

"No, right now." dad and I declined, being more than ready for bed, but someone must have taken her up on her offer, because before long we heard the whirr of the blender coming from the kitchen.

Days 17, 18, 19, 20 Great Plains Part 1: Eastern Montana

2008-07-09T09:03:00.000-07:00

The Great Plains... a name that can be taken in a few sense. Plain, as in the traditional sense, a broad flat grassland; plane, as in a mathematical sense, a perfectly flat shape that stretches on for infinity; plain, as in plain, simple, boring, nothing to do, dull; or plane, as in "the winds were so strong the first three days in the plains that we flew along like and Air Plane". Okay, perhaps that's a lame pun, but I had to try.

Since we traveled so quickly through the plains, and since I'm so many days behind, I'm going to try to be brief as a chronicle our adventures across this expanse. But then, as you have probably noticed, I'm not very good at being brief. So here goes with my best shot:

JUNE 25 East Glacier to Chester MT

The morning of June 25 was the last time we've seen Jerry, Greg, or Caroline. Greg and Caroline got out of camp first that morning because a raccoon got into their supplies and ate all of their breakfast food; Jerry was last out of camp that morning, as he took the time to entertain a small crowd of people from the RV park, all fascinated by his recumbent bicycle. All of them decided to ride a shorter day, while the rest of us pushed ahead.

The amazing tail-wind that blew us into East Glacier blew us out as well, carrying us into the Great Plains. I must admit, I had heard horror stories about the plains: stories about broad stretches of grass, both the color and shape of a piece of cardboard; stories about absolutely no trees, no water, and no people as far as the eye can see; stories about terrible head-winds that assault you whatever direction you try to cross the plains. I have to say right now, all of that is wrong. Perhaps it was the time of year, or the fact that we had a wonderful tail-wind, but my impression of the plains was quite different: the grass was green, covered in sheets of wild flowers, ponds appeared by the roadside, and the our route rolled up and down over gentle hills. There was even the occasional tree or bend in the road.

We stopped atop a small rise outside of town and looked back at the Rockies, still huge behind us. "How long do you think until they disappear?" I asked in a small voice.

"Ahh, I'd give it about 100 miles." Steve said. As we rode on, I watched the mountains shrink in my mirror, growing blue and fuzzy with distance. It only took about 50 miles for them to dip behind a small hill and vanish entirely. The plains had swallowed us.

Seventy miles in, at the town of Shelby (our intended end point for the day) we stopped for lunch, and decided the tail winds were too good to waste. That evening, we pushed on another 40 miles into the town of Chester (this is where we lost Jerry, Caroline, and Greg: they all decided to stay in Shelby for the night). The last forty miles pushed our total distance for the day over 100 miles, my first century ever! Even with the wind, I the last couple of miles were difficult, but I made it, and since then we've done at least 5 more centuries... I've stopped counting.

In Chester, I dropped off my bags at the city park, and immediately headed off to find the library. I pulled up in front of the little building at 4:58. The sign said that it closed at 5:00. Disappointed, I turned around and began to walk my bike away, when a short, skinny woman with curly hair walked out the door. "Are you looking to use a computer?"

"I was, but it looks like you're about to close."

"Oh, don't worry about it. I'll be here for a while and I try to never turn away cyclists." She led me inside and sat me down at a computer. This was the beginning of a trend of nice people on the great plains.

About 20 minutes later, I saw 2 more bikes pull up, and in walked a pair of very talkative girls in their mid-twenties. One looked at me and immediately said, "I know that look!" She too wore lycra shorts, a jersey, and had tan lines from her helmet and gloves. They had soon made friends with the librarians, who told them where to get a shower (at the city pool) and where to find some free cake ("There's a wedding going on at the Methodist church. I'm sure they won't notice if you slip in the bag and take a slice or two of cake.") I need to start talking to more of the locals!

We went out to dinner that night in a little bar/casino. As I walked in, Michael looked up at me, "If anyone asks you, Seth, you're 18." I must have looked at least that old, because when the waitress came by with a pitcher of beer, she brought me a glass along with everyone else. I chose to stick with lemonade.

The waitress there had a really good sense of humor. Steve, trying to be funny, asked her to blow on his chicken to cool it off. "Blow on your what?" She asked indignantly, "Oh, on your chicken. I most certainly won't blow on your chicken." She flashed him a smile as she trotted away. Later, she came out while Steve was in the bathroom to clear our plates, "Anyone here want any apple pie ala mode?" She asked. We all declined politely. "Well good, because I don't have any. I just wanted to sound official. If you do run down to the store for some pie, be sure to grab me a piece."

When Steve returned, Bill told him there was apple pie. "Oh boy!" Steve said excitedly, "And you didn't get any? I can't believe you turned that down! That sounds great!" He waited a second, "Uh-oh, maybe she's in there doing the bill right now!" He ran into the back room to place his order, and all of us erupted into laughter. "You rats!" he said when returned a few minutes later. Back at the campsite we met Jim and Peter, another father-son team crossing the country, and then we all went to bed pretty early.

JUNE 26 Chester to Harlem MT

The 26th was really just a typical day on the plains: we woke up early, rode about 100 miles until late in the afternoon, then set up camp and went out to dinner. The road was speckled with multiple 'plains towns' that all looked the same: first, a dark smudge would be visible on the horizon from miles away; as we rode closer, the smudge would resolve into a clump of trees, the only trees visible all around, with a giant silver water tower looming above them; closer still, and the stocky gray forms of the grain elevators would come into view. Most of these 'plains towns' had gravel roads, a small city park, and maybe a post office, a bar, or a convenience store. They also usually had a train that ran right through the middle of town. The trains in the great plains are long and frequent; almost every campspot we've stayed at has been within spitting distance of the tracks. The joke now is that we'll never be able to get to sleep again without the rumble of steam engines and the blare of their horns.

JUNE 27 Harlem to Glasgow MT

We had trouble lighting our stove to make breakfast because the winds were so strong on the 27th. Dad was amazed that I had slept soundly all night: apparently there had been people skate boarding, some shouting, and a tremendous wind that shook the tents; Steve actually got out and moved his tent out of the wind, it was so bad. We later found out that Pat was the only other person to sleep soundly all night. Another joy of being a teenager.
Luckily, the wind decided to stick with us all day, coming out of the west in huge gusts. We averaged over 15mph all day, which sounds slow, but is phenomenal for a loaded bike. Beside the wind, little remarkable happened on the 27th, barring two situations:

First, there was a 6 mile (accounts vary from 4 to 6 miles, but 6 sounds most impressive) stretch of road past the town of Dodson that was under construction. Our first warning signal was our least favorite sign: an orange diamond, with the words "pavement ends" stenciled on in black paint. For the next couple of miles, we road through a mixture of packed dirt and gravel, moving about in search of the smoothest section. The gravel was hardest on Jim and Peter whose wheels are the thinnest; we soon pulled ahead of them and didn't see them again until lunch (we had been riding with them before the gravel.)

Second, we found our first Dairy Queen of the trip, in the town of Malta, 1104 miles and 19 days from Anacortes. Pat, Bill, and Dave were already there when we got there, and as we were ordering, Michael and Steve showed up. "We thought we'd find you here!" Steve exclaimed. They didn't stay for ice cream, though, because they had already had a large second breakfast (mind, DQ was our second breakfast!)

The wind carried us 120 miles that day, the longest ride any of us but Dave had ever done solo; we even made it in by three, because the winds were so strong. We arrived at camp in Glasgow and told we could set up in a side yard, but we had to wait for it to be mowed first. A big Native American man wearing a ripped shirt showed up with the lawn mower, "So, where're you comin' from?" he asked to make conversation.

"Harlem." we told him.

"Harlem? And you survived? I'm native and I won't even go there!" He started mowing the lawn, shaking his head as he went about it (Harlem is a town on an Indian Reservation; all throughout Montana we were warned about staying in any town on a reservation, particularly Browning or Poplar; this was the first we'd heard about Harlem. Besides some pesky mosquitos, which drove us into our tents around 7, the town seemed pretty pleasant.) The man also gave us a recommendation for breakfast the next morning: Bergie's in Nashua, ten miles up the road. "They have pancakes there so big, I can't even finish one!" We laughed when he said this, all thinking the same thing: he's not riding 120 miles in a day!

JUNE 28 Glasgow to Culbertson MT

It was nice waking up that morning in Glasgow: we didn't have to boil water or wash bowls. We packed up our tents, nibbled on a poptart to tide us over, then hit the road, heading for Bergie's diner in Nashua. As we rode up to the diner, Pat stood waiting on the doorstep for us, "They have a biker breakfast!" he called, "it comes with two large pancakes, 3 eggs, 3 sausages, hash browns, orange juice, and coffee!"

We eagerly led us inside, where Dave greeted us next, "Yes, Bill and Pat took the challenge. They ordered the Biker's Trek Breakfast, and plan on eating two of the pancakes." one of the locals grinned at this, already knowing their fate, "myself, I'm not man enough." Michael, Dad, and I weren't man enough either, although the breakfast I ordered did include on pancake.

We soon learned that the Native American man wasn't exaggerating his story: the waitress came out carrying a small plate loaded with eggs and sausage in one hand, and a huge blue disk piled with two pancakes in the other, "Sorry, the next one won't come for a while; the biker's trek always takes a while to make."

"You mean that's only one?!" Bill asked, eyeing the pancakes that were easily as large as pizzas, a foot and a half across, and an inch thick each.

The waitress smirked and nodded, "That's why I was surprised that your table ordered two of them!" Five minutes later she returned with a second set of plates which she set in front of Pat. Together, Bill and Pat's meals covered the entire table, forcing Dave to find somewhere else to eat. Both Bill and Pat made valiant efforts to finish their meal, plowing first through the eggs, sausages, and hashbrowns, and then beginning on the pancakes. Half way through his pancakes, Pat went to the bathroom, perhaps hoping to generate some extra space for his meal. While he was away, Bill slipped most of one pancake to Michael.

Pat returned to find Bill's pancakes two-thirds gone, "You've eaten all that?" he asked, dismayed. Bill nodded, and Pat redoubled his efforts, determined not to be out eaten by a 59 year-old. Neither one finished their breakfast; with Michael's help, Bill ate about as much as Pat ate by himself, but both had at least half of a pancake left on their plates. It was only after Pat had stuffed himself nearly to the bursting that Bill revealed the secret to his eating. "Agghhhh..." Pat moaned, "You mean I didn't really have to eat all that?" They both didn't really eat again until dinner.

The weather was pretty nasty for riding that day: hot with a vicious side wind. The wind is what caused my first, and hopefully only, crash of the trip (well, perhaps that's just me making an excuse... the wind helped to cause my crash). The shoulders in Montana are mostly chip sealed, making them very bumpy, with long patches of rumble strips; I was riding along a narrow path of smooth pavement just next to the side of the road, when I was caught by a gust of wind. My bike was pushed into the gravel, leaving me to wobble for a second before crashing to earth. Luckily, besides some minor scrapes (the pictures are of the ones on my elbow and hip; there was another on my knee, but the picture didn't turn out well), the only things really hurt were my confidence and pride. Dad had a perfect I-told-you-so moment as well, "I'm glad you're okay, but now WILL YOU STAY OUT OF THE FREAKING GRAVEL!" He was shouting, but also smiling at the same time.

The rest of the day went poorly as the miles wore on and the winds tired us out. Michael was hit especially hard, because his knee was hurting again, and the endless hours in the saddle were wearing on his butt. When we stopped for lunch with Pat, Bill, and Dave, he decided to push on in hopes of making it into camp a little early. Riding and talking with Pat certainly made the last forty miles feel easier. Four miles from Culbertson, our destination, a pickup pulled to a stop next to us, "Anybody need a ride?" He asked, "There's a pretty nasty hill coming up on the way to Culbertson."

"No way!" Bill said indignantly, the military part of his life coming to the fore, "we've come 98 miles today. There's no way any of us are giving up now!"

"Actually," Dave interjected rather quietly, whose leg and back had been hurting for much of the ride. "I might want to take you up on that." He loaded his recumbent into the back of the truck, then climbed up next to the driver, "What was your name?" he asked.

"Jim Hellmer." He supplied.

"There you go." Dave said jokingly, looking back at us, "If I disappear, you know who to look for."

In the city park in Culbertson, where we were camping for the night, we met a new cyclist, Reverend Hans, a well tanned man, wearing a parti-colored jersey. He walked over to us when we arrived to introduce himself, "Hello. I can't believe thewe awe so many cyclists hewe. You'we the fiwst I've seen all twip." (If you can't tell by my writing, he lisped slightly when he spoke). The reverend was a most interesting man, who said he rode 16,000 miles a year for something he called "pedalling for prayers", and was on the road more than he was at home.

"What is is you do on the road?" I asked, "what's you're Pedalling for Prayers program?"

"Weh-ll, I do whatevew the Lord tells me... evangelize, disastew welief, pwreaching." On top of his lisp, he had a slight southern accent.

Later, dad started talking to the reverend, "So where're you from?"

"Geowgia." He replied.

"Ohh, Jimmy Carter country." Dad said

"Weh-ll, he li-eve jest a ways fwom my house. But lots of us don't like him much. He's expwessing sum vewy un-Amewrican opinons."

"Isn't that what being an American's about?" dad asked, "expressing opinions?"

The reverend stammered for a moment, "Weh-ll, he's sticking his nose whewe it doesn't belong. He's talking to the wrong people in the Middle East. He jest knows the New Testament. Only a New Testament guy. He doesn't know what he's doing in the Middle East 'cause he doesn't wead the Old Testament." the reverend made it all sound very final. Despite our minor political disagreements, I found the reverend a very friendly and kind, if rather eccentric person. Still, what he's doing is good, and he's doing it by bicycle... power to him!

Day 16

2008-07-09T08:34:00.000-07:00

JUNE 24 Apgar to East Glacier MT

It was hard to leave Glacier; we had been pampered by our two and a half day stay, and now we had to get back into the bike-touring-groove. Everything started out well, but my body, still sore from the hike the day before, started to wear down after a while. Our ride took us over Marias Pass, the lowest pass in the Rockies, but the road steadily climbed up to it for 45 miles. By the time we got to the top, we were all ready for the Great Plains, and the absolute lack of mountain passes.
Descending from Marias Pass, the world changed. The trees disappeared, the sky cleared (after having been gray all day from a rain storm 4:30 that morning) and the wind picked up. A tail wind. I could literally feel it puching me up the hills on the way to East Glacier... I was going uphill at 20 miles per hour!
In East Glacier, dad and I went to the store to resupply on food for breakfast and lunch. As we walked past the refrigerator section, we spotted a sign plastered above the beer reading, "Sorry, we can't sell alcohol until after 8:oo pm on June 24 due to elections." Dad took a picture of the sign, and we both wondered how Steve had managed to buy a couple of cans of beer when we first got into town.
We went out for dinner in East Glacier, to a Mexican restaurant called Serrano's (ironically, the one in Sandpoint was named Jalapenos; we're keeping our eyes peeled for a Poblanos or Habaneros). The restaurant was packed withing minutes of opening, always a good sign. The waiter, a bulky young man with a round face and a broken nose who appeared to be Native American (East Glacier is inside the Blackfeet Indian Reservation) came over to take our drink orders. "I'll have a margarita." Steve said, "Or can't you sell me one because of elections?" he added sarcastically.
"Oh, you're right!"the waiter said, "Tribal elections tonight! We can't sell any alcohol until after eight!"
"Even though we're not from around here?" Steve asked, a note of worry creeping into his voice.
"Sorry, it's the law across the entire county." The waiter said. Everyone placed their drink orders, dully settling for sodas, and the waiter left.
"Nice job, Steve." dad teased him, "He wouldn't have remembered otherwise."
"Ahh, he'd have just gone to the bartender and come back to tell us we couldn't have margaritas any way." Steve said defensively. At the next table over, we could hear Bill arguing indignantly with the waiter over the same point.
"We aren't even from around here!" "Sorry, it's the law." "But we won't even be voting!" "They do this out here for any major event: prom, homecoming, elections. Sorry..."
Soon, the waiter returned to take our orders. When it came to me, I pointed at the menu, "I'll have the Carne Tampico, hot please." (the menu said it came either mild or hot).
The waiter gave me a bemused expression, "Hot? Are you sure?"
"Well, yeah... I suppose..." I answered sheepishly.
"I'll bring you lots of water then." With the help of 3 Dr. Peppers (free refills) and lots of water, I managed to down most of the meal. It was really quite good, and I do like spicy food. Still, I was the only one not to clear my plate; spicy food always fills me up pretty fast.
At the restaurant, Michael bought a sticker with a picture of a red chili pepper and the words "Serrano's, East Glacier Park Montana." As he cut out the pepper to put on his bike, Steve picked up the scraps, "We need to come up with a word we can make out of the left over letters."
Jerry wandered over while Steve was talking. "Anus." he suggested.
"No, not at all, just go away." Michael said, managing to sound very upset (he has a very dry sense of humor), "It wouldn't even be spelled right!" Not too long afterwards, I was in bed, trying to fall asleep with the caffeine from three Dr. Peppers pumping through my veins, and the sound of fireworks echoing through the campsite (it was close enough to the fourth that fireworks were already on sale.)

Day 15

2008-07-07T17:08:00.001-07:00

JUNE 23 Apgar, Rest Day #3 (sort of)

Some background before this blog entry... The traditional Adventure Cycle Route takes you over Logan Pass when you cross the Rockies, up a beautiful road known as Going-to-the-Sun Road. Traditionally, this road is cleared of snow by early June. This year, it wasn't. The snow has been thick, there have been multiple avalanches, and the bulldozers couldn't even find the road when we were there. We weren't going to be following the "traditional Adventure Cycle Route." Instead, we would be going over Marias Pass, several miles to the south of Glacier Park. Steve wasn't thrilled by the alternate ("I've heard that the Marias road is SHIT compared to Going-to-the-Sun.") We decided we would ride as far up Logan Pass on one day, and the next day would head off over Marias Pass.
A second background note: a large section of the Going-to-the-Sun road is closed to cyclists between the hours of 11 and 4, so we had to time our ascent carefully so as to be past that section by 11, and not start back until after 4.
The first ten miles up the road were narrow and windy, part of the semi-restricted section. The scenery was beyond words, so I won't even try... this is one section where I'll work to put up some pictures. Needless to say, there were tons of mountains, waterfalls, streams, lakes, and flowers. By the end of the restricted section, Steve, Michael, Pat, Bill, and Dave had met up with dad and I and we all rode together for the rest of the ride. There were frequent picture stops (and pee stops, for that matter) and before long, we reached a sign that said, "Cars prohibited beyond this point; continue only on foot or by bicycle." The road after that point, which was open for another six miles, felt like a bike path: we had the entire stretch of asphalt to our selves, barring the few dump trucks rumbling by to help clear the road up ahead.
At one point, some walkers by the side of the road beckoned us over to ride next to them. At
first we didn't understand, but then we saw a black bear lumbering along where we had just been. Dad and I hesitated for a moment, then decided to ride past the bear, which looked pretty mellow. "Make sure you have film in your cameras, because this could be entertaining!" dad called as we pedalled down the road. Luckily, there was no 'excitement' as we went past the bear.
Eventually, we reached the end of the open section. There was another sign, this one prohibiting all travel beyond that point; we all took two steps past the sign and posed for pictures. We rode back a ways and went for a hike up to Avalanche Creek. The first part was along a raised trail, crowded with people. At one time, we passed a large group of old people, all wearing name tags that said 'America by Rail.' "Nicole has been instructed to shoot me if I ever sign up for that sort of tour." Michael confided, straight faced.
"It would probably be a mercy killing." I agreed. Soon, we turned off of the raised trail and began walking along a rough dirt path next to Avalanche Gorge, a narrow crevasse of stone, worn smooth by hammering waters. I could have sat next to that for hours... it was mesmerizingly beautiful. About an hour later we came to Avalanche Lake itself, if possible, even more beautiful than the gorge. It was a glacial lake in a little valley with steep stone walls and waterfalls tumbling down the sides.
"It doesn't even seem real." Michael said, "It's like something out of a movies." I thought pretty much the same thing... it wouldn't have seem out of place on Alderaan or Naboo (Please forgive the Star Wars allusion!) At the lake, Pat and I jumped into the frigid waters, wearing only our bike shorts. We lasted about thirty seconds. I think Steve says it best on his blog: "SHRINKAGE!! that's snow melt boys!! "
After our hike, it was already past four, so we were allowed to go back down to our campsite. Everyone but Steve, Dad, and I stopped for dinner at a lodge partway down the road; it was only after we passed the restaurant that dad and I realized we had almost no food for dinner back at camp. I suggested using what we had... extra noodles, blueberry yogurt, and curry powder... to make a rather desperate dinner, but dad wasn't buying it. After a hungry, irritable descent, I rode into West Glacier to pick up some food for dinner while dad went back to camp to set up the stove. It was only once I was at the store that I truly realized how hungry I was. I aimlessly wandered the aisles, staring at various food items but never putting anything into the basket. Finally, I stopped myself, took some deep breaths and focused my rapidly bonking brain. What do I need? Food for dinner. What should we have? etc. Still, I returned to camp with only a can of beef stew and a can of green beans. Luckily, Greg and Caroline offered us some of their extra noodles, and dad managed to do his magic, creating a decent dinner.

Day 14

2008-07-07T15:03:00.000-07:00

JUNE 22 Apgar, MT Rest Day #2

After we ate breakfast on Sunday morning, I headed up to the bathroom by our site. As I stood in front of the urinal, the man at the sink called over to me, "Are you with Adventure Cycle?"
"Yeah," I said, finishing up my business and walking over to him; he was middle age man with very short gray hair, tan skin, and a leather jacket, "well, sort of. We're not with one of their groups, but we're following their maps."
"Yes, I see, I see. I'm a member for life. Your doing the northern tier?" I nodded, "I've been taking ten days a year to bike across the country. I've been at it since '97. I started along the northern tier until I got here; then I went down the Great Parks Route until it reached Pueblo, Colorado. From their I took the Trans America route through Kansas until it ran into the Great River Route on the Mississippi. I took that down to the Southern Tier. I'm all the way to Florida."
"Your almost to the East Coast. What are you going to do when you get to the end?"
He gestured to his jacket that had 'BMW Motorrad' printed on it, "I've got a different sort of bike now. I'd like to go back over the same route by motorcycle. So, I saw another tent at your camp site..."
"Yeah, my dad and I figured we'd be at each other's throat by the end of the summer if we shared a tent."
"Oh, you're with your dad? That's pretty lucky!"
"Definitely; I'm really fortunate to have a dad who will come along with me and a mom who will let us go." We said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. A few minutes later, he showed up at our campsite.
"I had to meet the father...." With that, all three of us were off and talking. He introduced himself as Jon, and we gave him our names in turn. Eventually, he we said goodbye for a second time; just after that, we saw him roar out of camp on his motorcycle.... off on some adventure, no doubt.
The rest of the day was a pretty typical rest day... laundry, writing, puttering around camp. Steve and Michael showed up around noon, followed shortly by Greg, Caroline, Pat, Bill, Dave, and Jerry.
That afternoon, Dad, Michael, Steve, and I decided to go for a hike up to Apgar Lookout, from which you're supposed to have an excellent view of the mountains. We never found out. The ride up to the trail head was along a rough gravel road, which continually jarred my walking shoes off the back of my bike. "Steve," dad called up to him after about a mile, "how far is the hike?"
"3.3 miles each way... climbing 2000 ft." Steve replied nonchalantly.
"This is way too much work for my off day." dad said, "Take some pictures for me." then he started to ride back up the road. After he left, we crossed a flooded out section of road, the water reaching up to my ankles, then started to climb up a steep section of gravel road. The road continued to get rougher, until finally Michael and I pulled to a stop.
"I'm going to turn around." I said, "I'll just fall over if I keep going on this gravel. I really don't want to eat dirt today."
"Yeah," Michael agreed, "I was just waiting for you to say something so I could go with you." We called ahead to Steve, who sounded a bit disappointed, but decided to come back with us.
After our failed attempt at a climb, it was dinner, ice cream in the village, and staying up late to write post cards to an eager class of first graders. I finally called it a night at 10:30, easily my latest night so far on the trip.

P.S. As an addendum to my last post: my 'wave-buddy' was no older than twelve years old. I realized I forgot to mention that. Believe me, if it had been an attractive seventeen year old riding by, I wouldn't have been wincing and grimacing.

P.P.S. If you haven't noticed, I'm tragically behind on my posts (as in 15 days behind). Tomorrow, with any luck, we'll stop in Minneapolis for three or four layover days. Hopefully, I'll get some quality time with a computer during my off days, so expect a deluge of posts over the next handful of days.

Day 13, part 2

2008-06-30T14:34:00.001-07:00

We left Whitefish a little after 1:00, and soon the temperature began to climb. After only a few miles, the heat started to get to dad and I; we began to wilt. (And this was only 80-ish degrees... how will we ever deal with the truly stifling days in Minnesota and Wisconsin?) Just as I started to lose focus all together and become a crash-risk, we came upon the spring the man had mentioned. It was a black barrel with a long white tube spewing out cold, clear, water. An absolute Godsend. I pried off my shoes and socks, then tore off my helmet and went to soak my feet in the water. I also ducked my head under the flow, refilled my water bottles, and soaked my bandana. The water helped, and the next miles, gravel road and all, passed relatively easily

In West Glacier, as we stopped to pick up groceries, dad met a man riding around on an old bike with a baby trailer attached; sitting quietly in the trailer was a little Scotty dog. The man suggested we stay at the campground at Apgar, just a couple of miles inside the park, and told us how to find it on bike paths (following the bike paths we just happened to circumnavigate the toll booth...We did go back and pay the entry fee the next day... we both felt guilty about sneaking in... but it was still fun to be renegades for one night.) So it was that we stole into Glacier Park at around 5:00 that night, a storm building on the horizon

The clouds looked even more menacing two miles later when we pulled into Apgar Campground, so we hurried to set up our tents and throw on the rain flies. We also had to take all of our food and lock it away in the bear box, "Dad, do you really think a bear would come into the campground with so many people here?" I asked sceptically. "My panniers reek of food, but I don't think I'll put them in the bear box. There's no way a bear's coming in here."

"Probably right." he replied, "I'm keeping my panniers in my tent, but you should put all your food in the bear box." Sighing, I went to work digging through my bags, pulling out all the food in them.

Since the campground had no showers, dad and I went to the bathroom, and washed ourselves as best we could in the sink. After that, dad went to pay and I sat on the bear box, munching handfulls of trail mix. Two girls on bikes approached, and I stared at them out of sheer exhaustion. Just as I started to look away, realizing that it was rude to stare, one of them waved at me. I waved back, out of courtesy, and they continued on. Thus began a night long annoyance: the two rode around the campground loop every 10 minutes or so, and each time she stopped to wave at me. I would grimace back politely, as dad teased my under his breath about my new "girlfriend." At one point she rode by and shouted, "You waved at me. That makes us wave-buddies!" I winced and nodded back weakly.

After dinner (burritos) dad and I rode into Apgar Village to pick up some ice cream (I had huckleberry). We bought post cards, then headed back. On the bike trail, less than a quarter mile from the campground, dad called softly to me, "Seth, keep riding!" To the left of the trail, standing almost perfectly still and sniffing the air, was a brown Black Bear (confusing, I know.) Dad stopped for a picture, and I rode ahead back to camp.

When dad rode up, I looked over at him and said, "I think I'll be putting my panniers in the bear box tonight!" Just as we crawled into our tents that night, the sky split open, lightening flashed, thunder boomed, and rain started to fall. We made it in just in time.

Day 13, part 1

2008-06-30T13:31:00.000-07:00

JUNE 21 Eureka MT to Apgar Village, Glacier National Park

We got up early in the park in Eureka to say good bye to mom and Barb, who were driving home. Since most of the "luxury" camping gear and food they had brought was already packed away, we were back to our 'usual' breakfast: a cup of yogurt with grapenuts mixed in and a mug of tea (I don't think I even had the tea, since the stoves were all packed away and we had no hot water... that's also why we didn't eat instant oats.) Since dad and I planned to push a long day, 86 miles from Eureka to Glacier, while everyone else planned to take two days to cover the same distance, we walked around, bidding everyone farewell until tomorrow. Last we came to mom and Barb; the goodbye was rather anticlimactic, considering I won't see my mom for 8 weeks.

Fourteen miles into the ride, we came to the town of Fortine (how coincidental!) As we entered the town, dad spotted a cyclist circling up ahead. "Uh-oh..." he muttered, assuming it was Steve, and that his bike was having mechanical issues again. As we got closer, though, the figure turned into Michael. "Everything okay?" my dad called.

"Yep. Just waiting for pie." Michael said, pointing at a cafe/bakery next to the street. Unfortunately, with 72 miles still to ride, we didn't have time to wait for pie with Michael (now, 72 miles seems like nothing!)

Fifty miles in, we came to the town of Whitefish, where everyone else was stopping to spend the night. We were feeling pretty confident about making it the next 30 miles to Glacier, since it was only about noon. Or first stop in town was the post office, our first mail drop of the trip. Standing outside the post office were two new bike tourists; they turned out to be 2 women I met at our campground in Sandpoint, Kandace and Pritay (pronounced Prithee). Their bags were unpacked, and clothes and gear were strewn across the sidewalk. "We're trying to find some stuff to send home, lighten our load a bit." Kandace explained, "So far, we haven't found much. it's all important!"

I walked into the post office, fingers crossed that I would get some mail. I walked up to the counter and fumbled to display my passport, stammering, "Ah... general delivery for Seth Greendale." The man behind the counter nodded and disappeared into the back. A couple of long moments later, he came back carrying a letter, two postcards and a big Manila envelope. The post cards were from my Aunt Kathy and Uncle Bilal, the letter from my dad's friend Nancy, and the envelope full of hand written letters from Aunt Kathy's first graders, with lots of hand drawn pictures. I was elated! It's always fun to get mail! The letters from the first graders were full of questions: where do you sleep? how tall are the mountains? do you ever get stuck? have you seen any wild animals? etc. etc. A message back to all those first graders: "Dream Big! Riding across the country may seem like a lot of work, but it's also a lot of fun. If it's something you want to do, GO FOR IT!!"

The next stop in town was Glacier Cyclrey, which seems to be a major stop for many Northern Tier cyclists. The people at the bike shop suggested we go to lunch two doors down at an excellent pizza place. They also gave us their Bike Tourist Guest Log, which all bike tourists passing through sign and write a little something in, sometimes a note, sometimes a poem, sometimes a picture. I wrote a not about our trip and how wonderful it is to meet so many fantastic people along the way; it's like a constant party atmosphere. Over lunch, Steve and Dave told us stories about Ragbrai, an organized ride across Iowa. That, too, has a very party like atmosphere. "In my opinion," Dave said, not for the first time, "Any bike tourist has to do Ragbrai at least once. It's a must." Apparently, there are people who ride unicylces, paraplegics who pedal with their hands, people who carry barbecues on their bicycles, and lots and lots of beer. As many as 20,000 riders have participated in a single year!

After lunch, dad and I returned to the bike shop to get some alternate directions from Whitefish to Glacier. The man in the bike shop sounded like he'd given this spiel before. "So, nice, strong touring bikes," he said, glancing out the window at our bikes, "You can handle a little dirt road. We'd rather change a flat than scrape our partner off the pavement."

"Depends how hot it is." dad joked.

"Well, of course you'd find a shade tree..." He dove into his instructions, highlighting roads on a map, and noting a place where a spring of ice cold water flows out of the mountain. Just as he finished, Dave, Pat, and Bill walked in.

"Ah, we probably need those exact same directions..." Dave said. Sighing, the man started to give the directions all over again.

Day 12

2008-06-29T19:31:00.000-07:00

JUNE 20 Riverbend Campground to Eureka, MT

Honestly, not a ton happened... the road was full of long, rolling hills; there was barely a flat section all day. For much of the ride, dad and I "discussed" (read "argued") about nature vs. nurture... a light topic for riding. It did help make the miles pass faster. We caught up with Michael and Steve (who were out of camp before we even woke up) right as we all stopped for lunch. We were at the top of one of our steeper climbs, between two stubby rock walls dotted with climbers. We climbed out onto a small ledge overlooking Lake Koocanusa to eat; dad and I ate our usual: cream cheese and bagels, trail-mix, roasted almonds, and apples. Steve had a more interesting meal: spam and sardines. The really surprising part was that he enjoyed it.
The rest of the ride, though bumpy, passed relatively quickly. In town, we stopped at Jax Cafe for milkshakes all around: mom had chocolate, dad, Michael, and Barb had huckleberry, Steve had a root beer float, and I had strawberry, my old standby (I'm going to get across the country on strawberry milkshakes, and m&m blizzards!) It was the best milkshake so far.I stopped in at the Library, then went to the city park where we were camping. The site was okay (although it was a Friday night and no one in Eureka has a muffler) but the bathroom easily won the award for worst on the trip; it was dim, dank, and all around unpleasant. As Michael said while leaving it, "I can't see without my glasses, so I didn't really see anything in the shower. I think if I had, I wouldn't have showered." (That means a lot, since one of the cardinal rules of bike touring is NEVER PASS UP A SHOWER. That come right after "never pass up a dairy queen")
For dinner, we went to a restaurant in Eureka with Bill, Pat, and Dave. The waitress took our drink orders, and when she came to Pat, he ordered a beer. I didn't say anything, but I was pretty sure he was only 19. Later (once we left the restaurant) Dave explained it to us, "Pat's been getting away with it for a while now. Especially out west." Since then, Pat has had beer with dinner most nights, and he's only been carded once. I too have been offered beer twice (the waiter will bring out a pitcher of beer, and bring me a glass). I haven't taken them up on it yet, and I don't really plan to. Just a reminder that we're in Montana!

I know, it's a short entry, but as I said it was a slow day. And, as I write this in a hotel lobby, a cheap sounding soap opera is playing on the TV above my head. I'm not watching, but it makes it really hard to focus.

Day 11

2008-06-27T15:19:00.000-07:00

JUNE 19 Cabinet Gorge Camp Ground to Riverbend Campground

The ride out of Cabinet Gorge has to be one of the most beautiful of the trip (and we've ridden through Glacier National Park, so the standards are pretty high!) We passed through the Cabinet Mountain Wilderness area; there were beautiful mountains, pine trees, wild flowers (I'm a bit of a flower nut... a lot of my pictures so far have been of the flowers we've seen), and ponds with glassy surfaces to reflect everything. Fifteen miles in, we decided to go on a little detour that Bill (the physics teacher) had suggested. Bill said that just a couple miles off the road there was a hundred acre stand of old growth cedars, the Ross Creek Cedar Grove; one of his friends had told them that the trees are breath taking... almost a religious experience.

What Bill didn't tell us was the of the 4 miles to get to the cedars, nearly two were uphill... up a very steep hill with about a 10% grade! By the time dad and I had discovered this for ourselves, we were too committed to the climb to turn back. Of course, going back to the road... well, that made the climb all worth while!

The cedar grove was impressive as well. When we got there, Steve was just propping up his bike (he was the only other person in the group to make it up the climb... even Bill didn't go!) The three of us spent the next half an hour wandering the nature trail, marvelling at the size of the trees (boy did it feel good to be walking instead of riding!) Listening to Steve ooh and ahh at the girth of the cedars, I realized how lucky we are in Oregon; sure, this grove was impressive, but I've certainly seen similar things within an hours drive of my front door. I suppose St. Louis (Steve's home) doesn't have as many massive trees. After taking a few pictures of Artoo "visiting Endor", we remounted our bikes and headed out.

The scenery began to decline after we left the Cedar Grove: the snow capped mountains shrunk to tree -covered domes, the meadows gave way to forests of short trees, and the tumbling streams and glassy ponds disappeared (it was still quite beautiful, especially thinking back to it now, from the heart of the plains!) A short ways down the road we turned onto highway 2, which has been our constant riding companion ever since. Four miles down the road we stopped at Kootenai Falls, basically a mass of pale green water pouring rapidly over a tall lip... not as majestic as the tall, thin waterfalls I'm used to, but it definitely wins in a competition of brute force. Next we went to a swinging bridge a short way down the river, running into Pat and Bill along the way. "There's some excellent physics on that bridge!" Bill told me, "Resonance, standing waves, I mean, if you stand at the right place and jump..." he trailed off, shaking his head excitedly. After a few lively tromps across the bridge (during which I prayed the wooden slats wouldn't give out beneath me and send me to my death) we headed back to the bikes. The two of us were talking animatedly when my eyes fell to the ground in front of me: a garter snake was slithering innocently across the path. My hands clapped to my face, and I made an involuntary yelping-cluck for the next 30 seconds (I HATE snakes!!) After the snake disappeared into the bushes, I calmed down, and dad quit laughing at me, we got back to our bikes to go the rest of the way to camp.

That morning I began to see a new sight alongside the road: stubby white crosses on red pipes, like the ones used in plumbing. Some were decked out with garlands and banners, like for Easter; others were simple left as they are, bare. I began to count them as I rode, and in the first day, in just 64 miles, I reached 24 crosses. By now, I'm up to 121. As a matter of fact, the only thing more common in western Montana were "Vote for Ron Paul" signs (even though he has already dropped out!!)Either way, they represent the same thing: Someone killed in a car accident at that spot. Someone taken from their family ; someone whose story ended at that spot. Dad and I have joked about this ride being the "No Cross Crossing" because we don't want to be made into those little crosses. I'm beginning to think that is taking the story behind those crosses a little to lightly.

Edit

2008-06-25T17:07:00.000-07:00

I've been told that the link I gave 2 posts ago doesn't lead to Michael's picture site, so I'm trying again. To see our pictures, go to www.Seaworthy.org and follow the pictures link.

Peace,
Seth

Day 10

2008-06-25T16:14:00.000-07:00

Okay... the blog today will probably be of a lower quality than usual; I'm totally beat! Today we rode 114 miles across the high plains. Luckily, we had a nice tail wind... but that story will come with time. For today, my blog will be mostly what's written in my journal, which is a bit rushed at time...

JUNE 18 Sandpoint to Cabinet Gorge RV Park MT (state #3! and a really LONG state at that. We'll probably be as happy to get out of it as we were to get into it.)
We got a bit latter start than normal since we had a short ride... only 55 miles. We started out biking along a bike path into Sandpoint, and conditions couldn't have been better: sunny, mid-60s, tail winds, great scenery... Along the bike path, there weren't even any cars! That changed on highway 200 on the way out of Sandpoint. Cars going to work zinged by, and then massive trucks, carrying logs, rocks, tractors, or nothing at all. Often, the shoulder was non-existent, and only the nice drivers gave us any room. Still, it felt amazing to be back on the bike.
Eventually, Michael and Steve caught up with us (they had started before us, but stopped for a second breakfast at Burger King). A couple of miles later, we pulled into the Idaho town of Clark Fork, and turned away from the Pend Orielle Lake for good (we had ridden next to the Pend Orielle River, and then the Pend Orielle Lake for the past few days, and I was definitely ready for a new name, at least!) We rode along down Clark Fork Road (not a very creative name, but the scenery made up for it) until the road turned from smooth black asphault, to bumpy gray concrete and chip seal. We guessed correctly that we had entered Montana (where, apparently, road maintenence is not high on their priorities). We ate lunch, and I took pictures of Artoo straddeling the change in pavement... right on the boarder. Meanwhile, Dad and Steve tried to fix a mysterious clikcing noise coming from Steve's derailleur. After spending an hour trying to fix the derailleur, including trying to shim it in place with a strip of a beer can (which Steve obligingly drank) and losing another hour to the time zone change along the boarder, we decided to move on, despite the mysterious noise.
The rest of our ride passed by quickly (though not for Michael, whose knee screamed everytime he pushed down the pedal... by the last few miles, he resorted to pedalling with only one foot.) The scenery was phenomonal. All day we had been joking that we were riding through the country where the unabomber lived; after about an hour of riding in Montana, I pulled up next to dad, and called over "You know, the unabomber was crazy and all, but he had some immecable taste in scenery."
Around 4:00, after camp was set up and I had showered, I noticed three touring bikes lying in the grass and three lycra-clad bodies standing near-by. I decdied to go over and introduce myself. "Hi! I saw some other bike tourists so I just came over to meet you. There's a bunch of us already over there," I pointed at our campsite, "you're welcome to join us. I'm Seth , by the way."
"I'm Pat." said the youngest, shaking my hand. He's 19, a little shorter than me, and has a beard.
"And I'm his dad, Dave." said the tallest, who had brown hair.
"And I'm Bill." the last one introduced himself.
"You must be the other father-son team we heard about." Pat said, "Bob at..." he snapped his fingers a few times, "At Colville told us about you two." Dad walked over, and the 5 of us talkeda while, then went our separate ways to get ready for dinner.
Back at the table, Barb was busy making spaghetti sauce, "Maybe one of them's an Orthopedic Surgeon." she said, glancing at the new cyclists, "I worry about Michael and his knee... he's a good kid." She went back to chopping onions for a moment, "How old is he, by the way?"
"Forty-two." Dad told her.
"Wow, that makes me feel old," she said, shaking her head, "I can't believe I just called a 42 year-old a kid!
Before we ate, we went back over to talk to Pat, Dave, and Bill again. Dave told us about midwest colleges- Carleton and Kalamazoo- and about Pat majoring in Chemistry at St. Olaf's. "Just be careful talking about chemistry, "Dave warned, "Bill here was Pat's physics teacher, and he's very proud of his subject."
"Chemistry is just a sub-set of physics!" Bill growled mischieviously.
When everyone was done laughing, mom looked over at Dave, "So, what do you do?"
"Oh, I'm an orthopedic doctor." he said. Mam and Barb looked at each other and started laughing.
"One of the people we're riding with has some knee problems," Barb explained, "and we were just joking that one of you guys might be an Orthopod."
"Hey Michael," dad called, crooking his finger, "I have someone for you to meet. He's an orthopedic surgeon."
"Yep, I'm the real deal." Dave said as Michael walked over.
"Oh, you're my best friend." Michael said as Dave led him away to do some stretches on his knee.
After dinner, I again mangled playing frisbee, this time with Pat, and then went to bed.

Days 7, 8, & 9

2008-06-20T14:20:00.000-07:00

For starters, since I can't get any pictures up on this, I'm putting up the link to Michael's Flicker account... he says there are tons of pictures on there already, so maybe it will make up for my lack there of... anyways, it's at http://www.flicker.com/photos/michaelcr .... no promises that it will work getting there; post a comment if you have any problems and I'll ask Michael about it.

JUNE 15 Colville to Blueslide Campground
We got off to a rather late start out of Colville... 7:30. I was trying to rush out of camp to keep up with everybody else, but dad was simply taking his time, "No need to rush... it's a short day. Besides, we're on vacation." Finally, I pulled out my book and read until he was ready. Looking back on it, though, he was 100% right.... there is no need to rush. We're out here to smell the roses! Since then, I've been working on my patience.
On the way out of Colville, dad noticed my rear tire was almost completely flat. We pulled over, and dad decided to fix it since he can change a tire faster than I can; as he did, he discovered an enormous piece of glass- about half the size of my fingernail- wedged into the tire. He removed the glass, then changed the tire, and finally we got out of Colville! Sixteen miles down the road, we stopped for a snack at Crystal Falls... and decided that everything was so pleasant that it would be nice to sit there and read for a few minutes. We situated our sitz-pads by the trail, pulled out our waterbottles, bags of carrots, and trailmix, and sat in the shade reading for the next half an hour.
Eventually we made it into camp... after an awfully long day to cover only 47 miles... at blueslide, along the Pend Orielle River (pronounced Ponderay... it's French, I think.) We dropped our bikes at the site, and soon I was playing frisbee with Steve (or, I was attempting to and failing miserably... I've never had any hand-eye coordination.) I showered, and then dad and I cooked our most creative dinner of the trip so far: for an appetizer, two tortillas with cheese in the middle, and pizza sauce & salami on top; for dinner, a Ramen based soup, with Cayenne, curry, tomato sauce, cream cheese, and greenbeans added to it. Surprisingly, both were quite good.
After dinner, Steve met another dog: Shamus, a mutt with gray fur everywhere but the side of his face and ears, which were brown. I started talking to Steve, an avid dog lover, and he said, "The more people I meet, the more I like dogs." I didn't really think about what he was saying, so I nodded and walked off. But as soon as I started to think about it, I realized I totally disagree. My statement would be, "The more people I meet, the more I like people!" Most people are nice, caring, generous, and curious. This has been proved to me time and again on this trip by people we've met. In truth, that's been my favorite part, meeting new people, hearing their stories, and getting to know them a little better. The world is full of interesting people!

JUNE 16 Blueslide Campground to Sandpoint ID (yes, as in IDAHO! State #2!!)
For the first, and probably only, time on this trip, dad and I were the first ones to start biking in the morning, beginning around 6:30 (which had the unfortunate side affect of requiring that we wake up an hour earlier... at 5:30). Both of us were eager to see mom, who was meeting us in Sandpoint to spend the upcoming week with us. The first miles flew by as we rode along broad flat stretches with a gentle tail wind next to the beautiful Pend Orielle River. Mid morning, we crossed to the other side, and dad spotted some tiger lilies growing amongst the lupine alongside the road. The occasion merited at least a picture, so we rolled to a stop and pulled out our cameras. Midway through the break, my nose started to bleed (the air is a lot drier than I'm used to east of the Cascades!), which extended our break another 15 minutes. Furthermore, I swallowed enough blood that I was nauseous the next couple of miles.
We stopped for another snack, hoping that the extra food might calm down my stomach. Two handfuls of gorp later and I felt fine. Dad also found a beat up Star Wars action figure on the ground by our bikes. I took some pictures of him next to an R2-D2 figure Sky lent me for help with any mechanical issue on my bike, and sent one home to Conor. We left the figure my dad found, but I have big plans for R2... I'm going to try to take pictures of him throughout the ride in all the different settings we encounter.
The afternoon seemed to go on for ever, the air slowly getting warmer, and our waterbottles slowly getting emptier. Finally, Dad pulled into Round Lake State Park to refill our waterbottles. A white pickup truck pulled up. "Where y'all goin'?" the ranger inside asked. He had a big face, with tan skin, a gray-black moustache and short hair the same color, and sunglasses.
"Sandpoint tonight," my dad answered, "and eventually to Maine."
"Y'all goin' to Glacier?" the ranger asked, and both dad and I nodded, "That's my favorite playground 'round here."
"Do you think Going-to-the-Sun will be open?" my dad asked, referring to the pass that would take us through Glacier.
"I bet not." he said, "They just got a foot of snow there on Tuesday. They've done miracles before, but I wouldn't count on it." He must have noticed the glum looks on our faces, so he changed the subject, "You ever heard about Theodore Roosevelt National Park?" Dad shook his head, "Well you'll be right by it going through North Dakota. Been to the Badlands?"
"Years ago." dad answered.
"Well, this is the Badlands on steroids. I'd definitely suggest goin' there. Well, have a nice day." Turns out, the park is farther off our route than he thought, but not out of reach. Time allowing, I hope we can amend our plans so we can visit Theodore Roosevelt Park... if only to break up the great plains a little.
Finally, we got to the campground outside of Sandpoint and met Mom, and her friend Barb who came with her. What commenced was a feast (by bike touring standards, at the very least): Strawberries from our garden, root beer, triscuts, cherries, salad, and best of all, goldfish!! I've been shovelling those things down since we opened the box. I will say, it sort of shattered any illusion of simple living dad and I built up over the first week. Oh well, we have 8 more weeks later to rebuild it.
That evening, we found out that Greg and Caroline (right) broke a spoke on their tandem, and Steve began to have issues with his front derailleur. It was a lucky thing that all of the mechanicals happened just outside of Sandpoint!

JUNE 17 Sandpoint to... Sandpoint!
Our first rest day... and not much happened. The scenery didn't change and we didn't really meet anyone new. Sort of a blah day. In return, however, we got to sleep in, do laundry, send out postcards, and catch up in my journal. I still prefer the days when we ride. All of us (Mom , dad, Barb, Michael, Jerry, Greg, Caroline, and myself) minus Steve went out for Mexican food. That was really the extent of the excitement.

Day 6

2008-06-17T12:10:00.000-07:00

JUNE 14 Republic to Colville
I woke up freezing the morning in Republic. The day had been warm and I forgot that the town is situated at 3000 ft above sea level, so all my warm clothes were packed. Around 6:30 dad and I made our way into Clifford and Judy's house. When we got there, Clifford offered to make us oatmeal for breakfast, which sounded delicious. The oats turned out to fill only half the bowl; the rest was piled high with dried fruit... apricots, craisens, prunes... as well as sliced bananas. The mixture was so sweet I didn't even need to add sugar (which means a lot, coming from a Sugar addict like me!) That was probably the best bowl of oatmeal I've ever eaten.
Surprisingly, Shurman Pass, the highest we crossed in Washington at 5575 ft, was one of the easier climbs (and not just because we started at 3000 ft.) It was the first pass that I didn't agonize over each mile to the summit. The downhill took us 20 miles, right up to the shore of Franklin D. Roosevelt Lake, which is a part of the Columbia River. The last part of our ride into Colville was over rolling hills, which went rather easily, although both of us were tired and our tempers were beginning to fray.
In Colville, we camped at the fairgrounds, along with Steve, Michael, and Jerry. Shortly after dad and I arrived, a husband and wife on a tandem rolled into camp. Greg and Caroline are from Michigan, and I'm amazed that they are crossing the country on a tandem... I'd want some time apart from who I was riding with. Right after Greg and Caroline, Bob, the camp manager, walked over. "Hello, folks. I'm Bob. What're your names?"
"I'm Chip and this is my son, Seth." My dad replied. After that, whenever Bob talked to us, he used our first name, which always made me feel rather welcome.
"Well, Chip, 't's $10 for the night. And there's a rodeo goin' on tonight you folks might all enjoy." After Bob left, I rode first over to the library with Michael, and then to the store with dad. Back at camp, Bob came over again to show us some "shortcuts" along the road the next couple of days. "So, Steve, you can see here this is the route your maps show to get to Usk" (a city on the way to Sandpoint, or destination for Monday) his finger traced traced the roads along the map. Then he moved his finger along a different path, "The maps say this road is 'undeveloped' but it's all smooth asphalt. There is a little climb in the middle, though. Nothing you can't handle."
"How high?" asked Steve, nervously.
"Well, you can see the mountains in Canada from it's top. Le'see here..." he searched on the map for the height, "5700 ft." We all looked at each other with wide eyes.
"That would be our highest climb so far! We'll be going a different way." Steve said, "We're through with passes."
Dad was going to go to the rodeo, but after dinner, we both decided we were too tired, and would rather stay at camp (which was basically right next to the rodeo anyway) to read (Crime and Punishment is my summer reading project... thanks Mr. Soles!) and catch up in our journals. We read and wrote for the next three hours, then at 10 we tried to go to bed while loud country music played for an after-rodeo dance. Actually, falling asleep wasn't that hard; after riding my bike all day, I usually feel that I could fall asleep on a pile of rocks.

P.S. I posted twice today, so you might want to look at the post before this as well!

Days 4 &5

2008-06-17T11:05:00.000-07:00

JUNE 12 Winthrop to Tonasket

We left Winthrop a bit later than we had planned, taking time to chat with Tom over breakfast (He made us toast and scrambled eggs.... altogether, he was an amazingly generous host. I hope we meet more people like him. Thank You Tom!!) The first ten miles, from Winthrop to Twisp, went by quickly, riding downhill with a light tailwind. After Twisp, we began to climb again. The climb to Loup Loup Pass was fairly gradual... 3-6% grade... but it was continuous, climbing for 8 miles straight, without leveling off or dropping down. So far, that has been the hardest climb, even though it was not too steep and not too long.
A few miles from the top of the pass, dad and I stopped for a snack/brunch of apples and trailmix (m&ms, craisens, and peanuts). As we were packing up, another bike tourist appeared over a bump in the hill. At first we thought it might be Michael or Steve, but as he drew nearer, we realized we didn't recognize him. "Helyo!" he called out in a funny accent, that at first sounded like a Scottish brogue, and then made me wonder if English was a second language. (I later found out that he lived in Altoona, Pennsylvania, right in the middle of the Appalachians, which explained the accent... those of us from Oregon often think ours is the only correct dialect; I'm learning day by day that we're wrong!) The rider didn't introduce himself, but "William" was written on his bag in Sharpie. William told us that this was his fourth crossing of America, and he and his buddy planned to take only 50 days to do it (dad and I are taking 70!) He's also adding a bunch of miles, zigging down to Yellowstone, then up to Montreal before ending in Bar Harbor.
When we started riding again, William (whose 63 years old) bolted ahead of us and hammered his way to the top, leaving us and his buddy (another Steve) behind. Just as we reached the top, a Red Subaru pulled up next to us, "Are any of you missing a sandal?" the driver asked. Looking back at my bike, I realized that I was.
"Ah...yes." I replied, "How far back is it?"
"Only a mile or two." She must have seen my face fall at the thought of going back, because she offered to go back and get it. I thanked her probably four times when she returned with the shoe. We met our third road angel in 4 days (Randy, Tom, and now the Woman in the Car).
After a glorious descent from Loup Loup (that more than made up for the climbing) dad and I stopped for lunch at a park in Okanogan; it was there that we met our first mosquitoes of the trip... I'm still scratching some of the bites I got there. We decided to push a little farther than we had planned that day, to make it into Tonasket... which would give us a ride of about 70 miles that day The last few miles into town started to feel really long, so I made up a rhyme, singing "A Tisket A Tasket, We're Going to Tonasket!" to keep my legs pumping the pedals. The landscape between Loup Loup and Tonasket really made me realize how lucky I am to live where I do: the land was parched, with few trees and less green; everything seemed a dusty brown. Occasionally a tattered wooden house or rundown trailer would appear out of the grass, only adding to the gloomy feeling of the place. It feels very important to see this stuff, this side of life, but it's also pretty grim. It's so much easier to stick my head in the sand... but that doesn't help anybody.
In Tonasket we went stayed on the front lawn of a restaurant (right by a highway), ate dinner at a pizza parlor, and showered at a laundromat. It was still probably one of my favorite nights so far on the trip. The redeeming quality? William and Steve (above) were staying the same place we were. William was a treasure trove of stories, about biking and otherwise. He told us about "my boy and me" fighting off a bear using pepper spray to save their food; about men in a town on an Indian Reservation "checking out my women... I mean wife."; and about his bike crash that dislocated his clavicle and "the doctors wanted to take out the whole bone, they it wasn' important, but I says I'd take my chances." (He can pop the clavicle out about an inch... See Megowan, you're not alone!) Finally we all went off to bed, about an hour later than we had planned.

JUNE 13 Tonasket to Republic
Trucks roaring by our "campsite" woke me up that morning about 5. Eventually, i climbed out of my tent, placked up my bags and ate breakfast. William and Steve went over to a shell station to pick up coffee. Returning, William triumphantly held up a pastry "ahh, this is the stuff! Bear Clawrs, this is whot keeps me going... hoh hoh hoh." As we ate, he told us about a Cross country tour he had gone on with his son, " 'e never thought Oi was that 'telligent! 'e comes back and says "it was me dad who got me cross the country. Hoh Hoh Hoh." dad elbowed me as William spoke and I smiled back. I have I feeling I'll learn the same thing William's son did. When dad and I left camp, William called out, "May the wind be at your backs!"
"You too!" we responded, "And keep the rubber side down!" The climb up Wasuconda Pass (4310ft) began just outside of Tonasket, and continued up for 25 miles. William and Steve caught up with us about half way up. Near the top, we passed a pair of people walking over the pass, "Y'see, Sef!" William called, "You don' go' it so bad.It probably take them 3 days to ge' ofver de pass... Hoh hoh hoh."
The steepest part of the pass came in the last few miles. The map said we only had two miles to go to the summit, but it turned into three. My butt and hamstrings were beginning to really hurt, so I was very unhappy about the discrepancy. After perhaps an undue amount of whining on my part we reached the summit. Dad and I munched on our bagels, then said goodbye to William and Steve (probably for good, since they were planning to go overShurman pass that day as well. They traveled 75-85 miles in a day and didn't take rest days.) The rest of our ride was down hill, and we arrived in Republic a little before 1 in the afternoon. As we descended, i noticed that trees were beginning to return to the previously parched landscape: apparently we had left the rain shadow of the Cascades and entered a more verdant area.
In Republic we stopped at the Library (where I posted my first entry while on the trip) the store (where we met a woman with 25 grandchildren, 39 great grandchildren, and 3 great great grandchildren) then went to the house we planned to spend the night at (another couple my dad had met online.)
Clifford and Judy (left) were some of the most hospitable and friendly people we met on the entire trip. Dad and I planned to set up camp and then go to explore Republic, which was having its Prospector's Days Festival. Just as we were about to remount our bikes and head into town, Clifford (who we had met earlier) walked out of the house and introduced us to his wife, Judy. They invited us to have "supper" with them, and we agreed on eating at 6. Then, dad and I pedaled into town (which feels totally different on unloaded bikes!)
In Republic, we ran into Jerry, Steve, and Michael again, who we hadn't seen since Winthrop. Then we sat on the grass in the park, enjoying the sights and sounds of Prospector's Days around us. We also enjoyed the smells... perhaps a little too much: dad got an Italian Sausage sandwich for us to split, our appetizer. It didn't hurt our appetites any... when we returned to Judy and Clifford's house we helped make dinner, then scarfed it down. Judy had made a delicious spaghetti sauce, with mushrooms, sundried tomatoes, and more Italian sausage, as well as a salad with fresh vegetables and dried fruit. We talked for a while, but my energy levels were steadily dropping, so soon we were saying goodnight and heading to bed.

Day 3

2008-06-14T15:48:00.001-07:00

Okay... I'm not sure if I'm really allowed to be on the Internet in this library, since I'm only 17, but no one has said anything, so...

JUNE 11 Colonial Creek to Winthrop
This was the big day... our first two passes: Rainy Pass (4855 ft) and Washington Pass (5477 ft).
My alarm went off at 5:30, and dad and I spent the next hour and a half getting ready to take on the passes. Steve, Michael and Jerry had left the camp just ahead of us, but we didn't see them again until we were a good way into the climb. The road goes almost strait up out of Colonial Creek, so soon dad and I were stripping off layers of clothes, down to our jerseys, tights, and gloves (and it was 40 degrees out...). As long as I remained pedalling I stayed nice and toasty. It was only when I stopped to snap a picture or eat a snack that I got chilled. New waterfalls appeared every three minutes or so as we rode, probably from snow melt. As the ascent wore on, dad and I started singing oldies to keep us going (Margarietaville, I Am A Rock, etc.) We usually only got out a verse before running out of words we remembered.
It started to rain about 6 miles from the top, drizzling at first, and then building to a downpour. Dad rode and talked with Michael, while I plowed on toward the pass. Snow appeared by the side of the road in big dirty mounds, my jersey was unzipped to my bellybutton, and my rain jacket was flapping in in the wind, but I was still overheating. With the rain, pine trees, and fog covered mountains, I was reminded of some pictures I've seen of the Alps. When we reached the top of Rainy Pass, we all stood shivering in the rain, taking pictures of the sign and congratulating each other. Shortly, we moved on, descending into a shallow valley between Rainy Pass and Washington Pass. The scenery was, of course, spectacular. (I'm finding that I'm running out of words to describe the things I've seen. You'll just have to see the pictures... which I can't seem to load onto my blog from a library computer! It's quite irksome.) The top of Washington Pass finally came, after only a few brutal miles, leaving us with only a massive downhill, beginning with a glorious sign that read "7.5% grade next 7 miles".
The sign was true to its word, and the next 15 miles flew by. Then, when we reached the bottom, a strong tail wind carried us the rest of the way into Winthrop. During the descent the weather changed: the rain stopped, the sun came out, and the temperature rose about 30 degrees! In Winthrop, Dad and I stopped for ice cream (I had a strawberry milkshake) then headed to the store. On the way a man on a moped/mini-motorcycle passed us and shouted "Walden?!"
"Yeah!" my dad responded, recognizing out email address "You must be Tom." Tom was a man my dad found on the Internet who often let bike tourists spend the night at his house. We picked up our groceries, then found our way to Tom's house. He let us sleep in his basement (Dad got a bed and I got a couch) use his showers and laundry machine, and fed us barbecue chicken for dinner. Over dinner we discussed Tom's own trip across the country (2800 miles across the southern tier in 23 days!) and his trips through Cuba by bike (which sounded like a ton of fun... He's gone 5 times, 3 times with his son, and says the weather is great and the Cubans are really nice.) After dinner, dad and I crashed, exhausted from our 63 miles and 2 passes.

Ciao
Seth

P.S. Hello to everyone in Ms. Greendale's class in Las Vegas, Nevada! It's great to hear your thinking of us.

P.P.S. I'm sorry if this gets to narrative-y... I'm usually writing on a limited time on a library computer. I'm going to have to get less detailed too, otherwise I'll never keep up with what's going on!

Days 1 and 2

2008-06-13T12:42:00.000-07:00

Oh my... so much has happened. Each day feels like a whole week! I don't know how in depth to go on this (I could probably write a whole novel) so I'll try to give some of the juicer details and add some pictures for flavor (though I'm not sure I can get them onto this computer... I'm in the Republic Library, and I only have half-an-hour to write, so sorry if I sound a bit rushed.)

JUNE 9 Anacortes to Concrete
Dad and I started riding at about 9 am, after saying goodbye to mom. We stopped three times in the first 15 minutes to put on rain gear. That really set the mood for the day. The sky stayed cloudy for most of the day, the rain coming in spurts. Still, the scenery was amazing, and dad and I soon developed a rhythm to our riding. Just as we finished cycling along the Padilla Bay Shore Trail (a beautiful ride along a hard-packed gravel path with mud flats to the left and farmland to the right) three bikers (shown below left to right Steve, Jerry, Dad, Me, Michael) we met in Anacortes who are also planning to cross the country caught up with us (actually, my dad had met Michael online a few months ago, and the two of them have been talking about the trip ever since).
The rain picked up again a few miles farther along, so dad and I decided to stop for lunch. We rolled up to a house that had a shed with a promising looking overhang, and knocked on the door. When nobody had answered after a couple of minutes, we decided to go ahead and eat under the overhang anyway. Before long, I was shivering away in the cold weather, so we decided to keep moving to warm back up.
We spent the second half of the day riding through the Skagit River Valley, probably one of the most amazing places I've been, even in the rain. Especially in the rain! The Sakgit river flowed by to the left of the road, and to the right fields stretched away to green mountains with mist floating off of them. Eventually, after 54 miles of cold, wet riding, we rolled into Concrete Washington where we planned to stay for the night.
In concrete, we set up camp in a small RV park, fighting against the wind just to set up camp. Dad and I wanted to go into town to pick up food for dinner, but the storm just seemed to be getting worse, so we decided to eat in the cafe at the RV park, with Steve, Michael, and Jerry. I suppose I ought to introduce Steve, Michael, and Jerry, beyond just "other riders". Steve is 54, retired, and from St. Louis. He's sort of the leader of their group. Michael is 42 and from Bar Harbor, and not yet retired, so he has to hurry home. He has a very dry sense of humor. Jerry is 60 and retired; he's from Michigan. He also rides a recumbent, which is easier on his butt and knees, but makes climbing hills a difficult task.
After dinner, we called mom, then rode into the store to pick up groceries for breakfast the next morning and dinner the next night. Big purple clouds were building as we pulled into the parking lot at the Red Apple. As we dismounted, two women walked out and glanced at our bikes, "My friends up in Sedro Wooley say that storm just blew by, dropping big hailstones!" said one.
"I've considered building up my back room so bicyclists passing through can stay there during a storm." The other said.
"There's a word for people like that," my dad replied, "Road Angels."
"Oooh, I like that!" she said, "I've spent the last 10 years pissing off people on the road as a flagger. It'd be nice to be an Angel."
The clouds burst just as we got into the store, pelting down giant rain drops. dad and I took our time picking out our groceries, hoping that the storm would pass, but it didn't. We were just preparing to ride out through the storm when a short man with tan skin, a crease down the side of his face, and long dark hair walked up and offered us a ride back to our campsite.
We couldn't fit two bikes into his PT Cruiser, so he ferried us back, taking me first and then dad. Just as we neared the campsite, he told me his name was Randy. I introduced myself and thanked him, and then we were hustling the bike and gear out of his car and over to the tent. Just before he drove away, Randy looked back at me, "You know, Seth, getting this ride from me is cheating!" he grinned, then left. It was day one, and we had already met our first Road Angel. The rain falling on my tent that night was almost loud enough to keep me awake. Almost.

JUNE 10 Concrete to Colonial Creek Campground
We woke up around 7 the next morning, thankful that it wasn't raining. It took us 2 hours to break camp that morning (a process we'll have to streamline!) and then we were back riding through the Skagit River Valley. Around 11, the sun came out for us for the first time on the trip, and stayed with us for the rest of the day. We stopped for lunch in a quarry/rock yard and even considered putting on sunscreen. That afternoon we passed through Newhalem, and after that the road turned skyward. The last 10 miles of our day were spent climbing through the beginning of the North Cascades (we got to pass through 2 tunnels along the way!!) until we descended into our campground near Diablo Lake (probably one of the prettiest we'll see for the whole trip, even though the water was out, meaning pit toilets and no showers).
That evening we ate dinner (a stir fry of rice and vegetables) sitting around Steve, Michael, and Jerry's campfire (for an "entry fee" of extra firewood). After dinner, Jerry began scavenging through his bags, searching for items to leave behind, trying to drop weight for the brutal climb up to Washington pass the next day. The things he pulled out were astonishing: a battery powered shaver (that Michael ended up saving) a huge pair of scissors, a bolt driver.... That night I went to bed around 8:45, exhausted, and still hungry, even after eating more than half a pot of rice and vegetables!

I'm pretty much out of time now, so I'll write about the climb to Washington Pass later.

Cheers!
Seth

2008-06-02T20:28:00.000-07:00

Only 1 week!!

I had an exciting weekend... two "goodbye" parties, plus a study group, and I got my head shaved. It's definitely a new look (and feel) for me. I haven't been able to stop touching my head. The picture is of me and one of our family friends, Mel; he's the one who shaved my head (he did a really good job... he barely even nicked me).

On Sunday I was stuck by a moment of panic: We haven't been taining enough! We're not going to make it over the cascades! My knees will give out after the first day!... all my nervousness came out at once. I've gotten over it for the most part now, though. I think we'll make it all the way across the country.

PS - this is from the Mom/Sue. this blog should've been posted last week; i just left chip and seth this morning -the 9th- they started on their adventure at 8:57am. will leave it to seth to write the specifics!!!

Canby Herald Article

2008-05-31T15:45:00.000-07:00

Well, here's the article from the local newspaper for those of you who don't live in Canby

Canby boy plans cross country trip with father
Fundraising effort part of the motivation for this trip
By John Baker

In a world of uncertainty, Canby High School junior Seth Greendale is certain of one thing.
Come June 9, he and his father Chip are going to spend 10 weeks getting to know each other and the northern part of the United States in a unique and, they hope, special way.
Seth and his dad will take 10 weeks to bicycle from Anacortes, Wash. to Bar Harbor, Maine in a trip that isn’t just about father and son sharing something special, but about helping those who need it while on the 4,200 mile trek.
“My cousin Nathan, who is 8, is very allergic to peanuts and tree nuts, so I’m working with the Food Allergy and Anaphylaxis Network to try and raise funds through the trip,” said Seth.
He’s sent out letters requesting support. He’s also set up a donation site (www.firstgiving.com/cycling4allergies) and will be blogging before and during the trip at bikingforallergies.blogspot.com.
“I’ll try to keep the blog going while I’m biking, but I’m sure there are some places in North Dakota where it won’t be available,” he said with a laugh.
His dad, Chip, has a long history of biking as a triathlete. Seth, however, hadn’t taken to the bike until lately as he’s ridden with his dad and started getting in shape for the trip.
The pair will carry their own gear and will ride six days a week for 10 weeks.
“We’ll get there in late August, just in time to catch a plane and get back to Canby for school,” said Seth.
He said he worries about his cousin and hopes to not only raise funds with the ride, but raise awareness of food allergies.
He had wanted to tie in a fundraising element to the trip, but was looking for something a little different — then remembered his cousin’s situation and thought it would work perfectly.
Spending time on the road with his dad makes it even more satisfying — he hopes.“My dad and I will either come back real close or we’ll want to kill each other,” he said laughing. “It should be a really good adventure — seeing the country at 12 miles per hour.”

~Seth

Loose Ends

2008-05-20T17:08:00.001-07:00

20 days left...!!

I'm going to start this post with an embarassing little confession: I've named my bike. The idea came to me as I read the book Mom, Can I Ride My Bike Across America, about 5 kids and their teachers doing just that; in the book, they named their bikes everything from Bud, to Skittles, to Pack Rat... which sort of started me thinking. I wanted a fun, flashy, exciting name for my bike. Instead, I ended up with Brute. It's not actually my favorite of names, but it just sort of fits... the bike is big, heavy, and built to last.

On a vastly different note, I had an article published in the local newspaper about my trip and my fundraising (as a matter of fact, some of the people reading this right now could have gotten the address from that article!!) Once the story comes up on the newspaper's website, I'll try to copy and paste it here for anyone reading this blog who's not from the Canby area.

I figured I should probably also include a map of the route we're traveling on this site, but I'm just now getting around to it. We're basically following the bold, multi-colored line shown above. I'm imagining that the hardest part of the trip will be crossing through Eastern Montana and North Dakota... flat, flat, flat, and I hear that there is always a head wind.

(You can skip this next paragraph if you already know my story, the who's, what's, why's and how's) For anyone who is new to this blog and is just diving into the story, I suggest you start with the first article, Getting Started, which should be at the bottom of this page. It tells pretty mych what we're doing and why. For those of you who want the short version... My dad and I are taking 10 weeks this summer to bike across the country; we're carrying all of our own gear, and plan on camping most nights and we hope to average 70-ish miles a day, 6 days a week. I'm also using this as a chance to help raise awareness and funds for the Food Allergy and Anaphylaxis Network (FAAN; http://www.foodallergy.org/) because my cousin, Nathan, is deathly allergic to Peanuts and Treenuts. You can donate to FAAN by clicking on the button below.

Well, that tied up most of the loose ends I've had kicking around lately. Thanks for reading!!

~Seth

The Prequel, Part 2: The San Juans

2008-04-24T17:45:00.000-07:00

46 Days Left!!

(Sorry that everything is running together... I've been experience technical difficulties of the kind that make me want to break our computer).

As an aside... welcome to anyone from the Canby Swim Team visiting my blog. You probably want to scroll down and read the first post, Getting Started, at the bottom of the page. I hope you enjoy, and continue to read once the real adventure begins.

Well, back to my story... Late in the summer of 2006, Seth and I went on our first Bike tour. We decided (with lots of advice from my dad) that the San Juans would be a great place to start riding. So, on September 5th, we loaded three bikes, three sets of panniers, and three bodies into our car, and drove up to Anacortes Washington. It was my dad marveling at the lack of traffic in Seattle that jinxed us: the short drive up from Seattle to Anacortes seemed to take even longer than the drive up from Portland. Finally we arrived, set up our camp, and went out for Mexican food.

The next morning we all woke early and scarfed breakfast before loading everything back into the car and driving down to the ferry. At the ferry stop we finally got to load up our bikes. First we strapped on the panniers (bags that attach to a rack on the back of your bicycle) then bungeed our tents and sleeping bags to the top of the racks. We awkwardly wheeled our now quite heavy bikes down to the boarding ramp.

When the ferry finally arrived, we were allowed on first. After securing our bikes on the lower level, we climbed to the top to enjoy the view. Even though it was freezing, the ferry ride was one of my favorite parts of the trip. We stood in the front viewing section, watching secluded islands loom out of the early morning mist. Occasionally we would see a house clinging to a heavily wooded slope of an otherwise deserted lump of rock. Seth and I were so impressed by the scenery that we picked up a real-estate brochure from the ferry on the way off.

After the better part of an hour, the ferry's gently throbbing motor quieted, and we were let off at Friday Harbor on San Juan Island. The camp ground was only about five miles away, so we rode over there first and set up camp before going out to explore the island. We visited the old American and British military camps, as well as Roche Harbor, where we bought supplies for dinner. At Roche Harbor, Seth and I walked through the docks (I was bare foot because the bike cleats were hard to walk in and sounded like tap-dance shoes), admiring the sail boats. "Y'know," Seth said at one point, "It would be really neat to live out here. Have a house on one of the little islands and only be able to get in by boat." I agreed, and soon we were discussing what type of boat we'd want and what size of house would be best to live in.

Back at the campground, we jumped into the lake that lay just feet from our tents, not even bothering to change out of our bike shorts. When we were done splashing around (and admiring the denizens of the tiny beach across the lake) we dried off and prepared a spaghetti dinner. After the meal (and the clean up) was over, we started into a pinecone fight. Seth and I continually teamed up to attack my dad; however, when we were all done, my dad told us that neither of us had managed to hit him even once.

We woke up later than we planned the next morning and realized we had only a little over an hour before the ferry we planned to take left the harbor. We ate a hurried breakfast and tossed our gear onto the bikes (Seth was the only one who bothered to fold his tent), then raced to the ferry. We hammered along the back roads of San Juan Island at nearly 20 miles per hour; this was the second time Seth or I had ever ridden a loaded bike.

We caught the ferry just in time, and used the ride to catch our breath before getting off at the isolated Shaw Island (my favorite island on the trip; on the map above, its the lump sitting between Orcas, San Jaun, and Lopez island). There were few people on Shaw, and fewer cars (which is great for cycling). There were, however, some nasty hills on the island. One was steep enough that my front tire lifted off of the pavement. I wobbled for a second, then fell over in the middle of the road. I lay there for a second before my dad and Seth yelled at me, didn't I know a car could be coming? I righted myself and scurried to the side of the road. We continued up the hill, but just a few yards further on Seth's chain fell off his bike (a recurring problem for him on the trip.) We waited for him, then rode on, passing a tiny library attached to a public school house, then continued on right up to a dead end at someone's driveway. We stopped for a mid-morning snack, then turned around and cycled back to the ferry.

The ferry took us to Lopez Island, where we planned to stay the night. After we set up camp, we realized that our camp stove was almost out of fuel. We rode into town to pick up fuel and food. Along the way we passed a lot of flags displaying a big picture of planet earth with the inscription World Peace. They were everywhere throughout the islands, and one of my favorite man-made additions.

The next morning we woke up and caught the 8:30 ferry to Orcas Island. This was the island Seth and I had been looking forward to... and dreading. On the eastern half of the island, rising above Moran State Park, is Mount Constitution, a grueling five mile ascent at about a fifteen percent grade.

When we first arrived on Orcas, the weather felt different than it had the past two days: the fog had a heavier, damper feel to it, and occasionally we'd be ambushed by a little shower (although never anything serious). From the ferry dock at Orcas (the town) we rode to East Sound, a town right near the middle of the island. To get there we traveled along empty roads through trees hung with neat mobiles, mirrors, and ornaments. In East Sound we stopped at a small coffee shop for bagels and tea, then rode over to the store to pick up supplies for our dinner and breakfast. When we left East Sound, the weather was still looking grim, but by the time we pulled into our camp site at Moran State Park, summer had returned to the San Juans.

At the camp ground we stowed our bags under the picnic table, stripped all unnecessary weight from our bikes and bodies, then remounted our bikes and headed skyward. Both Seth and I already had a descent mountain under our belt (he'd ridden up to Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood with his dad, and I'd gone up Going to the Sun Highway in Glacier Park with my dad), but neither of us were ready for Mt. Constitution. Although the climb up Mt. Constitution is shorter than either the climb up to Timberline, or the climb up to Logan Pass (at the top of Going to the Sun) the road was easily much steeper. There were times during our ascent when we'd turn a corner and be faced with a stretch of pavement that seemed to rise at nearly a 45 degree angle in front of us. Finally we reached the top of Mt. Constitution; in the very end, I managed to push my body a little extra, sprinting ahead of my dad and Seth to be the first one to summit the mountain. At the top, we leaned our bike against the bathrooms, then walked along the trail to the view point. The view certainly was worth the ride: from where we stood, we could see across Puget Sound to the city of Bellingham, and beyond that Mt. Reinier. But by far, the best reward for our efforts was the ride back down the mountain. The whole way down I had my hands clamped tight around the brakes, squeezing them all of the way closed.... and I still never went below seventeen miles per hour. At the bottom of the road was a little, one-lane bridge. Just as Seth began to zip across it (still going incredibly fast from his descent) a car began to cross from the other direction. Seth just barely dodged around the car and off onto the shoulder on the other side of the bridge.

We took the rest of the evening easy, showering, eating dinner, and playing cards. Just after dinner, as dad and I began to do the dishes, Seth headed off for the spigot to refill everyone's water bottles. It was only after he arrived that he became acquainted with the local bees. As they flew out to greet him, Seth sprinted away to a safe distance, leaving the faucet running. There, he carefully unscrewed the cap of one water bottle then dashed back to stick it under the running water for a couple of seconds before the bees chased him away again. Luckily, he returned to camp unstung and with full water bottles.

Each night, my dad had reminded Seth and I to take our bike gear (our helmets, gloves, and shoes) and put them in the tent with us in case it rained. The night on Orcas he decided not to remind us; unfortunately, that was also the night that a storm blew in. We woke up the next morning and ate breakfast huddled in our tent, listening to the rain outside. Then we had to climb out of our warm home, pack up our stuff, don wet shoes, wet gloves and wet helmets, and pedal twelve miles back to the ferry dock in Orcas. We arrived thoroughly wet and cold, and ready to stash our bikes out of sight for a couple of weeks. We arrived home back in Canby later that day, and despite our discomfort, the seed had been planted, and I wasn't about ready to quit bike touring. If anything, I was readier than ever to plan our next adventure.

~Seth

The Prequel, Part 1

2008-04-22T17:33:00.000-07:00

T-minus 48 days and counting...

All of the bike touring stories I've read all seem to tell about the start... how the idea to pedal thousands of miles across a continent (or around the world) was born. My madness began nearly two years ago.

In the spring of my Freshman year (2006) my best friend Seth (shone right) decided to start a bike club at our school. His dad, the Chemistry teacher, was the club's advisor, and about ten of his friends joined the club almost immediately. I was one of them. I'd gotten my orange Trek the summer before, and was slowly adding up the miles, and the idea of a bike club sounded like fun.

During the first few meetings, Seth laid out his plans of bicycle maintenance classes, time trials, and track races. It was all going to be fast, testosterone laced, riding. That night, I went home and talked to my dad about everything Seth had said. He suggested another direction that the bike club could go: bicycle touring. To me, the slow and usually not too competitive rider, this idea sounded brilliant.

The next day at school, I told Seth of this new idea. "Maybe the bike club could ride out to the beach the week after school." I suggested, "we could build up to it in the next couple of months, and it would only take a few days." Seth himmed-and-hahed a bit, trying to think up a reason why we shouldn't do a tour. "Or..." the idea had been building inside of me for some time, since my dad had admiringly mentioned a bike trip across the United States, "we could go all the way across the country." Perhaps it was just my own enthusiasm, but Seth seemed to catch the bug.

"Or maybe we could go and bike around Europe." he said, getting excited, "We could bike all through Germany." (Seth had just fallen in love with one of the school's German exchange students, and desperately wanted to see her again.)

I was too excited by my own idea to be distracted. "We could do that the summer after we cross America. You have to start small, of course." My faulty logic (crossing America certainly won't be a small undertaking) seemed to convince Seth.

We spent most of our lunch that day, and most of the days that week, pouring over a map of America in Seth's history classroom. We carefully plotted out which states we wanted to pass through, discussing, with absolute ignorance, the merits of each possible route we could take. We decided that both of our dads would accompany us, as well as one of our friends, Tyler, who really wanted to go along, but first he'd have to convince his mom.

The initial excitement began to die out after the first week, and we moved on to more every day tasks, putting our dream momentarily on the back burner. A few weeks later we attended a free REI class on all of the basics of bicycle touring. I came home from that with a new energy, and instantly sent out a flurry of letters to the states we planned to ride through, requesting bicycle maps of the state.

Around that time, my dad also gave me a copy of the book Miles From Nowhere, by Barbara Savage. The book is the story of Barbara and her husband Larry's bicycle trip around the world. (It's an excellent book that I highly recommend to anyone looking for a good adventure.) This book finally sold me on the trip (if I wasn't sold on it already), making it clear to me that I would ride my bike across the country, even if it meant doing it all by myself. This, I suppose, is how my adventure was born.

~Seth

A Training Ride

2008-04-20T18:11:00.000-07:00

50 days left!!

So, I suppose that I'm not the best at posting regularly... I let it get away from me. Part of the problem is that I'm not totally sure what to post; I'll get over that once we start on our ride.

I went on a forty mile ride today with my dad (a bit longer than we usually go). The weather was not promising as we began, with big black clouds massing above us. Less than a mile into the ride, rain started to fall, then hail. Looking down, I noticed snow starting to stick to my gloves and tights. Within a few minutes, though, the sky had cleared, and a warm breeze (albiet a head wind) dried off our gear. The weather remained dry for the rest of our ride, fluctuating from warm to cold just enough that I was continually unzipping and re-zipping my jacket.

Later on, as we rode by a house, a white Saint Bernard ran out after us. My dad sprayed it with water and shouted at it to go home, but the dog just bounded along next to use, panting.
"Seth, stop riding!" my dad finally yelled, and I pulled to the side of the road, hoping the dog would leave us alone. Instead, it ran up to me, than placed a big paw on my leg.
"Ohhh, hi there." I cooed, and reached out to pet the dog.
"Don't pet it, Seth." My dad called, and I backed away, shouting "Go home!" The dog followed us for a couple hundred yards, before giving up and trotting back along the road. "I just didn't want you to encourage it." my dad explained later, "I've had at least two dogs try to follow me and get hit by cars."

In the last few miles of our ride, we ran into another cyclist going up a hill near our house. My dad and I passed her going up, but she caught us again as we went down the other side. My dad tried to start a conversation, but we were almost home, so it didn't last long.

Now I'm recooperating from the 40 mile ride by sitting in front of a computer screen and writing about it. This is my first feeble attempt at a narrative on my "travels"... any suggestions on how to improve my writing would be great.

Thanks For Reading,
Seth

P.S. The picture above is of my cousin, Nathan (for whom I'm using this trip to raise awarness and money for the Food Allergy and Anaphylaxis Network) and I. To learn more, read my first post getting started or visit my website at http://www.firstgiving.com/cycling4allergies .

100 Days!!

2008-03-01T15:57:00.000-08:00

We will be leaving for our trip on June 9th... just 100 days away!! I hope the weather is nicer for our first day than it is now. It's been raining off and on here since last evening, when my Dad and I went for one of our training rides (only about 20 miles). We decided to cut it short because of the rain and the wind. On the up side, we discovered that our rain jackets really are water proof.

We've been training four days a week for two weeks now, going anywhere from 15 to 25 miles. For the most part the weather's been sunny (barring yesterday) and the roads have been flat (we've decided to wait a few more weeks before tackling the hills.) Of course we'll definitely need to practice some hills before the beginning of our trip: on the third or fourth day we'll come to the North Cascades; the first pass, which is 40 miles, will be our first hurdle (quite a high one, I imagine). Dad is sure that it will be freezing, and raining... if it isn't outright snowing. I'm trying to keep a more optimistic outlook.

Thank You to everyone who's donated to FAAN. I'll try to post again in the next week or two.

Peace,
~Seth

P.S. If anyone knows how to subscribe to a blog, so that any new posts are emailed directly to you, please post a comment so others can do that as well. Thanks, Seth.

The Letters are Off!

2008-02-02T18:36:00.001-08:00

Well, I've began sending off the deluge of letters to tell people about my trip It's really quite exciting to see everything begin to come together. Thank you to everyone who has responded to my letter, it's great to hear from you, and to hear that you are interested in what my dad and I are doing. And, WELCOME to anybody who is just starting to read this blog. It's good to have you on board. To learn more about what we're doing, read the entry Getting Started just before this.

Swim team districts are next weekend; after that I will begin training for my monstrous ride this summer. I'll be sure to post again (though, I imagine I'll be rather sore) when I begin my training, so please check back in a couple of days!

Peace,
Seth

Getting Started

2008-01-20T12:54:00.000-08:00

Hello,

I'm not exactly sure how to start this, so I guess I'll just start.

This summer my dad and I are going to ride our bicycles (fully loaded about 75 pounds) across America. That includes going over the Cascades, the Rockies, the Appalachians, and crossing everything in between. It will be about 4200 miles. I'm a Junior in high school, so this will probably be my big adventure before college; for my dad, whose 52 and has raced in three Ironmen this is going to be a chance to slow down and enjoy the scenery. For both of us, it will be a chance to see America at twelve miles per hour.

This trip is also for my cousin, Nathan. Nathan, who's in 3rd grade, is deathly allergic to peanuts (as in, if he touches someone whose touched a peanut he will probably go into anaphylactic shock and could die if not treated immediatly). My goal is to use this trip to raise $10,000.00 for the Food Allergy and Anaphylaxis Network (FAAN) to help fund research and education on food allergies.

This blog is going to be the story of our trip. While on the bikes, I'll try to post as often as possible, and upload pictures. But that's still months away. Until then, I'll post every couple of weeks to chronicle our preparations. Please, visit the blog often to follow our trip.

~Seth

P.S. To donate to our cause click on the gray box below. It will take you to our website where you can donate to FAAN. Thank You for your donations.