I met with my Orthopedic Surgeon on September 19th, 8 weeks after surgery (and 10 weeks after my accident).

After reviewing my latest X-rays, Dr. Nesti at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center gave me the good news that I longed for: my clavicle had healed well enough to allow me to resume normal activity, including weight lifting and on-the-road bicycling. The added bonus was that I would not require any physical therapy whatsoever. My left-side only weightlifting and indoor bicycle training regimen likely contributed to this result.

I deeply appreciate Dr. Nesti and his team for putting me back together in such an amazing way!

The doc advised me to take it easy so as not to over-stress the bone (it takes 1-2 years to completely heal). At some point, we’ll decide whether the hardware should be removed.  Thus far, my vote is to keep it in place since it presents no discomfort whatsoever.

For those visual learners out there, here are the before and after X-ray images:

Before: Ouch! No wonder it hurt so much!

After: How do you spell relief? A plate and several screws!

During my downtime, I procured everything required to support my return to the TransAmerica Trail (e.g. new tires).  I also taught myself how to true a bicycle wheel (yes, it is more art than science).

I plan to return to Kansas late next spring to pick up where I left off.  I’m already starting to ramp up my training.

Because the slopes on the roads in the Ozark and Appalachian Mountains tend to be more severe than the Rockies (albeit the distances up are shorter), I am planning some mountain training in the spring as well. This includes a trip out to what cyclists affectionately call “Mt. Vesuvius” near the Wintergreen Resort in Virginia. With slopes in excess of 13 percent, this is ranked by some as the toughest climb in Virginia.  No one said this would be easy!  And I look forward to this new challenge!

I still owe my fellow bicycle purists a review of my equipment.  As I continue to live “The Joy of Not Working,” it’s something that I’ll get to soon.  Thanks for your patience, and for your continued interest and support.

 

After returning home, and with strong encouragement from my wife, I followed up with the medical professionals at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Bethesda to check out my injury. I was quickly referred to the team at Orthopedic Surgery. After more X-rays, it was recommended that I get the broken clavicle surgically repaired. The clavicle was not healing properly on its own (let’s just say that the break was misaligned along two directions). I readily embraced the recommendation. 

The surgery occurred on July 24th, the day after my birthday.  The formal name for the surgical procedure is clavicle reduction; more simply, the team realigned and reattached the bone using a plate and some screws.

I went home that afternoon, feeling no pain thanks to an anesthetic procedure called a nerve block. In fact, I had no feeling in my left shoulder and arm for several hours after the procedure. 

My wife took this picture of me right after we arrived back home.  My right arm is being supported by my leg because I couldn’t lift it; by this time, I only had partial feeling in my right index finger and thumb (I was trying to show a “thumbs up”). The picture includes a most appropriate birthday gift from my oldest sister and her husband, my brother-in-law. “The Journey is the Destination” is really a great caption for my TransAmerica experiences to date!

I look somewhat gaunt in the photo but was actually feeling pretty good at the time, likely due to the decent sleep I “enjoyed” during the surgery, and the fact that I was pain free for the first time since the accident.  My clothes are a bit loose fitting because, all told, I had lost about 35 pounds between training and the TransAmerica touring experience.  It’s been at least a couple of decades since I was this light but the new weight is probably closer to what I should have weighed all along.

I left the hospital with a heavy duty sling, pain pills, and other concoctions. I only needed a couple of the pain pills to get through the first night at home. After five days, my shoulder feels terrific. I have started to do some of the minimal exercises recommended post-procedure.  I was also provided with a nifty device that induces electrical flux (sorry, I am an engineer) within the repaired bone to speed growth.

While it’s only been five days since the surgery, I am optimistic about  my chances of resuming my biking adventures in the Fall. I recognize that my best chance to get back on the bike is to take it slow and steady during the recovery period; that’s not my nature but, under my wife’s watchful eye, I will endeavor to comply. I freely admit to scanning the Web for bicycle centuries (100 mile rides) in the local area in the Fall timeframe; two of them are already on my calendar marked tentative. And, with medical pre-approval, I’ve already returned to exercising my legs on my bicycle trainer.

Thanks to everyone for your kind and uplifting expressions of support and concern, and for the countless birthday greetings, especially on Facebook.  You continue to touch my heart!  

My transition from a period of hyper-focused and physically challenging TransAm bicycle touring to a period of low activity medical recuperation at home has been a smooth one for me. That’s because it’s so good to be home! I continue to feel blessed and I am in really good spirits. And, despite the clipped wing, I continue to physically feel amazingly well.

I am fully occupied with activities ranging from communicating with friends still on the trail (including providing long distance weather updates)… to sending thank you notes to my TransAm supporters… to reaching out to family and friends.  My wife and I are also contemplating those things that will be the focus our time, talent, and treasure in the coming months. As for me, I truly hope that bicycling will continue to be part of that focus.

My next series of updates (intended more for the cycling audience or for those who want to become touring cyclists) will talk about my assessment of the equipment that I used during the journey, starting with my bike. My touring bicycle just arrived back home from Scott City, KS, via FEDEX (special thanks again to Pastor Kyle and his team at First Baptist Church). I am already getting it ready for my next phase of touring. Fortunately, there’s not a lot to be done in that regard.

Day 41: A Minor Mishap With Major Consequences: Mission Terminated!

After enjoying a restful night in Tribune, I awoke today ready to bike the 47 miles to Scott City, KS.  There was more motor traffic, including large trucks, along the route so I hugged the median.

At about mile 30, just outside Marienthal, KS, I lost control of the bike when I went off the edge of the median, which had about a 2 inch drop into the adjacent dirt and grass (which is sloped down).  The median for this portion of SR 96 is as narrow as 6 inches wide.  I tried in vain to self-correct and ended up tumbling onto the pavement while traveling at about 15 mph.

In anticipation of the crash, I instinctively rolled onto my right side. I hit the pavement with my right hand, shoulder, hip, and leg.  My helmet protected my head and it sustained very minor scrapes on the right side.

Both the bike and I ended up parallel to the road within the confines of the median and the adjacent grass, with me in front of the bike. One of the front panniers had slid onto the road surface. I had successfully avoided my fear of becoming sprawled out on the highway after a crash!

Right after the crash, I immediately sprang to my feet and did what many cyclists do after a fall:  I checked out the bike first! The two front panniers had been ejected from the bike but sustained no damage.  The bike sustained no damage; I only noted that the two brake levers had rotated inward (and I easily slid them back into position).

By this time, a passing motorist, a young farmer named Cody, stopped to render assistance.  He had observed my crash from the opposite direction. He helped me lift the bike and rotate the tires to ensure that they were not warped.  He also helped me retrieve and reattach the panniers.

Cody was more vigilant about my status than I was.  He noted that I was bleeding from the tip of my pinky finger on my right hand.  He assisted me in performing a head to toe check, where I noted very minor road rash on my right leg, hip, and upper arm.  At this time, I realized that my right shoulder was hurting pretty badly and I surmised that I had re-injured an old rotator cuff tear.

During our initial assessment, I kept hearing an alarm going off.  It dawned on me that it was my Garmin 820 bike computer, which has an accelerometer that triggers an alarm in the event of a crash. I hit the cancel button with 10 seconds to spare.  My wife ended up getting a satellite-generated text indicating that an incident had happened but that I was ok.

Cody offered to take me to where I needed to be.  He said that he was enroute to purchase food for his new calf but was ready to flex his plans to support me. Aside from my shoulder, I felt fine and the bike was fine.  This was the slowest crash I’ve had in my biking experience and I was ready to shake it off and proceed.  

I thanked Cody for his kind assistance and got back on the road.

I completed the 17 remaining miles to Scott City without concern.  I did clip the edge of the narrow median again but this time chose to ride it out into the adjacent grass (I should have done that the first time!).  My right armed stiffened a bit but, having previously raced with a torn rotator cuff, I could deal with it.

When I arrived at Scott City, I went to the Athletic Club, which puts cyclists up in their gymnasium for the night.  I was greeted by Deb.  It’s a very nice facility with a pool, hot tub, exercise equipment, showers, and WiFi. I secured my gear, performed a deeper inspection on the bike (which was amazingly fine), and got cleaned up.  After performing another head to toe check, I only needed a bandage on my pinky finger.

I enjoyed lunch at Tates Restaurant. When I returned to the Athletic Club, Jayden and a group of Westbound TransAmr’s were there. When I described my mishap, one of the new cyclists, named Ben (we both grew up in the same area), noticed a lump on my right shoulder.  He said that I should get it checked out because it looked like a broken clavicle. He showed me the permanent lump on his shoulder from a past injury he had sustained.

At Ben’s suggestion, I did some Internet research and concluded that he was probably right.  Based on my symptoms, I also concluded that I had probably retorn my rotator cuff as well.  I decided to go to the emergency room, but wait until after dinner when the heat of the day had subsided (it was over 100 degrees outside). And it was about 1-1/2 miles to the Scott County Hospital and my only option was to walk (no Uber or taxis; and biking was now out of the question).

Jayden and I went to dinner at Tates Restaurant and walked to the hospital.  The care and compassion shown by the hospital team was first-rate!  The examination and X-ray confirmed Ben’s original diagnosis.  I had fractured (broken) my clavicle.  

I immediately knew that this was a mission terminating diagnosis. Elite cyclists sometimes proceed with a broken clavicle, the most common injury in cycling.  I am not an elite cyclist!  Proceeding with the adventure would exacerbate the injury and complicate the healing process and, likely, threaten my overall health.  And the risk of another fall was too great!

I thought about the TransAm racer from Canada who inspired me with his graciousness in accepting the fate of his achilles injury. I immediately accepted my fate for what it was.  

I called my wife the next morning and said that I was coming home.  I know that she was relieved that I wasn’t more seriously injured. I was too!

As Jayden departed the next morning to continue his adventure, I gave him the American flag off my bike as a sign of our new friendship. I hope to be in Yorktown to greet him as he concludes his challenge to raise awareness about food addition.

Thanks to the superb assistance of Pastor Kyle Evans and his support team at First Baptist Church in Scott City, KS, I was able to fly home the next day from Garden City, KS.  

I met Pastor Kyle when he and his son drove to the hospital to transport me and Jayden back to the Athletic Club. The next afternoon, I was escorted to the airport by Pastor Kyle’s 88-year old father, Mr. George, who is an Army veteran of the Korean War and an amazing and witty farmer.  Pastor Kyle and his team also agreed to pack and ship my bike to me using ShipBikes.com. I am indebted to their selfless support.

I have six to eight weeks of recovery, likely followed by physical therapy.  Treatment consists of an arm sling to mobilize the shoulder, ice packs, and Motrin. I am learning to do things with my left hand, which is a challenge. 

I appreciate everyone’s interest and concern.  In the coming weeks, I will post a summary of this year’s adventure and a review of some of the equipment I used.

As I go through recovery, I will consider options to resume my TransAm adventure next year from Scott City. I also desire to pursue a future trip from Boston to Key West. Please let me know if you want to join in these adventures!

I enjoyed this adventure immensely but it’s good to be home! And I continue to Live the Dream!

 

Day 36: A Great Day (And Night) To Ride

This morning, I saw my loving wife off as she embarked the shuttle heading to Denver International Airport.  I then jumped back on the rig after an 8-day break.  Out of an abundance of caution, I decided to take about a 15-mile training ride before attacking the largest summit of the TransAmerica Trail.  I enjoyed a picturesque ride down to Frisco, CO, and back to Breckenridge.  

After reacquiring my “biking legs,” I started to climb Hoosier Pass.  As I climbed the pass, I noticed a very large mushroom-like plume of smoke in the far distance behind me.  This was the apparent earlier phase of what became a very large wildfire on Peak 2 near Breckenridge. I was fortunate to have gotten ahead of it as I understand that travelers into and out of the area were seriously impacted by the blaze and resulting smoke.

Here’s a picture of me at the highest point on the TransAmerica Trail (photo courtesy of a Westbound TransAm’r I met at the pass):

At some point during the journey, my occasional biking colleague and new friend, Jayden from Pennsylvania, sent me a text indicating which town I could catch up to him. I had already bicycled about 50 miles and the town was another 50 miles away. I was feeling good but knew that catching up with Jayden might be a stretch.  

After exploring camping opportunities between my location and Jayden’s (they were essentially nonexistent), I decided that biking another 50 miles was my best option. The vehicular traffic on the road was minimal.  And it was a moonlight night.  I energized my lights.  

I use a brightly flashing rear red light and very bright front white LED light which I mounted on my GoPro gooseneck so it was raised above my handlebar bag.  In addition, my panniers (biking bags) have impressively reflective patches (three in the front and two in the back).  I had confidence that the few motor vehicles on the road could clearly see me: oncoming vehicles dimmed their high beams at least a quarter of a mile in front of me; and I heard the rumble of the tires of vehicles passing me as they hit the center lane rumble strips well before the vehicle actually passed me.  My more immediate concern was to ensure that I could see any deer on the road (and they could see me).

I arrived safely at the Echo Canyon campground near Canyon City, CO, after completing 106 miles and about 12 hours on the bike. I had climbed two summits that day. And biking after hours gave the the opportunity to observe countless deer crossing the road.

While my first day back on the road was unusually strenuous, it validated the wisdom of taking a break.  I emerged stronger and more capable.

Today serves as a strong base for the rest of my journey. I know that I have a significant reserve that I can tap into when necessary.  I still don’t like biking at night but know that I have the right gear to do it safely when necessary.

Day 37: The Heat is On!

Although I didn’t arrive at the campground until after 10 pm the previous night, I awoke early and set out on the road to Pueblo, CO.  It was forecast to be very hot, over 100 degrees. The first 10 miles of the journey were strong and comfortable for me.

By the time I arrived adjacent the federal correctional facility in Florence, CO, my bike computer showed an on-the-road temperature of 106 degrees.  Biking felt nothing short of oppressive over the next stretch of 11 miles; there were no services and no shade. And there was a pretty stiff headwind, but not the cooling kind.

At times during this portion of the ride, I felt like I was riding on two flat tires.  I looked down at the pavement and the tires were fine!  I was consuming water very rapidly.  The water became increasingly hot and less satisfying to a parched cyclist.  Although I had plenty of water, I made it a priority to find a cool place with cool water as soon as possible.

When I completed the 11-mile stretch, which felt like it took forever, I pulled into the town of Wetmore (gotta love the name’s play on water).  I was dismayed when I found that the town’s only restaurant was permanently closed; there were no stores.

After getting to the end of the small town, I doubled back along the main road to conduct a deeper probe. There was no sign of human activity.  Then I noticed a sign for a library so decided to give it a try, thinking that a library must at least have air conditioning.  At the bottom of a dirt road, I discovered a brand new community center with the library as part of it. It was indeed open. And it had fabulous air conditioning and the coldest water fountains imaginable.

I spent two hours there consuming all the cool water I could and waiting out the heat.  The caretaker told me that the town intends to encourage bicyclists to camp out at the park across from the library.  I made a mental note to notify the Adventure Cycling Association about this newly discovered water stop and camping opportunity.

As I rested at the library, the heat of the day fueled cloud cover in the form of storm clouds.  When my bike computer showed a temperature drop of 25 degrees (relative to 106 degrees),  I filled up my water bottles with cold water and, much to my surprise, attacked the remaining 25 miles to Pueblo in superb form.

This incident illustrates the restorative power of a good water break. And the need to avoid the heat of the day whenever possible.  I would incorporate both these lessons into my routine.

As I entered Pueblo, I caught up with Jayden (who didn’t have the benefit of a two-hour break). He was completely exhausted so we decided to rent rooms in the Bramble Tree Hotel. Unfortunately, the hotel only had second floor rooms available and no elevator. It was quite a chore to carry our bikes and gear up a stairwell.

We enjoyed a delicious meal at a local Japanese Restaurant, MoMo’s. I enjoyed some warm sake with the meal.

Day 38: Setting an Alarm to Beat the Heat

During last night’s dinner, Jayden and I decided that we needed to do the unthinkable–to set an alarm and get on the road with the rising sun.  After the previous day’s experience, I was all in. Our goal today was to ride 50 miles to Ordway, CO.

With an early start and cooler temperatures, I completed the ride in record time.  After Pueblo, CO, there weren’t any significant climbs as I headed towards Kansas.

Today was the first day where I completed the entire day’s ride within three shifts on my middle chain ring.  I was able to power up the upslopes without much additional effort.  I found myself enjoying lunch in Ordway by noon. I enjoyed the lunch so much that I went back to the same establishment, Bits and Spurs Cafe, for dinner (ok, it also happened to be the only one of two open restaurants in town).

The City of Ordway is very bike friendly.  At City Hall, we were given free camping permits for the Spray Park. This park is well known for the spray feature in the water park area where kids can run through a giant sprinkler/fountain in the center of the park.  The city even gave us nice water bottles and microfiber towels.

After we had set up our tents, we were joined by an East to West TranAm’r, a very tall gentleman named Roberts from the Netherlands. Jayden and I were amused when Roberts, in quintessential European fashion, decided to frolic in the spray jets in his biking shorts.  My sense was that the local kids and attending moms were less amused.

As evening approached, a local gentleman named Pablo stopped by to tell me that the sprinkler system for the park lawns would come on at 7 pm and go through its routine until 7 am.  I asked him if it was possible to shut the system down for bicycle campers and he said no.  His orders were to green up the parks.  But he was kind enough to describe the time and zone sequencing of the system.

Ever the engineer, I waited for the first zone to come on at 7 pm and discovered that there was a relatively large “dead zone” where one of the sprinkler heads didn’t operate.  After waking Roberts up, we all relocated our tents to that zone and enjoyed a relatively sprinkle-free night, save a few evening thunder showers energized by the heat.

Day 39: Enjoying the Relative Flatness of Eastern Colorado

Following a get-up-using-an-alarm routine (which I disliked intensely since I had become accustomed to being woke up by the light of the day and chirping birds), I awoke early and was on the road by 7 am.  I stopped by a truck stop for a cup of coffee and quickly sped through the 61 miles to Eads.

Even though Eastern Colorado is relatively flat, I encountered gradual up and downslopes, some more significant than others.

I found that I enjoyed the relative flatness much more than mountain climbing.  But I needed a new challenge.  So, today, I endeavored to complete the ride using only two gears, essentially requiring me to power through the upslopes and work harder.  I enjoyed this “game” and comfortably stayed within the aerobic zone of my heart rate monitor.  My heart rate was running appreciably lower than what I encountered in the mountains.

I made it to Eads in record time and was having lunch at JJ’s Restaurant by 11:30 am.  After checking out the city park, which is located on the main highway and has little shade, I decided to rent a room at the Traveler’s Lodge.

I enjoyed dinner at JJ’s as well, this time in the company of Jayden and three new East-bound TransAmr’s, Gloria, Eric, and Michael.

Eads, CO, marks the halfway point for the TransAmerica Trail.  I commemorated this achievement in the following picture (courtesy of Jayden):

Day 40: Almost Effortless on the Flats as I Enter Kansas

I missed my alarm today but was still was on the road by 7 am.  Today’s goal is to proceed to the town of Tribune, KS.  The temperature was 65 degrees when I started.  I watched the temperature rise ten degrees per hour as I progressed along the 56 mile route.

Today, I observed two live snakes attempting the cross the road.  The first, presumably non-poisonous, was about 4 feet long, and it hardly acknowledged me as I sped past.  The second, presumably poisonous, was about 3 feet long. It alerted at my presence and assumed a very aggressive posture as I zoomed by.  I decided that it was best for me not to stop to try to take a picture.

I also experienced my first assault from biting flies, especially at the Kansas welcome sign.  I was warned about this threat by West bound TransAmr’s. Somehow, these flies have figured out how to bit you even as you are riding the bike.  And, with the welts that are left by their bites, I’m still trying to figure out if I hate them more than mosquitos.

Here’s me entering Kansas (selfie taking quickly to avoid those pesky biting flies!):

At the Kansas welcome sign, an older gentleman in a pick up truck stopped by just to say hello. He said that he was born and raised in the area, and works in the oil and gas distribution field. He asked me how I was doing and even offered some water. He said that he enjoyed engaging cycling tourists at both the Colorado and Kansas welcome signs.

Today’s ride was in my best ever category.  My legs were strong.  My stamina was consistent.  And, continuing the “game” from the previous day, I only used a single gear to complete the route.

I had been warned about the large agricultural equipment encountered by other TranAm’rs in Kansas.  Today was my first experience.  I was pedaling along nicely when I noticed two large pieces of equipment taking up both lanes, including the medians.  I stopped in time to take this photo, and rode over into the grass to let these behemoth combine harvesters pass.  I waved at the operators as an expression of my appreciation for what agriculture does for America and the world:

Many Westbound TransAm’rs said that Kansas was their least favorite state.  As for me, I was fascinated by the long, straight and relatively flat stretches of road (I called it rolling flatness). It was often difficult to discern the difference between the end of the road and the sky because of the heat waves beating off the pavement. 

I studied the intermodal intersections between highway and rail.  I was mesmerized by the hugeness and diversity of the various pieces of agricultural equipment I encountered. Driving by the John Deere harvester dealership was a particular treat.  

In each small town, I was greeted by a large silo or silo complex. Even on a Sunday, the progress of American agriculture was evident.

While it was an easy biking day for me, I remained ever vigilant for sources of cool water.  I stopped at a convenience store in one particular town and found it closed on Sunday.  I snapped this picture as I thought to myself, “that’s not very convenient for me.”  A young trucker had stopped at the gas pump at the same location and we shared a moment of exasperation as I told him that the store was closed.

As I completed my last several miles into Tribune, I fixated a bit on the water tanks on the horizon.  What I would have given for a cool drink of water! Ironically, I ended up camping within a stone’s throw of the town’s main water tank. I snapped this photo to capture the inspiration that the water tank gave to me on my journey.

When I arrived in Tribune, I went to the gas station and found out that it was the only store and restaurant open on Sunday.  I enjoyed a large, very cold cold Gatorade.  I was guided by the store clerk to where I needed to check in to camp at the city park.  

When I went outside to my bike, I found that I was losing air pressure in my rear tire.  During a recent bike inspection, I discovered a small cut in my rear tire, presumably caused by road debris.  It wasn’t large enough to change the tire but I was monitoring it closely.  The tire was slowly losing pressure but I had just enough to get to the park.

I proceeded to the Sheriff’s Office and on to the park, which is fabulous (it had cool (and especially delicious) water, power, a gazebo for shade, adjacent restroom and shower facilities at the county pool, etc.).

My first order of business was to fix the slow leak in the bicycle tire.  The cut in the tire was not the source; it was a thin strand of wire that had penetrated the tread of the tire and punctured the inner tube.  I patched the tube and installed a patch of thick rubber (called a boot) along the portion of the tire with the cut in it. This was my first true flat in over 3,500 miles of operation of my touring bicycle.

The park in Tribune is adjacent the Veteran’s Memorial. I beamed with pride when I observed the U.S. Coast Guard prominently displayed in the roster of military services.  

There was one Coast Guard veteran commemorated in the inscribed bricks on the memorial walkway.  

As I was setting up camp, a woman in a golf cart named Sonja pulled up.  She told me that if there was a threat of rain, we would be notified by the Sheriff’s Office and relocated to the fire house.  My goodness, does it get any better than this? It’s a true honor and privilege to be treated with such courtesy by people as good as the folks I’ve met along this trek!  And in a town with a really cool name like Tribune!

Tonite’s sky contained a full moon (note my tent and bike under the gazebo):

 

 

Days 32-35: A Pre-Planned Stop in Breckenridge, CO 

On day 32, I met my wife at Denver International Airport.  We enjoyed lunch with Coast Guard friends, Ginnie and Michael, before taking a shuttle to Breckenridge.

Our hotel was at 9,600 feet.  While I had acclimated to the altitude, it took my wife some time to adjust.  We enjoyed spending time together at local restaurants and shops.  We observed some of the Breckenridge 4th of July parade. Through it all, I think that I convinced her that I was doing fine as a cross-country cyclist. She was surprised at how much weight I’ve lost.

Here’s a shot of us on Main Street in Breckenridge:

Day 36 puts me back on the bicycle and climbing my last major pass in the Rockies.

Days 28-31: A Time of Renewal 

With my bicycle carefully stowed in the back on a rented Subaru, I took the opportunity to spend a couple of days in hotels.  During this period, I had the chance to tend to serious bike maintenance, including pulling the brake pads.  I couldn’t be more pleased with the performance of the bike.

This downtime also gave me a chance to allow my sun-baked and cracked skin a much needed break. 

After talking with Kim at the Pronghorn hotel, I was able to crack the code on barbers in Rawlins. I found out that most folks in Rawlins get their hair done by appointment only. I got a decent haircut from Rich at the Back Country Barber Shop and Salon, the one place that takes walk-ins.

While walking around the neighborhood of the Pronghorn Motel, I noticed that deer wander the town like stray cats wander the big city.  I enjoyed very close contact with two very large deer while working on my bike in the parking lot.  They just wandered over to check me out and continued on their way.

I had other close encounters with deer while driving on the highway, slowing to try to discern their intentions.  When their intentions weren’t clear, I politely honked the horn. They often shot me that deer-in-the-headlights look but seemed to be savvy enough to wait until I passed before they crossed the highway.

While recovering in Rawlins, I enjoyed dinners at Four Season Chinese Restaurant (Hunan beef) and Big City Bar and Grill (the largest chimichanga imaginable–and, yes, I ate the whole thing).

My metrics for June are as follows: 1,187 miles; 157 hours on the bike; 57,600 calories burned; 49,400 feet of climbing; max speed 44 mph.

After a couple of days, I got tired of staying in hotels (I did enjoy watching old movies on the Turner Classic Movies network).  I decided to find the highest campground I could: Denver Creek Campground, which is at 8,800 feet.  Before proceeding to Denver to surrender the car, I stayed there two glorious nights.

During my drive to the high mountains, I passed numerous TranAm’rs going both east and west and west to east.  At the Colorado sign, two westbound touring cyclists had stopped, clearly showing some exasperation with the sustained 25 mph headwinds they were battling. Most of the westbound TranAm’rs who I encountered complained about the headwinds coming across.

Here’s me at the Colorado line:

Even though I was behind the wheel of a car, my habits reflected the perspective of a bicyclist.  On SR 25 in Wyoming, there are no shoulders.  Whenever I approached cyclists heading my direction, I gave them a lot of room to maneuver.  In one case, a group of cyclists were approaching the crest of a steep hill and I couldn’t see the oncoming traffic, I slowed to their speed and put on my hazard lights.  After clearing the crest, I passed them and they waved in acknowledgement of the courtesy.

When I arrived at Denver Creek Campground, I quickly chose a site, knowing that campgrounds were filling fast with the approaching July 4th weekend.

I spent an afternoon enjoying the wildlife: black-billed magpies (very large and apparently carnivorous birds based on my observing them on the roads feasting on small roadkill), broadtail hummingbirds (very curious birds with iridescent red streaks on their neck), snowshoe hares, and Wilson Warblers (very striking yellow birds).  Ground squirrels and chipmunks were everywhere.

After the sun dipped behind the mountain, I built a fire in the fire pit from wood that I scavenged from the adjacent hills.  The temperatures quickly dropped.  Here’s a picture of my campsite:

Here’s the Subaru I rented with my bike and gear stowed in the back:

During my first night of camping at this high elevation, the temperatures were forecast to go into the 30’s.  When I woke up before daybreak, the exterior of my tent was encrusted in about 1/4 inch of ice.  I must be getting used to the cold because I spent a good deal of time that night star gazing, seeing my first shooting star of the trip.  I thought that seeing the cosmos at 8,200 feet was breathtaking; this night’s observation had that beat by far!

During the second night, the temperatures dipped into the 20’s.  Again, I was dazzled by the stars, particularly the cloud-like band of the Milky Way.  Despite the bitter cold, I treasured this special opportunity to camp in the high mountains.

I awoke to another very cold morning at 0630. By the time I had secured camp at 0730, the temperature had only risen to 30 degrees.

Right before I was ready to leave, a large family in three vehicles showed up. A gentlemen asked me if I was leaving. He smiled with delight when I told him yes.  As I drove to Breckenridge to drop of my bike and gear, and then on to Denver to turn in the vehicle, I noted that every campsite was busting at the seams.  I was glad that I decided to get to Denver Creek Campground early and choose to stay for two days.

After dropping the bike off, I drove down into the Denver Basin to turn in the rental vehicle and meet my wife.  After spending almost 30 days in rural areas, I was a bit taken aback by the vastness of the Denver sprawl.

Bloggers Note: Thanks to improved connectivity at the Carbon County, WY library in Rawlins, WY, I have added photos with captions to my previous posting and encourage readers to go back to review them.

Day 20: An Ice Cream Breakfast Kind of Day

After suitable rest in Missoula, I greeted the day ready to head to Darby, MT.

As a new member of the Adventure Cycling Association, I made it a point to stop by their office in Missoula, which was just blocks away from the hotel.  I was greeted by Levi from their media department.  Levi provided a tour of their facility, gave me an ACA bandana, and arranged to have my rig weighed (total weight of bike and attached baggage was 108 pounds; my guess was 105).  I couldn’t help but be impressed with the skill, scope, and reach of ACA.

Here’s me at the ACA office (photo courtesy of Levi):

As I was departing the office, my old friend Jayden showed up.  We agreed to meet in Darby.

On my way out of town, I stopped by the Big Dipper Ice Cream Shop.  They weren’t open yet but there was a young lady named Jordan doing shop chores outside.  When she saw me reading the closed sign, she said that I could order ice cream if I knew what I wanted.  I said, “Vanilla cone, of course!”

Just as I was leaving, an East to West TransAm’r named Don showed up.  He said that he left Yorktown on April 2.  I was impressed with how light he packed, using only two panniers.  I told him that he might be able to get in an ice cream order if he knew what he wanted!

I enjoyed a good ride to Darby.  It was a picturesque ride along the Bitterroot Trail (note the classic Montana “Big Sky”):

I saw my first buffalo of the trip right outside Missoula (I had forgotten how huge buffalo can get):

As I got closer to Darby, I was surrounded by mountains (Bitterroot to the East (8000 ft) and Sapphire to the West). This is a shot of the Bitterroot Mountains:

When I arrived in Darby, I met Patrick at the Bitterroot Hide-A-Way RV Park (it was tucked behind an industrial park) and set up camp.  I enjoyed dinner in town (meatball sub and sweet potato fries).

I enjoyed an evening of conversing with the other folks at the RV Park.  Many of them are residents.  I got a sense of family life in an RV park from a very curious young man named Thane.  He told me that his mom said that he shouldn’t talk to strangers but he was very inquisitive about the man who rode into town with everything on his bike.

As expected, Jayden showed up later that evening.

Day 21: A Donation for the Mosquitos

I awoke to a crisply cool and beautiful morning. My intended destination was a town called Wisdom.  The day included a very substantial climb.  Fortunately, the winds were generally favorable to near the top of the summit.

As I neared the top of Chief Joseph pass, I was buffeted by side gusts on the western leg of a switchback.  They were so strong that I stopped riding and watched the shifting wind.  Suddenly, the wind picked up a “scoop” of sand and violently threw it in my direction. I quickly braced the bike and dipped my head.  This was my first episode of essentially being sandblasted on the road and the only ill effect was the stinging assault to my bare arms. After fighting through a few more gusts, I emerged at the top of the summit:

After and enjoyable descent, often exceeding 40 mph, I finished a nice ride into Wisdom.

Upon entering town, the first thing you see is the American Legion Bike Camp, a very gracious expression of the Wisdom American Legion for bicyclists. Cyclists use it on a donation basis.  And it is a very majestic site.

As I prepared to set up camp, the scenic beauty was marred by swarms of mosquitos.  As I found out from two other bikers already camping there, Curtis and Ty, the mosquito is affectionately known as the Montana State Bird.

Now I know why.  Before I was able to break out my mosquito lotion, which was quite effective ONCE APPLIED, I sustained dozens of bites.  And, because of the previous heavy rains and lots of standing water, the mosquitos would plaque me for days to come.

After setting up camp, I joined Curtis and Ty at the Crossings Bar and Grill, where I enjoyed a chicken sandwich, fries, and coconut creme pie.  Curtis is an Army veteran.  Ty is just now getting back on the bike after sustaining a life-threatening accident several months before (he was hit by a car while riding a bike). I was impressed with his resolve to return to what he enjoys.

Once the sun goes down, the temperature immediately chills.  And the mosquitos go relatively dormant.  As a result, I enjoyed a restful night.

During the night, I did a bit of star gazing, marveling at how much more you can see when there are no city lights.  This would become a habit pattern for much of my remaining time in the remote mountains.

Day 22: I’ve Been Slimed

I awoke at 0630 and quickly stowed my gear before the mosquitos became active.

It was a good day for riding except for a most unexpected misfortune.

While riding uphill through an S-turn, I took a breather in the median.  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a truck coming out of the S-turn in the opposite direction.  I put my head down to shield my face from the oncoming pressure wave.  It was a good thing I did.  As the truck zoomed past me, it was flinging a green substance that reeked of bovine.  The slimy substance splashed along the lower left side of the bike, including my panniers and shoes.

I knew that the truck was carrying cows or pigs or other farm animals.  Ever the engineer, I studied the dispersion pattern of the slime to try to arrive at a theory.  All I could think about were a bunch of cows projectile vomiting through the vents in the side of the truck as they became queasy through the S-turns.

Ever the valiant cyclist (and in consideration of the fact that I was already sweaty and caked with road dirt), I shook the experience off. I swished clean water on my water bottles to ensure that I wouldn’t drink any of the odiferous slime.  And I went on my way.  Forgive me for not taking any pictures today; it’s hard to focus after you’ve been slimed!

During the trip, I met two British TransAm’rs from York and London, respectively, who left Yorktown in early May.

On my way to Dillon, MT, I climbed two mini-summits.  The legs felt strong but I noticed that I was breathing harder than usual earlier in the effort.  I surmised that this was the effect of altitude since much of my climbing during this period was in excess of 6000 feet in altitude.

When I arrived at Dillon, I went to the KOA campground.  This was my first KOA experience and I am a new fan!  It was a first class set up; they even had a pool (which I was too tired to use).  Bob met me at the office and provided tips about dinner.

After setting up camp, I gave the bike, my shoes, and my panniers a bath to remove the remaining slime.

At Bob’s recommendation, I went to a local Mexican place, called the Bus (it’s an actual bus), and enjoyed a chimichanga.  I enjoyed a lethargic evening at camp and turned in early.

Day 23: Virginia City; Montana That Is!

I awoke at 0530 after a very restful night.  I enjoyed coffee at the KOA office and proceeded to Virginia City for an expected easy day of riding, albeit a day of steady climbing.

This trek was rich in history.  I passed Beaverhead Rock, used for eons by the Native Americans as a trailblazer sign:

I passed a site of environmental devastation where an entire riverbed, Alder Gulch, was turned inside out by dredging to harvest gold. One sign noted that some of the profits from the gold were used to build Harvard University.

I passed through Nevada City, site of significant restoration work for old Montana structures.

During the ride, I received a text from Jayden suggesting that we push out plans and go to Ennis.  After climbing all day, my response was less than enthusiastic since it would have involved climbing another major pass.  And by the time Jayden caught up to me much later that evening, he agreed with my assessment.

When I arrived in Virginia City, I climbed a steep incline to Virginia City RV Park and was greeted by Michelle.  This was a high mountain site and I discovered that the night temperature was forecast to be 33 degrees.  Michelle gave me a great deal on a cabin and I responded, “I’ll take it.”  It was large enough to accommodate my biking companion, Jayden.

It was indeed a very cold evening.  Once again, I took the special opportunity that night to enjoy the magnificence of the cosmos. It’s never too cold to star gaze!

Day 24: Don’t Feed the Bears!

I awoke at another cold morning delighted that I didn’t have to break camp.  We decided that our next stop would be about 60 miles away in a campsite near Beaver Creek, about 25 miles west of West Yellowstone.

Immediately upon departing the RV park, I started a 2000 feet climb.  I ran into Mike and Deb from Lansing, MI, during the climb and joined them for much of it.  It was a challenging climb followed by a righteous downslope.

During a picture stop on the downhill, I met TranAm’r Bobby from Pennsylvania (now living in Richmond, VA).

After the descent, I enjoyed panorama’s such as this one:

I then entered the region of a 1959 earthquake.  I was fascinated by how much of the landscape was altered by this one seismic event. During one particular climb, my old camping colleagues, Ty and Curtis, waved as they drove their van past me.

I stopped in Cameron, MT, to enjoy a chicken sandwich and sliced potatoes.

I made it to the RV park by 6 pm and was greeted by Wendy.  I could tell that I was getting close to Yellowstone National Park because the prices for camp sites and meals were roughly double what I had paid earlier in the journey.

Since I was now in the heart of bear country, I asked Wendy about special provisions for cyclists to store food.  She said that she could lock it in the office if I could get it to her by 8 pm. This might work for me; but not for Jayden.

When I arrived at my campsite, I set up my tent.  I noticed an adjacent cabin and asked the resident if he could assist with storing feed for two cyclists.  His name is Patrick and he said that he would be glad to store our food in his van.

I enjoyed a freeze-dried beef stroganoff dinner and got cleaned up.  Jayden arrived a couple of hours later.

It was another cold but star-studded night.

Day 25: A Salute to A U.S. Navy Veteran!

I awoke at 0615 to a frigid morning; cold at elevation feels colder than usual.  Although I was wearing three layers of clothes, I didn’t feel ready to greet the day and I told Jayden that I would reemerge from my tent when the temperature was more suitable.

Half an hour later, the sun was peering over the mountains and I emerged ready for the mission.  I stowed my gear but had difficulty rousting Jayden.  So I went off to breakfast at the RV camp cafe and enjoyed the largest omelet I’ve ever seen.

When I returned to camp, Jayden was stowing his gear.  We each had business to attend to in West Yellowstone. I needed to explore possibilities to rent a car.  He needed to order flowers for his fiancee.  We agreed to check in with each other there.

While West Yellowstone was only 24 miles away, the ride was fighting a stiff breeze.

When I arrived, I went to the visitor center and got a list of rental car agencies in town (there were only three).  I knew that West Yellowstone was my last chance to explore renting a car before getting to Colorado.  I had earlier made a contingency on-line reservation for a car in Casper, WY, assessing that I could depart from the TransAm route, bike to Casper, and drive to Colorado in time to meet my wife on a pre-arranged schedule. There were two problems with this plan: I couldn’t take any breaks in biking to Casper (breaking my need to take every 6th day off). And Casper is listed as a local rental only facility (meaning that I would need to return the car to Casper). I tried to call the Casper rental office but ended up on terminal hold.

When I called the first rental company, Avis, I spoke to Doug.  I explained that I was a TranAm cyclist who needed to get to Colorado by a certain date. While West Yellowstone is also a local rental only facility, Doug said that he would help me out if I could come to the airport.  He would make an exception to allow me to drop the car off in Colorado.  I eagerly backtracked the three miles to the airport and met Doug.  During our conversation, he said that he was a U.S. Navy veteran willing to help this Coastie out.

During my planning for this trip, one of the best pieces of advice that I received was to not be too proud to take a ride or rent a car when you need to.  I must admit that the time pressure to get to Colorado to meet my bride was wearing on me.  In one act of stellar service, Doug alleviated that pressure.

As Doug and I started to conclude our transaction, I began to yawn uncontrollably.  While its hard for me to admit it, my trek through the mountains was taking a toll on me physically. I hadn’t hit the wall but I knew that the wall was getting closer.  And I was struggling to adjust to the effects of increasing altitude.

My intent is to drive along the TransAm route, met up with my wife, drop the car off, and continue along the TransAm Trail on bicycle from there.

After securing the rental, with my bike stowed in the back, I went back into town and ran into Jayden at McDonalds.  We agreed to part ways and explore reconnecting in Colorado.

As I drove off, it was an eerie experience.  After getting behind the wheel after almost a month, I had difficulty going over 20 mph.  Things were just going by too fast.  I had embraced the pace of a bicyclist and found the driver’s perspective to be a bit scary and foreign.  I quickly adjusted but it took a few hours for me to feel comfortable, especially punching the cruise control at the WY speed limit of 70 mph.

Meanwhile, I visited the places that I originally intended to visit.  Including Old Faithful (my timing was impeccable; I arrived about 60 seconds before it gushed):

I shot GoPro video of the geyser but didn’t have the bandwidth to post it on YouTube.

Along the journey, I saw one very large bison (see sign below; and I thought hitting a cow on a bicycle signaled a bad day!), several deer, and one very large grizzly bear foraging in the field.

People warned me beforehand, but I was struck by how Yellowstone traffic just stops when wildlife appears on the scene.  I hesitated to even get out of my car to take a picture of the grizzly.  I did leave the door ajar so that I could quickly reenter!

Here’s a blow up of my picture of the grizzly.  It’s the fuzzy gray animal to the right of the small tree.  In reality, it looked much closer and clearer:

 

It took me three hours by car to get through Yellowstone; that equates to about 1-1/2 days by bicycle.  Amazing! In the process, I also entered my fourth state, Wyoming.  I must note that the sign in a federal park was a bit understated.

I next entered Grand Teton National Park, where I snapped this serene picture of Jackson Lake:

I drove 130 miles today and it felt effortless!  I stopped at a cabin facility and was quoted a price of $189 per night.  I decided to camp at a U.S. Forest Service campground (Falls Campground and Overlook in Shoshone National Forest) for less than $10.  The site was at 8,200 feet and included the following scenery:

There is one benefit to a rental car; there’s no need to rig a bear bag for your food.  Just put it in the car!

At 8,200 feet, the stars will take your breath away!

Day 26: Wyoming; A Land of Great Contrast!

Today was another cold morning in the mountains.  I broke camp and drove to Dubois, WY, for breakfast.  It was good to be in the land of reasonable prices again!

During my drive to Rawlins, WY, I passed two touring cyclists. During my journey, TransAm’rs had voiced two opinions about Wyoming: Some said it was the best state that they had travelled through; Others said that it was the worst and most boring state.  Today, I got a sense of both perspectives.

The northern part of the state along the TranAm Trail is rich in geographic diversity:

The middle part of the state between Dubois and Rawlins can best be described as high desert:

During the time that I would have been biking this area, temperatures are forecast for the 90’s.

When I arrived in Rawlins, I decided to stay in a hotel, the Pronghorn, to do laundry and resupply.  I enjoyed Pizza Hut Supreme Pizza and turned in early.

Day 27: I Guess I’ll Cut It Myself

I was up before 0700 and enjoyed the hotel-provided breakfast.

My first order of business is to get a haircut.  I visited four places: the first didn’t exist; second was closed; third didn’t exist; fourth was a beauty shop that couldn’t give me an appointment until four days from now.  I’ll have to try again in Colorado; or do it myself!

My second order of business was to visit Walmart and resupply for resumption of the trek in Colorado.  Check!

My third order of business was to find sufficient WiFi to update this blog.  I appreciate the kind service of the staff at Carbon County Library!

Day 12: Trust But Verify

I awoke at 0530 and peeked at my phone, which indicated an outside temperature of 33 degrees.  After dawdling a bit, I decided to go outside because the reported temperature wasn’t even close to the forecast.  Sure enough, my bike computer showed a temperature of 46 degrees.  This meant that it was time to go.

As I prepared to hit the road for about a 70-mile planned ride, Trystan told me that he wanted a picture of me and my bike.  During our conversation, I was thoroughly impressed with his knowledge of the intersection of cultures in the American experience. Surely, he must be a fascinating professor!

As I headed towards the Oregon-Idaho border, the weather was biking perfect.

Here’s a sign that could signal a very bad day for a cyclist.  I had no such encounters on this day:

I was fortified with an Egg McMuffin.  I completed the first 40 miles in under 4 hours.  

Here’s a sample vista from the day:

During my journey, I received a text from Miguel warning me of severe slopes towards the summit.  Sure enough, I spent 3 hours climbing slopes exceeding 6 percent.  And, in the process of rough riding over pavement cracks, I broke yet another spoke in my rear wheel (a different one from the first broken spoke).  Fortunately, the wheel was not too wobbly so I pressed on.

The good news is that excessive slopes going up generally means excessive slopes going down:

As I approached the top of the summit, traversing what’s called Hell’s Canyon, the sky ahead became very dark, even angry looking.  I pedaled on and arrived at Coppersfield Camp, after a bit of searching.  It is a beautiful site by the river.

By this time, I made it a habit to plant my American flag by my tent.  As I continued to make camp, a hummingbird approached the flag as if it were a flower.  After a confusing pause, it zoomed away.

After I cleaned up and prepared another delicious freeze-dried dinner, I turned in.  Of course it rained that night but I’m finding that the sound of rain is very soothing to a tired cyclist.

Day 13: Experts Are Experts For Good Reason

When I awoke the next morning, the sun was shining. After breaking camp, I began an immediate climb to enter the Snake River Basin.  It was a spectacular ride through the basin.

On the way, I passed Oxbow Dam and Reservoir:

Here’s a sign for my fishing family and friends:

I also entered my second state, Idaho:

During a Gatorade and Snicker’s Bar stop, I met two TransAm riders who were going from east to west.  Ben and Jee, both from Quebec, started in Yorktown on April 15.  They reported 6 feet of snow that line the roads in Colorado and shared other useful lessons.

As I climbed another summit, I ran into a gentleman named Joe Brian, who was walking the TransAm Trail from west to east.  He was a very impressive young man.  He was pulling a cart that contained all he needed to sustain him during his estimated 7-8 month journey.

After reaching the pass, I enjoyed a very comfortable ride into Cambridge. My first order of business was to find a bike mechanic.  I went to the address shown on the maps and there was nothing there.  So I went to an adjacent shop and the shop owner very kindly called a man named Tom (I had lost cell service days ago).  Tom said that he lived right across the street from my camp site.  He suggested that I set up camp and come over to see him.

I did just that.  When I arrived at Tom’s place, he took me out to his garage where I noticed an envious array of bike mechanic equipment, including a truing stand. Tom is a Navy veteran, having worked as a jet mechanic.  I served as Tom’s apprentice as he guided me through the steps of fixing the wheel, correctly this time.  He showed me how to check the tension of spokes, and even how to estimate tension based on sound.  I surmised that the second broken spoke was the result of me over-tensioning it after performing the first spoke replacement.

Tom’s fee was modest so I tipped him hoping that his good fortune would mean the end of my spoke problems.  To date, that clearly seems to be the case.

I went back to camp:

And marveled at a beautiful sunset (There’s an old saying, “Red at night; Sailor’s Delight.”  That goes for cyclists as well, generally.):

I enjoyed a burger and fries at the Office Bar with Miguel and Esteban. This establishment is known for its dog, Jack, which pesters patrons for a dollar.  Once proffered, Jack takes the dollar behind the bar and presents it to the bartender for the tip jar.

I enjoyed a restful, but very windy, night listening to the harmonics of the adjacent Cambridge water tower.

Day 14: Let Mother Nature Handle It!

I woke to a very windy morning.  After assessing our progress with Miguel and Esteban over breakfast, we decided on a “steady as she goes” course of action. It was a good day for riding, with more humane slopes.  

When going up a hill on a touring bike, it’s never easy.  But today didn’t have its agonizing moments. I added two more reasons to stop while climbing: 1) when you can no longer see because of stinging sweat in your eyes (I must admit to biking with one eye closed) and 2) an urgent bladder.

Today I noted an increase in trucking traffic. Large trucks provide some benefit to cyclists because they create momentary negative pressure that helps pull us along.

My sister, the zoologist, asked me about wildlife.  I’ve talked about the blackbirds, chipmunks, and ravens previously.  I’ve had encounters with voles (they seem to nest along the road), ground squirrels (one was a near miss for me), birds of prey (one very large and angry looking bird displayed defensive aggression as I passed its nest, which was perched on top of an electrical pole; I was too intimidated to stop to take a picture), turkey vultures, and snakes (most dead, except one near miss in the median, which appeared to be a small rattlesnake). To date, I’ve not seen any large prey, except deer, as I have biked through territory known for cougars, bear, elk, and moose.

Speaking of animals, I note the tendency for Western states to leave roadkill on the side of the road.  It appears to be a policy of letting Mother Nature handle it. This creates a bit of intrigue for cyclists as we try to figure out what that pile of bones used to be.

As I approached our intended destination, New Meadows, I called City Hall and spoke to Angie.  She told me that I could camp at the Warr Memorial and that the site had water, restrooms, and outlets for power.  And it was free!

I camped at the site joined by a gentleman named Ron from Arizona.  Ron’s a teacher.  I also ran into a gentleman named Les, who spends half a year on his bike, and the other half riding around in his silver van. He’s biked all across America and shared tips from his experiences.  He says he always gets on the road at daybreak–the best time to see wildlife.

Dinner was provided by Subway.  And I stopped by the local post office to tap into their free WiFi to check email.

I rested well that night, knowing that my spoke problem was in my rear view mirror.

Day 15: Where’s The Prevailing Wind???

As I departed New Meadows on a cold and foggy morning (I waited for most of the fog to dissipate), I ran into a TranAm rider heading west.  Ian, from Scotland, left Yorktown on April 15. He said that he had to get back to work and wanted to rush to finish the ride.  He wasn’t enthralled with the traffic and asked me about side roads (I tend to stick with the main routes).  He recommended enjoying ice cream at the Big Dipper in Missoula.

The fog broke early in the ride unveiling a very sunny day.  That was the first third.  The second third presented a headwind but I was getting accustomed to it.  The third third found me battling an oppressive headwind.  If I stopped pedaling on a downhill, the wind would stop my progress. 

Despite the wind, the views were spectacular.  Here’s the Salmon River:

In the middle of the ride, I ran into Esteban in a gravel section of state road 95.  I ended up talking him into taking a detour with me.  After a mile of backtracking and taking the detour, a van flagged us down and told us that the route was closed due to a rockslide.  So we doubled back to take the gravel road.  

I hate gravel!  It is generally bad for tires, chains, and gears.  Cyclists often slip in it.  Even with wide touring tires, it’s not the safest surface.  I apologized to Esteban for my first episode of taking a wrong turn.  Fortunately, the kind gentleman in van saved us from a more painful detour.

I rode the next portion of the journey with Esteban.  When we arrived at the next water stop, we found Miguel resting under a tree at the Church of Latter Day Saints.

After a break, I rode ahead.  I ran into Ron again at a tourist stop.  He intended to go over the next mountain by the end of the day.  I was less ambitious.

When I arrived at the Swiftwater RV Campground at White Bird, Anna the attendant met me and clearly sensed that I had experienced a hard day on the road.  This campground was an idyllic site on the Salmon River:

Esteban, Miguel, and I enjoyed the private showers, and the pavilion with fire pit. We talked about bike maintenance, stressing the importance of keeping tires properly inflated.

Later that evening, a TransAm racer named Marissa arrived at the camp.  I was impressed with how lightly her bike was packed.  She didn’t have a tent.

Day 16: Out On The Open Range

I got up early and hit the road to “attack the mountain.”  I biked the series of switchbacks almost effortlessly, save the pouring sweat.  The top came before  I knew it.  As I stated before, climbing never feels good, but today it felt much less agonizing.

Along the way, I entered an open range for cattle.  I am not properly schooled in the rules of the road when approaching a section of the highway populated with cattle.  But it became evident that, when approaching a mama cow with two calves, one should wait until they clear the path before proceeding.  Mama cows give you that look that only a mother can give.

Today was my first encounter with cattle grates (take them at a precise 90 degrees and don’t slow or stop).  I also observed three cattlemen and six dogs handily corral a large group of open range cattle.  I was amazed and entertained as I continued to climb.

I normally don’t eat a large lunch but, today I felt compelled to stop at the Palenque Mexican Restaurant in Grangeville, ID, and enjoy a delicious chimichanga. Miguel joined me and decided that he would wait for Esteban there.

As I left Grangeville, I ended up on a series of gravel backroads.  I probably zigged when I should have zagged (but the rural signage was especially confusing).  Fortunately, I had cell coverage so I was able to navigate my way out of the maze.  Through the process, I passed some cows who looked at me like I was some strange creature.  I surmise that I was the first cyclist to venture into their lives.

I soon found myself biking through the Nez Pierce Reservation, one of the most unspoiled, peaceful, and majestic territories I have ventured through to date.

Along the way, the weather changed and it started to drizzle.  The last 27 miles to Lowell required the application of grit, but I knew I was pushing it from the start. I did see a lot of large white tailed deer during this particular portion of the ride.

I arrived at Wild Goose Campground, situated on a river, and enjoyed a sufficient break in the rain to set up camp. The facilities at Wild Goose were minimal.  The restroom was an outhouse.  The water was not potable, and this was my first opportunity to use my water filter.

After a large lunch, I enjoyed Ramen soup for dinner and turned in.  It rained all night.

Day 17: It’s Hard To Cycle When You Can’t See

I enjoyed a good night along the river. I was becoming accustomed to stowing wet camping gear and today was the worst yet.  I enjoyed a breakfast of oatmeal and cranberries, with coffee.  I donned my rain pants (for the first time) and headed out.

Today was a continuous upslope.  My legs felt strong and willing for the journey. And then the sky fell; it rained so hard that there was zero visibility.  I stopped and put on the rest of my rain gear, including rubber booties to protect my shoes and socks. I learned that putting on wet gear is much easier because the water acts as a lubricant.  My socks and shoes, unfortunately, suffered the downside of that lesson and became very soaked.

Here’s the only picture I was able to take on this dreary day:

Today’s ride felt like a six-hour long spinning class, performed in a rubber suit, and in a drenching rain!  I stopped at a U.S. Forest Service campsite but it didn’t have running water.  I ran into Eric, a TransAm racer, who was waving an orange glow stick on the side of the road.  He had already lost six days due to an injury and now was mechanically impaired due to a broken spoke. His racing bike can’t run on a broken spoke. He said that he was hailing a ride to Lolo Pass with the intention to throw in the towel. But reflecting grit and determination, he said that he looked forward to returning to the challenge next year.  In my misery, I couldn’t help but be buoyed by his courage!

As I rode away from our encounter, I watched a van pass me, slow, and turn around to retrieve Eric and his hobbled bike.  Such are the good people who populate our country!

Shortly thereafter, another TransAm racer, Marissa, passed me as though I was standing still.  I later caught up with her and she told me that her progress had been slowed by the drenching rain.  As a racer, she didn’t have the luxury of carrying the rain gear that I had on my touring bike. She intended to press on up to Lolo Pass.  

Less ambitious, I stopped at Lochsa Lodge.  They were out of cabins but I was offered free camping behind the store, and a hot shower for $5.  I ended up pitching my tent on the porch of one of the cabins used by a white water rafting company. When challenged by one of the young employees, I appealed to his humanity and won a reprieve.  I agreed to be gone before the start of the next business day.

I enjoyed a meal of chicken tenders and sweet potato fries at the Lodge and turned in.

Day 18: Missoula: Here I Come!

I woke up early only to find that the night rain and morning mist and dew had nothing to dry out my camping gear.  Once again, I stowed my gear while it was still wet.  But this time I was comforted by the thought of a warm hotel bed, a laundry, and the opportunity to dry everything out in Missoula, MT, my next intended destination.

As I prepared to depart, I thanked that young employee for his courtesy.  And I ran into another TransAm racer, a woman named Chinda, who had slept on the porch of the Lodge store. She is from Thailand.

After consuming a very large ham and cheese omelet breakfast at the Lodge, I headed out in full rain gear.  It was a slow and steady climb to within six miles of the summit. And then the slope doubled to over six percent. Although the weather was drizzly, I removed layers of clothing because I was sweating so much.  It took a few hours to scale the summit.  

At the top, I entered Montana, my third state:

And the last 20 miles into Missoula were relatively easy.

When I arrived at the Mountain Valley​ Inn (what I though was an America’s Bests motel), I was warmly greeted by Jamie.  This place ended up having everything I needed, and is in the right part of town to start the next leg of the journey.

I did laundry, dried out my camping gear, ordered delivered pizza (Hawaiian-style), and crashed.

Day 19: Happy e-Father’s Day!

Of all of the close personal interactions that I knew I would miss by embarking on this adventure, Father’s Day 2017 is the one I regret the most. I was uplifted by hearing the voices of my wife and three sons.  I continue to be propelled and nurtured by their incredible love and support.  I am fortunate to have made it to a location that has cell phone service.  Cell service has been a luxury for most of the past week.

Today, I enjoyed a fast food lunch at Taco John’s and fabulous pasta dinner at Tamarack Brewing Company.  While repacking my gear and doing preventive maintenance on the bike, I also watched coverage of the U.S. Open.  Today was a good day to reconnect to civilization!

Today was also a day to assess progress to date (3 of 10 states visited; 925 miles completed to date; 60.9 miles per day for the on-the-bike days; taking roughly every sixth day off for rest and recovery (or repair)).  And to plan ahead.

Though challenging, I am enjoying the experience of a lifetime and am pleased with the progress to date. In terms of lessons learned, I need to continue to be very mindful of the weather.  Not surprisingly, it has been the dominant factor in how far and how fast I can go.  There have been days when I had to energize my lights at 3:00 pm because the clouds and rain restricted visibility.  For the sake of safety, I choose not to ride in the dark except in dire circumstances.

Tomorrow, I plan to stop at the Adventure Cycling Association Office, and then return to the open road.

Day 9: Blackbirds Singing…

During the previous night, I greeted two new TransAm riders.  Jayden is a lawyer and fitness expert who is riding to bring awareness to eating disorders.  Trystan is a tenured professor in the California State University system with expertise in gender, diversity, and elder issues. The three of us enjoyed some very engaging discussions about biking, diversity, and fraternities and sororities during breakfast today.

I departed a most memorable hostel stay with the goal to attack one major summit climb.  It was drizzly and cold, and I was pushing a stiff wind.  With rested legs, I completed the 6.5 mile climb in less than two hours.

Here’s today’s weather picture:

My best friend asked me if I scrolled through my favorite songs in my mind when climbing mountains.  No, my thoughts under duress are much more primitive.

The mountain plays mind games with you, especially if don’t have familiarity with its features. My strategy is to “avert my gaze,” and avoid looking up the slope hoping to figure out when the climb might end (in almost all cases, there is no such visible evidence, or so it seems). I fix my eyes on the 3-4 feet in front of my front wheel (to ensure that I don’t hit an obstacle or, God forbid, roadkill). I also keep a watchful eye on my rearview mirror, being sure to hug the median when hearing approaching traffic.

In addition to fixing my gaze, I also count numbers (sometimes to 10 or 20) and just repeat the counting sequence, losing myself in an unbounded cadence.

For particularly extreme slopes (six percent and higher: 6% means you climb 6 feet in elevation every 100 feet of horizontal coverage), there are a few things that compel me to stop: 1) being out of breath, 2) exceeding my heart rate threshold, or 3) increasing numbness in my hands making it more difficult to safely grip the handlebars.  Through the first 10 days, I have progressed through each of these conditions. Hand numbness is a normal cycling occurrence solved by wiggling the thumb and fingers, or pumping the arms. These actions are normally performed while biking, except when climbing excessive slopes.

I also study gravity, noticing which way the adjacent stream or river is flowing and how fast.  Flowing against me is bad; flowing with me, good!  Rushing with me, very good!

I save the songs for downhill or flat portions of the ride. My personal favorite thus far is “Blackbird” by the Beatles and sung by Paul McCartney. You know it, “Blackbird singing in the dead of night…” As I ride along (even though I think I am quiet), I often flush out blackbirds, often with their characteristic orange and yellow patterned wings, from the adjacent fence line. More often than not, they take flight and dart behind me, perhaps in defense of their nests. It took me awhile to figure this out.  Their chirping seemed to get mighty close to my ear.  It wasn’t until I saw their shadows close to my head that I discerned what was going on.

Any way, as I climbed today’s long slope, I “enjoyed” my first experience of side stitches, those intense stabbing pains in the side.  As climbing requires fuller engagement of muscles in the solar plexus, this was expected pain. I “gleefully” welcomed my stomach muscles to the party!

Here’s my summit picture:

At the conclusion of the climb, I enjoyed several downhills, dropping over 2000 feet very quickly, with an associated decline in temperature.  There wasn’t much motor traffic, perhaps a car every 5 minutes.  I was riding along what appeared to be a weather frontal boundary, and very hopeful that the sun would emerge.

When I entered the  John Day Fossil Beds National Monument gorge, I was buffeted with 30-40 mph gusts. This required a great deal of concentration and muscle to stay in the track adjacent the passing campers.  There was essentially zero shoulder and large rocks from slides littered the way.

When I reached Dayville, I loaded up on Gatorade and talked to the shop owner, Simon, who ran an adjacent bike maintenance shop.  The weather looked better and I thought I had it made in the shade.  But that frontal boundary roared as an unstable air mass and I was pelted with BB-sized hail.  Thunder cracked in the adjacent slopes but, fortunately, no lightening.

As a bicyclist, there is often nowhere to hide in lightening.   My lightening check list consists of laying the bike down on the side of the road, and laying prone in the closest low lying area I can find.

After getting wet (again) in the hail storm, I was assaulted by a swarm of gnats, many of which adhered to my bare arms.  I was in the midst of storms and pestilence, but I was still cycling strong! And in the midst of misery, I often observed beauty, as with this bouquet of flowers that I send virtually to my loving wife:

And, then, for my last 10 miles the sun came out and I enjoyed a pleasant ride.

I arrived in John Day, OR, wet and caked with road dirt. The bike was worse. After getting a text from Miguel, I decided to get a room at Dreamer’s Lodge. After cleaning up, I enjoyed a delicious open-face roast beef sandwich at Outpost Restaurant, and then joined Miguel and Esteban at the Ugly Truth bar, where they were shooting pool.

I turned in early since I knew that tomorrow would be a 3-summit day.

Day 10: The Longest Day

I was up at 0530. I enjoyed a country omelet (gravy on the side) at Outpost, knowing that I would need every ounce of fuel I could consume. I hit the road with Miguel but quickly zoomed ahead since I had planned a longer journey.

I climbed 3 summits in four hours.  I applied progressive effort to each ordeal, saving my maximum push for the third summit. During the third climb, I was taken by the strength of my legs. By this time, they were pulsating like the muscles of a weightlifter completing her or his third set of heavy weights. The quivering was most evident when I stopped to reanimate my hands. But my legs continued to perform on demand.

The weather was very dynamic: rain, sleet, hail, and sunshine.  Towards the end of the ride, I found some prevailing (pushing) winds.

Here’s some pictures:

Of the first of three summit signs:

Of Painted Gorge:

Of a field of fuschia flowers (another tribute to my awesome wife):

Of the view after descending the last summit:

The only moment of excitement (other than the 1/4 inch sized hail (thank you, helmet!)), was a humongous wind gust that almost blew me off the bike; it was all I could do to muscle the bike to reassert control. I was developing a keen dislike for these unwanted and unanticipated lateral forces. I am so accustomed to racing and commuting bikes, which are low-profile Ferraris compared to the sail area of a touring bike. In other words, riding on a fully loaded touring bike is more like driving a panel truck.

When I got to the Powder River, the journey essentially was all downhill from there.  I had 27 miles to go and the legs were fatigued from the successive climbs. But I was confident that I had sufficient reserve to get me to Baker City.

When I arrived at the Baker City Bike Hostel, I knew that I had expended maximum effort. It had been the longest day; I had been on the road for 10 hours, rode 78 miles, and climbed almost a mile of slopes in less than ideal weather conditions.

I hosed down the bike, hosed myself down, and walked a mile into town for Chinese take-out (kung pao chicken).  There was sufficient food for two but I ate it all.

Day 11: Bike Mechanic in the Making

When I arrived at the hostel on the previous evening, I signaled to the manager, Kim, that I might need another day.  As I greeted the day and prepared the bike for another adventure, I discovered that I had broken a spoke in my rear wheel.  Thanks to Jacob’s advice, I had included 4 spare spokes in my gear.  He gave me a tutorial before I left.  But I knew that this repair would take some effort, potentially including assistance from a bike shop.

I did what every good novice bike mechanic does: I found several helpful YouTube videos.  During my progression through the repair, I found that I had to remove, in addition to the tire and tube, the disc brake rotor and the cassette (it would have to be the rear wheel!).

After expending two hours to complete the repair, I decided to engage a bike shop to true the wheel. I called the only shop in town and received a voicemail. After truing the wheel to an amateur’s satisfaction, I rode into town to the bike shop. The sign said it was open but it was closed.

So I decided to go shopping for freeze-dried food at Bi-Mart (think Walmart). On the way in, I met a gentleman named Skip who told me that he had been assaulted and robbed a few days earlier.  He was medically evacuated to a hospital in another town and sustained serious skull injuries which were evident along with facial scrapes.  Skip is an Army veteran. He didn’t ask for anything; he just wanted to tell me his story and alert me to potential danger. I wished him well and thanked him for his concern.

I went back to the hostel and performed a finer truing of the wheel.  The wheel spins truer than it did before but I would have preferred to receive validation from an expert.

During the late afternoon, a horrendous thunderstorm struck Baker City.  A few moments after the storm passed, there was a knock on the hostel door. As I was the only resident, I answered and it was my new good friend, Trystan.  He asked if there was room at the inn and I said yes.  He handed me the phone and asked me to convince my other new good friend, Jayden, to double back from town and join us.  I did so by noting that this hostel had a washer and dryer, knowing that Jayden must be completely soaked by now.

It was nice to have roommates again.  Jayden told me that they were forced to sleep in a bathroom the night before because their campground was getting pummeled by storms. I was glad for the broken spoke.  It was an ironic twist of good fortune.

Dinner saw my return to the Chinese restaurant, Mulan Garden, where I enjoyed the Szechuan beef, again a double portion consumed.

You gotta love the diversity of the experiences to date.  Good weather is forecast for tomorrow…

Bloggers Note: Due to slow WiFi, I was restricted in my ability to add pictures, and potentially video, to this entry. I will add more as a supplement when I can.

Day 5 Continued: A Bitterly Challenging End to the Day

As I prepared for the next day’s ride, I first checked the weather and discovered that the temperatures that night would dip into freezing. The locals told me that this was very unusual weather for this late in the year.  While I had planned to camp in conditions down to 40 degrees, I figured that I could gut out this anomaly, even though experienced cycle tourists had consistently shared that freezing through the night in a tent is one of the worst things they had experienced on the road.  I took extra precautions to prepare for a 32 degree night such as by putting on multiple layers of clothing and emptying water bottles to prevent them from freezing.  I was very anxious about the temperature drop.

Second, I prepared the bicycle for the next day’s ride and discovered that pressure in one of my tires had dropped significantly. I’d seen this movie before and knew that either something was wrong with the tire, the tube, or the valve. As I pumped air into the tire, sure enough, the stem snapped off! The resulting sound not only instantly deflates the tire, it deflates a biker’s spirit.

But that’s why I carried two spare tubes.  I dutifully changed the tube and begin pumping air into the tire. This time, the valve on the new tube detached (never had that happen before!). And, again, I heard that dreaded hissing sound!  Oh no, Mr. Bill!  I had two choices: use my last “spare” tube and hope for the best or try to find more tubes.

By this time, I knew that this small Oregon town was starting to roll up.  There are two bike shops in town. I called the first and it was closed!  I called the second, Eurosports, and Paula told me that they were open with plenty of time to spare.  And they had countless tubes in supply.

Since daylight was burning, I quickly walked a few blocks to Eurosports and was warmly greeted by Paula and Jimmy. Paula escorted me to their impressive display of tubes. Jimmy shared some tire inflation tips to mitigate future mishaps of the type I had experienced. To be clear, he convinced me that my two blow-outs, low tire pressure aside, were caused by what we in the Coast Guard affectionately refer to as “operator-error” because of the way that I was using my portable air pumps. Ever cautious, I purchased three tubes and a CO2 canister for my emergency inflator.

As I walked out of the shop after expressing a heartfelt word of thanks, I asked Jimmy if he had any dinner recommendations. He told me that the bike shop had a food courtyard and that at least one of the vendors was still open. This was most fortuitous since there wasn’t sufficient daylight for me to fix my tire and get dinner before the cold began to set in.

I found one open place, a health food shack called New Public Cafe. If you’ve been tracking my culinary selections to date, you can guess that I am not the health food type.  But I was out of necessity a health food proponent that night and purchased an organic sandwich and carrot sticks to go.

Upon return to the campsite, I quickly fixed the tire and inflated it to the desired 80 psi using Jimmy’s tips. I then ate what was a shockingly good organic sandwich and carrot sticks. After stowing my gear and adding clothing  layers, I crawled into my tent. Initially, I was as snug as a bug in a rug.

Here’s a shot of my campsite before the freeze:

Day 6: Coming Out of Hibernation 

I awoke to the sounds of chirping birds and the opening day’s breaking rays at 0520.  I checked my phone and it showed a temperature of 33 degrees. Brrrr! I went back to sleep until well after 7 am when the temperature had risen to a balmy 37 degrees. I had survived my first environmental crisis of the trip.

The first thing I did was to check the tires on the bike; the pressure was holding nicely so that crisis also had been put to rest.

As I stowed camp and loaded the bike, I felt extremely sluggish, more mentally than physically. I thought that this feeling is like what a bear must feel like coming out of hibernation. Eerily enough, I wasn’t particularly concerned about the 93 miles that lay ahead that day. I decided ride over to Sister’s Coffee Company to get coffee and breakfast.

As I pulled up with my loaded bike, I was engaged by Bill and a group of locals who were interested in my intended journey. It was yet another pleasant exchange. I met a fellow cyclist, an older gentlemen, who shared his story of recently being hit, almost killed, by a truck while cycling. I was astonished that, in a matter of months, his recovery had progressed to only wearing a knee brace, and that he was riding again. Such is the resilience of the human spirit (some call it insanity) that cycling attracts!

After sitting awhile to chat with the locals, I waited patiently in the relatively long  line and ordered my food to-go.  I rode back to the campground; it was quite a feat to ride a fully loaded touring bike with a full coffee cup in one hand.  The locals almost applauded in awe as I pulled out of the entrance. I probably looked like a circus act, but I pulled it off!

By the time I departed Sisters, it was 10:30 am, clearly two hours later than intended.

On the ride, my legs felt as strong as ever. I was biking in 2 layers of clothing which slowed my pace a bit. The good news was that my now properly inflated tires decreased my rolling resistance in noticeable ways.  The bad news is that I was again battling a headwind.

I experienced a steady climb out of Sisters during which time I was confident I could make the journey. After a few miles, I saw a touring cyclist in front of me.  I sped up to catch up and it was my good friend, Miguel.  We rendezvoused with his dad, Esteban, and discussed the day’s plans.  I rode on.  On two other occasions during breaks and photo stops, we intersected again. They told me that they intended to stop at  a campground at Ochoco Lake and expressed concern that I would have to conduct some night riding to make the last 40 miles to Mitchell.  I pressed on.

I felt very good on this ride even though I was climbing for most of the day.  At some point, I estimated that I wouldn’t arrive in Mitchell until after 10 pm.  I decided to press on while continually assessing the situation.  When I arrived at Ochoco Lake, I called the Spok’n Hostel in Mitchell and talked to the co-owner, Jalet.  I told her that I would be arriving late and asked for her assessment of my situation. I told her that I didn’t want to come if it would be an inconvenience to the other hostel residents or the hosts. She wisely advised me to avoid the climb to Ochoco Pass in darkness if at all possible. She agreed to slide my reservations another day. Keeping my wife’s admonishment to “not push it” in mind, I decided to truncate the day’s ride.

As luck would have it, I found a state campsite at the end of Ochocho Lake. The camp host informed me that the fee for bicycle campers was $5. It was an enchanting site overlooking the lake and I was the only cyclist camping in the bicycle area. And the temperature was forecast to only go down to 44 degrees.

Once I set up camp (amidst an underground family of very large gray chipmunks) and got cleaned up, I ran into a gentleman who happened to be African-American. We each gave the other a double-take look, and I introduced myself.  Melvin was from Illinois and had come out to Oregon 10 years ago,  He loved camping in Oregon. He is a disabled union worker after an industrial accident that occurred when he was 23. More recently, he’s been dealing with the delayed effects of asbestos exposure. We discussed the politics of the day (a first for me during this trip).  We deeply appreciated the opportunity to share a moment of humanity and wished each other well.

Knowing that I had a relatively short day planned next, I charged up my devices and turned in.

Day 7: Getting Into The Zone 

The night on the lake shore was totally quiet save an occasional passing vehicle on the highway in the distance.

I was awakened at 0620 by the cawing of ravens in the trees.  As I was breaking camp, I could hear the howls of coyotes or wolves in the distant mountains.

When I returned to the road, I passed an RV campground across the highway and saw Miguel and Esteban breaking camp. They were glad that I had made the decision to stop short of Mitchell. I told Miguel that I expected a relatively easy 5-hour ride to Mitchell and we agreed to meet there.

It was a relatively easy day peppered with only a few difficult climbs.  It quickly became hot and I stopped to strip off layers, wearing my international orange Coast Guard tee-shirt.

When I stopped at a rest area in search of water, I was engaged by a Navy veteran who was heading East to attend his grandson’s high school graduation.  But I was too proud to ask a Navy man for water!  I pressed on…

And made it with relative ease to Ochoco Pass, my second summit:

After topping Ochoco Pass,, I enjoyed about a 6-mile decline. There was minimal shoulder on the road, often littered with earth and rock slides. This observation, as well as the turns and twists in the road, validated the wise advice that Jalet had given to me the night before.  Traversing this road at night would have invited potential disaster!

The remaining distance to Mitchell was a gradual incline. At some point, Miguel caught up with me and said that he had tried to catch me on the downhill. We enjoyed a pleasant entry together into the town of Mitchell, population 135. We were even greeted a few miles before our entry by a very pleasant school bus driver, who we later learned was the hostel co-host, Patrick. I estimated a riding time of 5 hours; it only took me 4-1/2!

When we arrived at the Spok’n Hostel, we were greeted by Jalet.  We were able to roll our bikes right into the building and “park” them next to the bunks.

After a quick, hot shower, we met a handful of TransAmerica racers who were resting at the hostel for various reasons (sprains, viral attacks, etc.). They all had departed Astoria, OR, about three days earlier.  They were from diverse locations such as Denver, Canada, and the Netherlands. This year, about 130 athletes from around the world are racing along the TransAmerica Trail in as short as 12 days.  It was a special treat to hang out with world-class cyclists to discuss topics ranging from equipment and breathing techniques, to family and life in general.  I took a great deal away from the experience, as well as a couple of new biking friends and mentors.

I enjoyed some reading time, wherein I dove into one of the many books at the hostel, specifically the New York Time bestseller, Wheelmen, about the rise and fall of Lance Armstrong.

Later, Miguel, Esteban and I went to dinner at the Lone Pine Cafe, where I wolfed down a very large burger and fries.  We enjoyed a cool beer afterwards.

Since I had previously made plans to stay at the hostel for 2 nights, and because Jalet and Patrick Farrell were such gracious hosts, I decided to stay a second night even though I was feeling marvelous. It was a treat not to have to begin the battle rhythm of preparations that proceed each day’s ride.

Before turning in, I bid farewell to the racers who planned to resume their race in the middle of the night (to avoid the day’s heat).  Tonight would become the first night of the trip where I would sleep totally uninterrupted. I was now entering the biking zone!

Day 8: A Most Tranquil Day!

I rose to find a new hostel-mate, a gentleman named Tom, in the kitchen.  He is an intrepid TranAm racer who arrived late in the night.  He was getting ready to return to the race.  Tom is an ER doctor.

As I was talking to Tom, one of the racers who planned to depart the previous night entered the room to my surprise. This racer had spent the previous day nursing a  golf ball-sized swelling in his Achilles tendon, but fully intended to resume racing. He said that he reconsidered when he stepped to the floor at 4 am. I suggested that Tom might want to offer some free medical advice. He obliged but the news wasn’t encouraging. The injured racer took it with the greatest of grace and dignity… one of the many admirable characters I’ve meet thus far!

I enjoyed a low-stress day: eating a couple of good meals at the Lone Pine Cafe, greeting new riders entering the hostel, cleaning the bike (yes, again), and updating this blog.

Today is what a break day during bicycle touring should feel like, thanks to the remarkable team at Spok’n Hostel!

As I assessed my progress to date, I am two days and 140 miles behind my originally planned track. No plan survives first contact!  I intend to press on but take time to continue to enjoy this incredible journey!