Hartsel to Canon City, a beautiful ride

     64 miles, bucking a stiff wind the whole way didn't detract from the beautify of land I bicycled through.  I remind myself daily of the great experience I am having riding across this huge country.  

      Hartsel to Canon city included a few significant  climbs but the monsters are behind me.  I found a catholic monastery to camp at for the night, facilities included.  Canon City is spotless with no vacant downtown buildings. Refreshing given New London's deteriorating downtown.  Once again, another brewery smack in the middle town with a delicious IPA. Life is real good.  Tomorrow Pueblo.  

       

Conquerred Hossier pass, my Everest

        Warmershows accommodations are always great fun.  Dave made me outrageously delicious cinnamon rolls this  morning. He banged them out in no time.   Fueled up with sugar and carbs, I set off on a slow and steady pace up the pass, four miles of switch backing.   By 10:30 the man was on the top,  a huge relief.  For months I have dreaded this high elevation pass.  Exacerbating the situation, I had attitude breathing problems when I hit the sack last night.  Waking up this morning, I had serious reservation as to whether or not I would reach the top.  It was way over rated; several of the previous pass were far worse.   Now  it is basically all downhill with the trip  half over.  

     For the third day I limited the miles covered to just over forty miles.  Let the young guys rack up the high mileage.  Youth is wasted on the young    

      I stopped at Hartsel, Colorado and had a great lunch at the town's only diner. After lunch and some good jawboning with the locals, I rode two miles out of town and settled into a guest ranch with excellent camping facilities.  This place is out in nowhere, surrounded by miles of arid grazing land and next to a meandering stream/river.

           I am in chill mode on  the prairie until tomorrow morning.

Higher and higher

     A short ride from Hot Sulphur Springs (43 miles) brought me to the Green Mountain Resevoir just past Heeney.  What a site, surrounding mountains with a huge beautiful lake in the middle. Rather than push on for Silverthorne, I found this iydillic camp site on right on the Resevoir.  The site had a small number of campers, quietude and a place to soak my feet.  No running water but a neighboring camper replenished my dwindling supply. 

        7:40 am I clipped the shoes to the pedals and headed south.  Nearing Silverthorne, I picked up a bike path that took me all the way to Breckinridge, a welcome reprieve from the cars.  The path was loaded with bikers and it appeared I was the only long distance rider. The path took me through Silverthorne, Frisco and into Breckinridge.  All three towns were gentrified to the max, upscale everything, virtually no fast food chains and not a soul who looked less than middle class.  All the houses are brown, homogenous, tastefully done but pretty dull.  My warmershowers accommodation is an apartment smack in the middle of Breckinridge.  Dave Dean, the renter, his eccentric brother, Abel and I dined at the local brewery, great IPAs. Very smart guys, well versed in the classic reads and very computer savy. Dave's robotic vacuum cleaner was hilarious roaming around the room periodically bouncing off me.

       Breckinridge is one giant tourist Mecca, making Mystic look like an undiscovered backwater town. It is at 9600 feet with huge snow covered mountains in your face, very impressive.

        Tomorrow I make the ten mile climb from 9600 feet to 11,500 feet; slow and steady, loads of water, numerous stops.  After this point the Transamerica route is all downhill. Thank god for small favors. I need to go out an buy on oxygen supply before the stores close.

9700 feet and climbing

      Sixty-four miles, over the Continental Divide again at 9700 feet and a soak in the hot sulphur springs of Hot Sulphur Springs, Colorado.  Keeping up with Nigel and Derek has pushed me a little over the top.  They headed for Granby this afternoon so we part company after having a real fun together.  Despite the pace, Colorado is just a masterpiece of snow covered mountains and green Valleys of  grazing land.  This morning we rode 30 miles in pretty much a never ending straight road. We climbed 9700 over another continental divide pass. Four other bicyclists going the other direction met us at the top. Pictures, stories and plenty of laughs between us all was a real treat for us hardened cyclists.  With the exception of a one mile climb, it was twenty miles of flying downhill at speeds of over thirty mph once on the other side of the pass!

      I arrived in Hot Sulphur Springs to find a dot on the map with a partially flooded camping park.  Days of rain have swelled the Colorado River to flood stage. I made do, set up my tent in a thunder storm and head out for a dinner and a thorough soaking in the hot springs. The hot springs comprised many different pools ranging in temperature from 97-112 degrees.  At present, I am putty trying to write this update.  Tomorrow I am backing off the throttle after having driven myself to keep up with the boys.

Crossed into Colorado

     Three of use crossed into Colorado via route 125, my fifth state and nearly two thousand miles into the trip.   Derek and Nigel have been excellent companions, especially while riding through some desolate areas. When we get to Hot Sulpher Springs, I will chill for a day.  The boys have a deadline and I don't.  

   Only fifty-one miles today; nevertheless a challenge given all the hills.  Running out of water was a major concern.

   We blew into Walden, Colorada, a pokie town with a library, court house, park ( where we are camping) and few stores, bars and motels/hotels.  Most of the small towns I go through are either nearly ghost towns or struggling economically.  Mining, lumbering, tourism, cattle ranches and not much else keeps these places alive.

     Everyday, we pass several cyclists on their way to some distant destination.  All of us are having the experience of our life.

Most of our friends think we are crazy.  

       

64 miles from Rawlins to Riverside.

      Thirteen miles on Interstate 80, the cars and trucks were flying by but we had a wide shoulder.  Derek and Nigel,  25 and 21 respectively, kept me moving at a pace more than my usual. After the lunch break at Saratogo (a nice little town where the wealthy flock to in the winter and summer months), we hammer out the last nineteen miles.  It was hot, hilly and the wind was on our nose. A cold beer was the first thing on our agenda upon arrival. The camp site was across the street from the watering hole,  gorgeous place right on the fast flowing Encampment River. When you see Airsteam RVs at a site you know the place is nice.

     I am in my tent, laying onl my back, twenty feet back from the river. It doesn't get any better.  

      Wyoming is a wide open  expanse of mountains and plains.  I liked Montana better but the state was well worth the ride through.  I have gotten a birdsye view of the landscape and hope to get back here soon.  

    Tomorrow I am off to  Walden, fifty miles south east.

 

Long and hot

        Two things special about Jeffrey City, the Mosquitos and the giant pot holes.  The town is one sorry place.

         I headed for Rawlins this AM thinking I could stop at Lamont for lunch and water.  After 36 miles, I was not happy to find the only store/cafe was closed.  I found some shade but finding water was not to be.  33 miles to go with two bottles of water and pushing 90 degrees!  Making the situation worse, the road shoulder was a wreck and the wind against me.   Just before I started a five mile climb over the Divided again,  I saw two tractor trailers moving slowly down a dirt road leading to the main road.  I waved them down holding up my water bottle. One driver had enough water to almost fill up one of my bottles. God bless the man, I rolled into Rawlins with only a quarter bottle of water remaining and the air temperature registering 94 degrees.

    Rawlins is a railroad hub/intersection  with a lot of everything but not much to see or do.   Derek and Nigel Pell and myself have been meeting up the past several nights. They are 21 and 25 and  very bright.  We have been having a lot of laughs.

      So today, I covered seventy miles, peaked over the Divide twice and damn near ran out of water.  By Saturday I may make it over Hossier pass, 11,500 feet!

The wind at my back

     60 miles to Jeffrey,on my new Brooks saddle, one five mile climb, hot as hell but a twenty mph wind at my back for the last 20 miles. When on the road there are long stretches of nothingness so stocking up on water and food is critical.  There is nothing worse than running out of water, hydration is no joke.

    Two other bikers and myself stopped for the night at Jeffrey City.  Through word of mouth I heard of this white church which was derelict but being being slowly fixed up by a small congregation.  Until last week, the roof leaked and it was necessary to set up a tent inside the building.  The place is primitive but charmingly funky.  Several rooms with carpeting, shower and kitchen; fits the bill for us tired cyclists. No one is around, the back door is unlocked and you can make a donation if you like.  I love this trip!

Third tent is the charm

   I had a R&R day given three high mileage days and one huge pass.  A whole bunch of cyclist set up camp in Lander's city park, one of the nices parks i have ever seen.   There were huge cotton wood trees, a small stream meandering through, lush grass along with ball fields, tennis courts and a tasteful pavilion.  Remember the second tent I picked up.  It was terrible, no fly resulting in miserable condensation.  As well, my bicycle seat was not doing its job either. So...., I pulled the stops out and purchased  a MSR tent and and Brooks English saddle.  Last night I slept like I was dead and today on my way to Jeffery City, I hope the ride will be kinder and gentle to where the sun doesn't shine. 

        Bicyclists going in each direction are everywhere. fourteen tents in the park last night. The brewery was excellent.

Met a grizzly at 9600

My experience yesterday is one for the record books.  At 8:24 I pulled out of a campsite off the John D. Rocckafeller highway and headed for a mother load mountain.  After 37 miles of fairly easy going, the climb began at 1:00pm.  What I thought was a ten mile pass turned out to be a seventeen mile grueling climb.  In my rearviwe mirror a woman rider, Jennie, appeared out of no where.  Having someone to cruise with made for a tolerable climb. Just before the top, cars going the other way we're shouting at us, "BEAR!"  Two national park trucks were there and we were told under no circumstances to try to sneak by the bear.  They asked if we had Bear spray, Jennie did and they told her to get it ready ASAP!  It was scary but exciting.  One of the trucks acted as interference and put himself between us in the bear.  A quarter mile up we crested the mountain. With our eyes on the look out for more bears we posed for pictures at the 9600 ft Divide sign.  Jennie was intent on getting to Dubois that night, 30 miles away! I was not tired, not!  She had to rendez-vous with a guy she had been cruising with off and on.  I was game.  We flew down hill almost the whole way.  Cruised into town and immediately picked up six pack of a good IPA.  Our KOA camp was loaded with nine bikers whereupon we allied for the remainder of the night.  86 miles and a killer pass, I slept like I was dead!

       

Long haul through nowhere Wyoming

     After 86 miles to Dubois my mind was numb, my body spent.  Thirty miles downhill helped but the seventeen mile climb was grueling and consumed a major amount of energy.  Jenny stayed with me as a ramped up up the speed to twenty plus mph on a slight decline.  The first thing we both
wanted was too pick up cold six pack of cold brew and some provisions at the local market.  Offering her some honey on the way out to our bikes was met by a feisty reply. Suck it up buttercup, I am tired too. Ok, expecting a grateful response is not a given after a long haul, but civility and good manners go a long way no matter what your level of exhaustion.   No matter, we found a campsite, signed in and camped on a green crowded with other cyclists.  The evening was a pleasant reward for my effort to get as far as I did.  The next morning another long stretch had to be crossed to get to Lander.  Awesome scenery everywhere with only a  few minor climbs. The temperature was in the low nineties.  The wind, depending on the direction of the road, slowed me to crawl or gave me a welcomed push. Had I been sailing, I would to close hauled or running down wind. Bearing left was a lift and the right curves slowed me down. My route led me through the Wind River Reservation, a huge expanse.  Seventy miles to Lander, god bless my tired legs, they just keep cranking. The park is one of the city jewels, a beautiful place with huge cotton wood trees. So many small towns have these wonderful parks; they take real good care of them.  You don't find litter, the grass is mower, everything is in tip top shape.   As for a shower, it was a nine block schlep across town to the  local middle school.  My first first visit to the facility was closed being late Sunday afternoon.   The park facilities afforded me the pleasure of a wash down using the sink; you do what you have to do.  Such is the bohemian life of a cross country cyclist.

          Now on my rest day I will be searching for a new tent and bicycle seat; I will be buzzing around town looking for replacements.  Tonight it is off to the local brewery, another brewery!  

Met a grizzly at 9600

     My experience yesterday is one for the record books.  At 8:24 I pulled out of the campsite off of the John D. Rockefeller highway and headed for a mother load mountain.  After 37 miles of fairly easy going, the climb began in ernest at 1:00pm. Beginning a big climb starting in the afternoon noon is a bit dicey given that my energy reserves were waning, the heat and the time of day.  What I thought was a ten mile pass morphed into a seventeen mile grueling climb.  Mile after mile cranking away in my lowest gear, my progress averaged under five mph.  Watching my odometer click off the miles, focusing on the road ten feet ahead of me, keeping up the steady rotation of my pedals and directing my thoughts and energy into rolling forward up the hill, I gradual chipped away at the gaint before me. Into my twelfth mile after passing a rest stop, I did a double take when glimpsing in my rear view mirror, there was a woman cyclist a foot behind my rear tire.  Trying to be friendly given the strenuous climb, I said hi. Jennie from Montreal on a midlife crisis cross country ride (having turned fourth), pulled even with me.  Sort of a Tom boy, she kept me cranking as we talked.  Having someone to cruise with made for a more tolerable climb; she took my mind off the grind.  I had never ridden with a solo woman rider before.  There is that unspoken wall between the sexes which makes for a less relaxing ride. Being conscious of how I was coming across and all the other translation issues always gums up a good time.  I travel alone for a reason.  Nevertheless, I stayed in my groove and persisted upwards.

    Just before the top, RVs traveling down hill in the other direction we're shouting  "BEAR, BEAR!!!"  Two national park trucks had just arrived ahead of us.  We were told under no circumstances were we to try to sneak by the bear which was about 150 feet away on a slope just beyond the guard rail.  The ranger nearest us, sitting in his truck, asked if we had bear spray, Jennie did and he told her to get it ready ASAP!  It was scary but exciting.  I asked if she knew how to use it and she said yes in not such a confident way. Terrific. As the bear wander way towards the woods, one of the Rangers placed his truck between us and the bear.  We rode by his side for two hundred yards with the understanding that if the bear turned on us, we were to drop our bikes and jump into the pickup section of the truck. With the bear off several hundred feet, the ranger signed off, telling us not to hang around at the top too long.  "Get your picture of the summit sign and get off the mountain. There are twelve grizzly families up here".   Nice to know as Jenny had a bad case of paranoia for the last quarter mile to the top.  With our eyes on the look out for bears we posed for pictures at the 9600 ft elevation Continental Divide sign.  Jennie was intent on getting to Dubois that night, 30 miles away!  I was not tired, not!  But game for the downhill flight. She had to rendez-vous with a guy she had been cruising with off and on.  We flew down hill almost the whole way.  Jenny like other younger riders were fearless, reaching speeds in excess of fourth mph.  Brakes? I kept it under thirty-five, tiring not to smoke my disc brakes. We flew and the thirty miles vanished in no time. We cruised into town and immediately picked up six pack of cold IPAs.  Our KOA camp was loaded with nine bikers; we all pitched our tents in a grassy circle surrounded by RVs.  I struck up a conversation with the RV right next to us.  He showed me his semi truck arranged which he used to haul his jeep and camper.  We sucked down a "Bud" together and head fortune  respective dwellings.  Much to my delight, twenty minutes later, the trucker brought a plate full of juicy burgers and hotdogs for all us cyclists to feast on.  It pays to be friendly no matter how different they may be from you. 

     86 miles and a killer pass, amazing! I slept like I was dead!

       

8400 ft and climbing

No joke when the park services posts signs warning about animals crossing the road. On my way from West Yellowstone to the Madison junction campsite, cruising at about forteen Mph, out of the woods to my right a bison came strolling out onto the road and nearly collided with me, missed him by eight feet, maximum.  Either I tee boned the Bison, which might have provoked it into an unpleasant response with me lying on the ground or still airborne, I veered radically to my left. Fortunately, the big guy sized up the situation and stopped.  Bison tend to be fairly laid back but I have heard stories suggesting otherwise.  The operative phrase here is, "don't trouble Trouble until Trouble troubles you". So anyways, I dodged the bullet and lived to tell the tale.

    The same thing goes for the Bears look for food around the camp site. Anything edible including water, must be place in the steel boxes provided at the sites.  That includes toothpaste and water.  It is a bit unsettling to wake up in the morning to find bear scat thirty from my tent.

     I left Madison at 7am anticipating the three peaks I had to climb and distance I had to cover before reaching a place to re provision.  On the way I jogged a few miles out of my way to see old Faithful which is not so faithful anymore.  Between getting breakfast, joining the hoards to witness the geyser and riding to the designated route, I lost about two hours. Nevertheless, I plowed along climbing three Continent Divide passes of 8200, 8400 and 7900 ft.; all managed without any attitude problem. Exiting Yellowstone park, I entered the John D. Rockafeller, Jr. Highway.  With sixty miles logged in three passes climbed I pulled off into a national park lodge and camping area where set up shop for the night.  The site was nicely wooded but loaded with huge RVs pretending to be "roughing it".  Tomorrow I enter Grand Tetons park and climb another Divide mountain, This one over 9100 ft.. 

       The traffic is treacherous but my new horizontal orange flag attached to my rear pannier frame had been keeping the cars at bay.  The waving orange flag, yellow pannier rain covers and bright clothing makes a clear statement to the passing cars and trucks to give me plenty of room when passing me.  Red necks aside, so far so good.

          

        

Route change

   A modest ride of thirty-eight mile brought me into the tourist Mecca of West Yellowstone.  The place is mobbed with obese people everywhere driving motor homes and waddling down the sidewalks stopping at one tacky tourist trap after another. They came to Yellowstone to do this slothing around town.  No hiking and trying to experience the beauty of this park.    Too much high fructose corn syrup, expensive vegetables, excessive portions, sedentary life styles focused around the television and the computer, no exercise other than opening the refrigerator;  god forbid getting on a bicycle for a few mile ride.  America needs a big kick in the behind.  As my mother always said about these obese individuals, "Don't they know that we have to look at them!"

    Putting my mental blinders on to screen this blight, I searched for a place to land for the night.   Having no luck finding an affordable place to stay, I geared up to ride down the road fourteen miles to a free campsite friendly to cyclists. I had to stock up on provisions, so I found the local market.  as I was walking out of the grocery store with my stash of food, another biker on a recumbent, Glen McLeod, saw me, struck up a conversation, "Where you headed?" etc..  Having scoped out the place, he had a campsite staked out on plot of grass and trees big enough for several tents amongst a city of RVs.  I signed in and set up my digs.  What a relief not to have to ride miles out of town.  Glen and I cruised downtown for diner and few cold ones.  We carried on like we had know each other forever, shooting the breeze on everything and exchanged informations on places we had ridden through.  He confirmed the stories about Eastern Kentucky, the worst meth drug epidemic in the country, wild dogs, muggings, bad heat and humidity, overall a very shakey situation for cyclists. He narrowly missed getting mugged by toothless hillbillies coming at him with clubs. A car coming up the hill saw him and ran interference for Glen so he could escape down a hill.  I had been hearing stories about this area from numerous cyclists.  The story was the same; it was time to alter course to friendlier territory.  Glen had the route worked out in detail which took me north from southeast Kansas.  It will end me up on the Eastern Shore near D.C..  Adventure Cycling, who sponsors the route, has yet to reroute cyclists around this problem.
      One valuable tip Glen gave me was the horizontal handicap orange flag.  Every biker is plagued by the cars and trucks who often cut us too close out of vindictiveness or stupidity.  Zip tying the pole and flag to my rear pannier rack extending it out to my left side about twenty inches is a brilliant innovation.  The waving orange fluorescent flag gains another few feet of clearance for the cyclist and sends a clear warning to motorists that we need space.  Of all the tips I learned along the way, this one was truly a life safer.    

     Tomorrow is a rest day.  I will probably relocate in the afternoon to the Madison Junction camp ground to cut off fourteen miles on the following day's arduous ride over mountainous terrain.  It was sad to see Glenn head off west, he was such a good guy to hang out with for a day.

Mile after mile, Montana is spectacular

       Virginia City typifies  the old west.  Every store is a time warp, a lot of charm, but verging on being overdone and definitely too many tourists.   The town has a good thing going so I should not knock it.  I wish New London had half the charm.

     Leaving town entailed a four mile climb into a strong head wind.  My walking muscles had a good workout.  Energy conservation is a big part of long distance cycling and I have nothing to prove.  I was making 3.9-4.1 mph pedaling and 2.6-2.9 mph walking. The spread wasn't great enough to justify grinding away in the granny gear.  

     On the way down strong crosswinds forced me to ride the brakes to maintain my stability.  It is a unnerving to be flying down a hill and be hit by a oscillating headwind.  Not knowing when it was going to hit me and how hard had me on guard at a much lower speed.  The next eight miles to Ennis head winds fought me the entire way.  I put my head down, drop down a few  gears and forge ahead.  Complaining as about going downhill sounds lame but I want to get there alive.  I stopped in Ennis briefly to grab a sandwich for the road.  Nice town, it seems to have been discovered but not in a bad way.  You have to wonder where the regular folk live when a town becomes destination, in this case fishing.  Probably part of the California creep just the way New Yorkers have invaded Connecticut.

        For the fifty-five miles I covered yesterday,  there was nothing but mountains, valleys and rivers, a photo opportunity every few miles, very majestic out here. As the altitude increases, the snow gets closer.  Will I need studs?

         Like yesterday I met several cyclists traveling west.  A sister and brother started April 15 from Miami, went up 1A and then took a left around Virginia.  Two guys from Colorado met me near the end of the day.  It is fun exchange information on where we have been and tips on various mutual concerns such as camping, food, road conditions, other bicyclists they met and so on.

      West Yellowstone was too far to travel by days end so I pulled off at a camp area for the night which advertised on a small sign "bicyclists welcome".   Not much civilization in any direction but the campsite made up for it by having all the amenities including a gourmet restaurant and a small store to buy road provisions. The fast flowing clearwater river (?) abutted the site and mountains on four sides.  The draw here is the trout fishing and, of course, the spectacular scenery.  

        As the lone camper, I had the pick of locations and set tent up out of the wind with a killer view of everything.  Before hitting the sack, I am piling on the clothes.  The temperature drops like a stone at night around here. 

       Next to my tent is a fenced off pasture with horses grazing. I could easily live out here for a month out of the year, during the warmers months that is.  Maybe I should take up fly fishing? I tried and it didn't take. For sure the property taxes are much lower out here than in Connecticut.

       

Fellow bicyclists everywhere

      Over the course of the day after leaving Dillon, I met up with both a Swiss and British couple, three Transamerica racers and a guy from Northern California.  The mountains appeared greener but the Valleys are more arid.  Everyone is crossing the country one way or the other.  It is fun swapping stories or briefing each other about what to look out for along the way. Have we seen so and so with the prosthesis leg.....Seeing someone way off in the distance riding towards you is always a welcome sight. Checking out the rider's bike, gear and talking as cars and trucks speed by.  The road is our home. The bond is instant, we are both long distant travelers determined to make the crossing.  

       At the super market in Dillion, I met a fellow baker, Derick Pell. Twenty-five and legs as big as logs.  We met up again thirty miles later at a no name convenience store where he introduced me to instant energy...pop tarts! 400 calories guaranteed to give you a near instant recharge.  At home no way would I eat the stuff but on the road, I eat what it takes to keep the boiler stoked.  Dereck, with only two forward chain rings and no granny gear can climb hills effortlessly. Youth!  

     I arrived at Virginia City and Nevada City which are two towns straight out of the old west.  A major tourist attraction with RVs parked everywhere.  Any second Clint Eastwood could have come around the corner.  A big Irish celebration was underway including a parade, Irish dancing and bag piping. But first things first after a long days ride. The right bar and grill was close by where I Indulged in a cold IPA.  My contribution to the festivities.

       A campsite up the road was my only option.  The area for bikes was separate from the RV ghetto but nearly devoid of a flat spot to pitch my tent.  A large permanent teepee was set up next to and filled with several backpacks. Late that evening a group of campers staggered on to the site.  One guy barfed his guts out shortly thereafter.  Forget any consideration for me as they carried on but next morning they were laid low as I sprang to life early ready to cover more ground.  I had a good size breakfast at the only restaurant open. 

   Once on the road, I immediately started a four mile climb.  Once over the top I  descend into Ennis, a day's ride from West Yellowstone.  Four out of my twelve transamerica maps will be complete!  

      Here I am writing this blog looking out at the mountains and wilderness.  Tonight I will be camping under the stars with only nature making the noise.

Cruising down route 278

      49 miles of open plains and snow covered mountains. You have to see it for yourself.  Going to Europe?  Try this first.

     Crested big hole pass at 7400 and one other lower pass before I barreled  18 miles down hill, smoking the discs, trying to keep it under 30.  Straight mile after mile, the big sky, passing fellow bikers loaded for bear.   One guy came screaming (literally) past me as I was granny gear climbing up the pass. On my way down, my body was peppered with mosquitos. It wasn't until I rolled into Wisdom and stopped to check my map that I was swarmed by the bloodsuckers. My god, no more than ten seconds and the attack began.  No wonder I didn't see anyone on the Main Street of Wisdom. I started peddling and fighting off the bugs as I gained speed.  Open ditch irrigation during the month of June is a huge breeding ground for misquitos.  The next eighteen miles I had to make twelve mph or better, hills included, to ward off the bugs. The vacuum created behind my thighs and on my back allowed the monsters to land and suck.   I couldn't even stop to take a leak.  I rolled into Jackson a bitten wreck. There was a nice lodge with a hot spring pool and a cavernous main room with moose heads on the outer walls.  The bartender found a can of Cutter for me.  In the back of the building there was a nice lawn for me to set up my tent.  The bugs were tolerable but still a formidable obstacle to staying outside. Being a one blink town, the dining options were limited.  Across the street, the only street, was a restaurant with a Bassett hound to keep me company during my dinner.  The whole town was there, mud and all, juke box playing and the owner's inherited large oriental  spread across the floor, a real nice rug in a totally inappropriate setting.  On my way back to my tent, I stood in the middle of the road looking miles each way into nowhere.  Sleep was a wonderful thing that night.  The next morning I found a restaurant adjoining the great room.  Good food, slow service but I met a few cyclists.  One guy had ridden six weeks from DC (what is the rush?), the other guy joined me for breakfast.  He was a TransAmerica racer gearing up for a few hundred mile ride east with a high protein, carbohydrate loaded meal. All us cross country riders are dedicated members of the clean plate club; see food, eat food.  Before I started out another racer wished me a safe ride as I did to him.  Riding across the country has its crazies.  Give me fifty/sixty miles a day, that is reasonable, two hundred miles a day is nucking futs!   Different folks, different strokes, we all have our goals.  I want to see what these younger guys will be doing when they are sixty-five.

     Tired of two nights of camping, the local Catholic Church took me in; Father Pins rides a Harley and is

pushing 70.  The church set him up with a BMW, black paint job of course, to make his rounds.  His diocese is larger than Connecticut!   

     Sleeping in a upholstered bench was marginal but I was inside with a private bath.  In the middle of the night my numerous mosquito bites wanted into hyper itch mode.  The door jamb and my back became one.   After catching some much needed zzzz, I checked out Dillions new brewery.  So good, I had trouble stopping at two IPAs.  God, I am hooked on the stuff.   Tomorrow, who knows where my wheels will take me.  Montana, I like this place.

Montana is spectacular

      I settled into Sula last night after a 40 mile ride from Hamilton.  Tried my new tent, it was like being at the Waldorf Astoria compared to the bivy sak.  It rained but I sawed logs all night. My tent was twenty feet from a fast running stream loaded with trout.  Drat, I didn't bring my rod! Tried it once before but it didn't take.  Standing in a stream constantly casting trying to hook the elusive trout is my idea of watching astro turf grow. anyways that is what I need is a few more pounds of useless weight on the drag strip.  It is amazing what I am parting with to lighten the load.  Socks, underwear, pit stick, it is a never ending quest to do with less.

    Ok, now for climb over Chief Joseph, 7240 ft.  I charged out of Sula and hit the climb fives miles later.  Eight miles up at a six degree incline and the new chain ring gear did the job.  I climbed it in two hours and still logged on another forty-nine miles.  Flying down the back side, I descended into the most beautiful setting of surrounding snow covered mountains and as far as the eye could see,  lush grazing farmland.  I felt so insignificant riding down the road with no cars around, just me.  You would have to be here to grasp how awesome it is out here.  Mile after mile of straight road in the middle of nowhere.  A Lamborgini would have a good time out here.  As I have always been told, if you have a hot car, bring it to Montana.  Should I give my Four Ranger a shot at it.

        I arrived at Wisdom after visiting The Big Hole national site of the 1877 battle between the Nez Pierce and US soldiers. I stopped in Wisdom to get a butt break and was immediately swarmed by Mosquitos. For the next eighteen miles, I was peppered with them and had to maintain ten mph to keep them off me.  A stop for even fifteen seconds was near lethal.  As I learned later, the farmers use open ditch irrigation which is a breeding ground for Mosquitos.  The scenery was the best but I couldn't let up for eighteen miles, including on the hills. My eyes and hands were constantly searching out the blood suckers.  It was wash"t fun.  Jackson, a three blink town, was a welcome site for my spent mosquito bitten body.   The owner of the Hot Springs Lodge picked up some bug spray which saved me that night. The can weights a bit, like I should complain.  

     Checked out the Transamerican bicycle race, it started five days ago. I have spoken with three racers so far, one English, one Dutch and one Irish.  They are riding up to 270 miles a day!!!  No back up, everyone is on there own.  I thought I was crazy.  The Irish biker did the Race Across America in eleven days!!!  So much for my pleasure cruise.  I could"t imagine subjecting myself to such a grueling race.  Everyone has their reason, sane or not sane.

       Tomorrow it is on to Dillon.  Yellowstone is in my crosshairs. Richie, bring home some firsts!

  

A day to chill, next stop the Rockies

Chuck Hansberry took me in, great times followed. I took him to dinner, vise versa

the next night.  He knew where the good IPAs were.  I love the stuff.  During the day, I picked up my new tent, GOOOOD BYE bivy sak.  In prepping for the Rockies I swapped the small chainring gear for an even smaller one to give me more leverage  when I climb the mother load mountains. Twenty-four teeth and you have to strain to see it inside of the other two chain ring gears.  At least I won't have any seventy year old women busting my chops because I could make it to the top of the mountain without walking. During day in Missoula I meander around town on my bike taking in the character of the town.  The University of Montana is quite nice with a main campus of stately buildings and abundance beautiful trees tastefully around the center green.  Bordering the campus, I came across a nice eatery to have lunch at a nice eatery.   Students and professors filled the place.  After chilling over a delicious lunch, I continued my travels around the older part of town.  Stately houses, well kept up, added a certain sophistication to the area.  Overall Missoula is a nice town, at least during the warm weather months.  Winters must  long and cold with staggering quantities of snow. 

     At day's end after I had time to set up my new in chuck's back yard and go deaf from his neurotic blind Dachshund which barked incessantly at an ear piercing decibal level, Chuck and I took in another brewery, had dinner

And downed two delicious craft IPAs.  The next more, it was lift off time after a very pleasant day cruising around town.  So that I didn't have to brave the treacherous highway back to Lolo again, Chuck loaded me up in his SUV and drove me there. I picked up bike path which I wa told about.  Separated by a good twenty feet from the road, the paved bike path was stress free and a joy to ride.  Three miles down the path, the back end of my bike got mushy; yes, my first flat tire of the journey.  So much for Marathon Supremes at $90 a pop.  Having change out tubes only once before, I wasn't very adept at the process. Pumping up the tire after replacing the tire.  I pinched the tube between the steel rim the tire and blew it as I pumped it up. Good move, close to nowhere with limited options, I began the process of patching the original punctured tube.  Gear strewn around the bike, I made some calls to Missoula to no avail.  Kate helped me get the numbers of the bike shop I used yesterday as well as Adventure Cyclings number.  While waiting for the contact cement to set up, a guy riding his bike in the opposite direction stopped to see if he could help. Explaining my situation, this guy, Sherman Daniel, biked back to his truck and returned to take me with the bike all the way back to Missoula bike shop I had used and then, unbelievably, drove me back Lolo to were I had had my flat.  I am  talking twenty miles of driving.  Turns out Sherman and I both are the same age, like the same music and are woodworkers.  We hit it off.  Truly nice people out here.The list is growing daily who I owe.

     A thousand miles without a flat isn't half bad. Anyways by 11:30  I was on the  bike path again headed for Hamilton.  With the snow covered Rockies on my right the whole way and no traffic to deal with, the next twenty miles were idyllic. I had to deal with some rain but not enough to bother me.

    When I rode into Hamilton, I located a local brewery and treat myself to two frosty IPAs then checked out warm showers.com. Score, another great place to stay. I hung their wet laundry up on the line as my way of contributing.  Beats camping.

  Tomorrow, I am off to Sula.  Perhaps I will tackle Chief Joseph's pass but it will be a forty mile ride before I get to the base.  Let's not be superman.

Someone is looking out for me

     Yesterday, it was a 73 mile haul including conquerring Lolo Pass.  I found a national forest campsite just as my engine was starting to sputter.  Tired and grungy, I fumbled about, set up my sleeping apparatus , showered, dressed for dinner and feasted on cheese, bread, smoked mussels, fruit trail mix and an apple washed down with water laced with gator aid powder.  Hit the spot!  It is amazing how good even the most basic food can taste when you on the road. I have a mission which often boils my needs down to the absolute basics. Part of the challenge and fun of it all.

         I hauled out for Missoula before nine, down hill the whole way, the river going with me instead of against me (other side of the Divide).  After a tense highway stretch, I found a chez Mac (McDonalds),  clean bathrooms, no hassles.  Spent an hour searching for a crash pad.  Looking bleak, I headed out to check out a phantom hostel. Barely out of the lot, I see this guy riding a Bike Friday.  He stopped, "you look lost?", "No, just looking for a place to stay, I hate motels", " Hey, stay at my place".  Chuck Handsberry rode cross country in 1991.  He knew my situation.  Instant friendship, he took to his house, explained this wife and kids were vacationing out of town and set me up in his daughters room.  We cruised the town to do some of my need-to-do items including gourmet pizza and a few delicious IPAs, my treat.  This hospitality by complete strangers has happened three times now😳.  I am not at all accustomed to this type living.  People out here are friendly, trusting and willing to help out without a thought, amazing.  Tomorrow is an R&R day.  

Idaho is really spectacular

    Even with wifi, the reception has been louzy.  This area is remote and one step away from total wilderness. Yesterday Greg Wilson and I had an easy 75 mile cruise from Grangeville to the Lowell. We bordered the roaring Clearwater river all day.  The river races along over rocks and anything in its way.  The mountains and the river Make up a stunning panoramic vistas, seemingly endless.  Greg Wilson and I road along absorbing the beauty of place. Upon reaching Lowell, all of twenty-three inhabitants, Greg, having to make Denver in a week, decided to hitchhike to get further along.  The local cafe fueled me up for the next   61 mile where there were no stores or anything except a few national park camp sites. I had to make sure to carry enough food and water given that this stretch of road had no stores. Rather than stake out a tent on my own..you know: bears, mountain Lions and wolves... I found a site populated with rafters.  Prior to arriving at this campsite, I topped off my water bottles at an historic  ranger station, my last chance thirty miles. After setting up in a quiet spot above and away from the weekend warriors, I braved the artic water of the Clearwater River for a clean up.  A few seconds immersed in the water, while being  careful not to be swept down the river, was all I could handle of the water. I changed into some civilian cloths and settled in to read a few pages from "The Heart is a Lonely hunter".  More trucks, vans and cars arrived ratcheting up the tempo of the party not far from me.  Up from the party came the organizer of the weekend with a cold beer for me.  Skyler made me feel welcome. Later two installments of delicious barbecued food arrived with another cold brew. Even when I was shrink wrapped into my bivy sak, the food kept arriving. The hospitality out here is much different than in the east.  People seem more relaxed, friendlier and willing to extend a hearty welcome to outsiders.

        About the bivy sak, it is a nightmare to use.  The designer didn't get it right.  It is too small and drips of condensation.  It needs a fly in a big way.  I finally used it as a cover for my sleeping bag as a way to liberate myself from its confining space.The new tent is awaiting me in Missoula.  As for the sak, it is going on eBay for anyone uninformed enough to buy it.

        At six hundred hours, I sprang to life, got my act together and hit the asphalt for 40 miles of gradual climbing.  My tooch(sp) was soar and everything else numb when I cruised into Powell.  The heat had taken its toll on me. With my w ater and food almost gone, my stomach was screaming for lunch.  I settle in at the Lochsa lodge for a decadent lunch avec desert.   The place was tastefully laid out with steep wooded forests surrounding it.  Alas a place with wifi, I was able to reconnect with the outside world. Before heading out, I will stock up on food and water, wait for the heat to go down and make  an attempt to reach Lolo pass.  Tomorrow, Missoula and at least a day to rest up, see the city and suck down some good IPAs.  1,000 miles behind me!

Turn up the tunes for climbing hills

Greg and I pushed off from Riggins early but had two flats right away, one on his bike and one on his trailer(a Bob).  I was following him and he ran over some thorns which I miraculously missed.  I have been warned about these tiny thorns which can plague cyclists.  Perhaps my marathon tires are paying off.  Once back on saddle, neither of us were a ball of fire but still managed thirty miles to White Bird.  Pokie place but there is evidence that it has been quietly discovered by a few in the know.  How many towns have I seen which have been ruined because of some journalist writing a feature article on how charming the place is?  The trick is finding a nice place and keeping a lid on it.  Based on my travels so far, the northwest is peppered with smoky little nowherevilles which would be ideal for a purchasing a small house as a secret getaway.  

      Now for the fun, ten miles of switch backs on old route 95 to crest the mountain and down to Grangeville.  How many miles have I push my bike up hill when my legs needed a break, 10 miles? 

This  ascent had me walking about two miles.  Monotony for sure.  Solution?Bring out the blue tooth ear phones.  The Stones, BB King,  Dylan, The Beatles, ZZ Top.... Rock and roll to the top. Why did I not do this earlier.  Change often requires a "necessity" before happening.  With almost no cars the whole climb, I took the centerline and rock away up the pass.  Great tunes, fantastically beautiful mountains and plains stretching out as far as the eye could see, totally alone with nature.  You got to love it.  Greg came down looking for me because he cranked his way to the top and I walked several miles to save energy.  Youth! Isolated as I was, it was good to know someone was checking to see if the Hump was Ok.  I was tired, hot and parched despite having hydrated the whole way up. He had a mouth watering orange peeled for me at the top.   I treated him to a late afternoon lunch and a cold IPA when we cruised into Grangeville.  Afterwards with my battery reading a bit on the positive side. we picked up some food and checked into a camp ground where Greg cooked up a pretty decent dinner.  With a rough day behind me, having someone cook up a dinner always does the trick. The sunset was perfect with the big sky and the beautiful mountains. Life is good on the road out here.  I feel myself more in the groove as I crank across America mile after mile.  Missoula, Montana, can you hear me?  I am closing in for hopefully a rest day.

It is about Electrolytes

        It dawned on me that my legs were losing their punch at the same time I ran out performance powder for my water.  It took me two days of under 35 miles to get my strength back again. First thing before shoving off this morning, I pick up electrolyte powder and fortified all four of my water bottles. 

 Today, I rode 50 miles but mostly down hill arriving at Riggins, a town wedged between steep mountain slopes and  the Salmon river with steep hills beyond the river. The town can not be much more than a quarter mile wide if that much.  Despite Riggins being shoehorned into this narrow valley, the place is swarming with fishermen fishing for Salmon, big salmon.  As I road into town, I came upon cars and RVs parked the side of the road stretching a good quarter mile out of town. Greg and I stopped and asked what was going on. One enthusiastic fisherman held up a salmon for our inspections. These fish are huge and the river is teaming with them. Some people actually count on this brief period to stick their freezers with fish to help defray the cost of food.  The area has its share of people living on the edge.  I wonder what the billionaires are doing.

       Although the town is a hopping with fishermen for a few weeks with perfect weather to enjoy. Come summer, Riggins hovers around 110 degrees amid the winters as low as 20 below; no time to be in this neighborhood for very long.

         Greg and I sought out a place to crash for the evening.  The cook at the restaurant where we ate  invited us to stay in her house, a nice place around the corner.  The people are so trusting and friendly.  Do you hear that New England?! 

        Tomorrow we climb old route 95 seven miles to crest at the top by Grangeville.  These climbs are getting easier but not something I look forward to the night before.  Maybe we can log on another 25 miles given the steep  descent. No IPAs tonight for sure!  

Backing off the pace

    Yesterday 31 miles, today 26; the mountain passes are taking a toll on my legs.  My chainring granny gear just isn't small enough to get me up the steep grades without me having to push the bike more often than I like. At least tomorrow  is down hill to Riggins or White Bird. 

      Today I found another great place to stay, red carpet treatment. Ann Rush, who I met three days back with her brother Jim, at a national park pull over by reservoir just over the stateline into Idaho.  I had just finished lunch and was heading out when She greeted me asking where I was headed. After briefing her on my adventure, she gave me her address and  told me to give her a call when I made it to New Meadow. Getting to New Meadow was easy enough but McCull, where Ann and Jim lived, was a one thousand foot climb over eleven miles. We called them and the drive down in there car and van.  They loaded my bike up along Greg Wilson's bike, fourth year college student. Once at Ann's house, a very nice house. we were given our rooms and bath and dined like gods. McCull is an upscale town which apparently was a hippy hang out years back.  Ann, Jim and two of their friends had a small dinner party with linen and silver service. Beer, wine, great food, nice people, not much more I could ask for.

    The next day, Ann laid out a delicious breakfast and made us a lunch for the road.  With clean clothes on our back, we flew down hill to New Meadow.  Jim and Ann even gave us a contact where we might stay in Riggins.  

      Now, pray for good roads, considerate drivers and smooth sailing.

   

Real decent folk out here on Idaho

      The 67 mile ride yesterday over two mountain passes in 87 degree heat took its toll today.  30 miles from Cambridge to Council, Idaho felt like I was rolling on concrete wheels.  Two 22 year olds I met up briefly horizoned me as if they were intent on setting a distance record.  Many of the young riders I have met have speed and distance as their primary goal. Smelling the roses along way seems not to be on their radar screen.  

    When I coasted into Council, my search for a place to stay came up seriously empty, no decent place to stay anywhere. One possible place was a dive hotel (flop house) which left me feeling somewhat desperate. Yet, the thought of spending another night in my bivy sak still was a lousy fall back. With pathetic Internet service, even with wifi, I called Kate to get the numbers for the local churches. One church, one possibility, I spoke with Pastor Les and explained my dilemma.  A sequence of events happened rapid fire. He met me at a RV campsite where there appeared to be no around with a wide open office.  The Padtir want to met me as he stated over the phone.  No sooner had he said hello than we loaded my bike into his Subaru and drove me to Pastor Geoff and Judy Cole's house/farm where they gave me a warm welcome, set me up in their son's room, who was away, and cooked me a delicious dinner.  We discussed religion of which they were fairly passion but still  understanding of my liberal take on the almighty. Above all they are  truly amazingly good people. We talked until I had to get some sleep or do a face plant.  How do you thank people like this?

       Tomorrow, another day another mountain pass!