Looking Down on Snow

June 23, 2008

Jean reminds me there is more to this trip than biking… and people do not necessarily always care to read about biking. True. However, this entry is entirely about biking. So do not read any further if you do not want to read about this biking.

The past 4 days have been extremes of lazy rest days in two of our most fabluous National Parks; Teton and Yellowstone, OR, some pretty awesome climbing. Climbing Teton Pass (elev. 8,500′) on June 20th and today it was the Continental Divide (elev. 9,700′). The highest elevations we have done to date. Teton Pass was shorter and more brutal. My wounded GPS was showing grades of 9.5% and 10% in the last four miles.  We were all blowing hard, stopping four times in the last three miles for oxygen. Naturally, the ride to the floor at Jackson WY. was a rush! (What we do is to wait for a no-traffic break, start everyone at 100yd intervals and then start Jean in the van. She holds back traffic since it is no-passing and 45mph limit. So we have the entire lane. Try to imagine!) The Continental Divide was different today. Starting at 6,900′ we climbed for about 17 miles at an average of 5-6% grade. The end was steeper, naturally. To my cycling friends at home, try to imagine riding the Ellison Bay hill that’s seventeen miles long at 9,000′.

Which brings me to the point. Today, on the last large climb, as on each large climb preceeding it. The Cascades, Tetons and now the Divide I have always looked down on snow. At times just a little here and there in the woods, but today I looked down on a solid snow field that was 1,000′ below me. Pretty awesome. It’s all downhill from here, right?! 

News! Yesterday, my sister Lyss, her daughter Mararget and children and a friend joined us in Yellowstone for a week of riding, adventure and family. Particularly Peter, Margaret’s son, who is 15 and has proven to be a fine rider. Great!  

The Tetons and Yellowstone

June 23, 2008

Peter writes: Today I’m writing from Dubois, Wyoming (pronounced “Doo-boys”), which is about 60 miles east of the Grand Teton National Park. I haven’t written since Idaho Falls, which was some three days ago (although, frankly, everything’s a bit of a whirr). Since then, we’ve ridden over the Teton Pass (elevation 8,400 feet), which was the hardest stretch of riding on the whole trip (see my dad’s blog on it below — basically, climbing 9-11% grades over 3 miles at 8,000 feet is a whole new experience in pain); after topping over the pass, we bombed the descent into Jackson, Wyoming, a town that appears to be famous for being famous (kind of like Paris Hilton, really), and called it a day.

We took the next two days off for touring the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone. Without getting into too much detail, these parks really are spectacular. The Teton range is magnificent. And Yellowstone is Yellowstone, meaning it lives up to expectations: Old Faithful was in fact faithful on our visit, the Old Faithful Inn is one of the most interesting buildings I’ve ever seen, and Yellowstone Falls is simply gorgeous. But the most interesting and hair-raising part of the experience is the wildlife. Over two days we saw every one of the large mammals that inhabit the park — moose, elk, bison and grizzlies. We saw two of the latter, one of which was no more than 75 yards from us (thankfully completely uninterested in the horde of tourists standing on the side of the road, snapping its photo).

All of that ended today, as we got back in the saddle and once again headed due east. Our trip today included the highest point on the entire ride, over the Continental Divide at some 9,700 feet (once again, see dad’s blog below). Fortunately the climb, while brutally long, had a maximum grade of around 6% and thus spared us from the types of lung-searing efforts required over the Teton Pass. Once over the top, we had a descent that lasted at least 15 miles, which is the reward for climbing the monsters we’ve had to deal with.

I did have one fascinating encounter on the way up the climb. As I was suffering up the upper portion of the climb, I happened to look up from my usual 10 feet in front of the bike to see two huge animals not 100 yards from me. A moose and her calf were standing by the side of the road, eating grass. Both were oblivious to the 2 cars that passed just as I noticed them, but once they saw me, their interest was piqued. Apparently autos are perfectly normal to moose, but not bicycles. Not good. I had no problem recalling the little wilderness survival knowledge I had, namely, don’t surprise large furry mammal mothers when they are with their calves. And these two were definitely surprised. And of course they were huge, even the calf, which was probably twice my size, making the mother four or five times my size. Well, to make a long story short, I turned and took off downhill until I saw my mother in the van, then turned back up the hill to follow her to the exact spot where the moose had been. The beasts had fled into the nearby woods, only to reemerge a few minutes later a couple hundred yards away, this time about 50 yards from the road itself, therefore perfectly situated for a sudden collection of tourists who were busily snapping photos and thus reenacting the grizzly photo shoot from the day before.

Well, it’s late now and I need to head to bed. We’re into the tough part of the ride now, not so much physically as mentally. The landscape, while still beautiful, is going to become monotonous, and we’re encountering very few towns here in Wyoming. I have a real desire to increase our daily miles so we can rush eastward, toward the midwest and the east and the end of the ride, not because I’m not enjoying it but because I have a strong and urgent need to feel like we are making progress against both this gigantic country and time itself. It will be a victory if we can ride faster than planned. For an urbanite like me the huge expanses of country are a bit unsettling; in many ways I want to return to my city of four million people. On top of this, it’s odd sleeping in strange beds every single night. We are getting stronger now and putting in 75 or 80 miles isn’t nearly as hard as early in the ride. Famous last words, of course, but perhaps by the flatlands, in another state or two, we can do 100 a day.

Jean’s Thoughts

June 25, 2008

Jean writes – As others have said, we’ve done a lot the last few days and much of it was sightseeing. Never having been to Yellowstone, I found it to be much larger than anticipated with outstanding mtn peaks, great forests, fast moving streams, beautiful lakes, geysers/steam beds, bubbling mud holes, and magnificent water falls – and the wild animals, most curious (grizzly bears, moose, mule deer, elk and woolly bi sen. It’s one thing to see them in the zoo and another, in the open and free to roam. I thought a lot about the times Dan and I took our little family out west to camp and visit a part of our country that was foreign to us, coming from the mid-west. Nice thoughts.

Dan’s sister Lyss, her daughter Margaret and Margaret’s two kids Emily and Peter, joined us in Moran Junction, WY. Margaret rode one day and Peter, several. It’s great to have them with us for this part of our journey plus everyone gets together at dinner, early evenings and early mornings before the ride. We think they’ll be with us for at least 2 more days. Nice.

I’m not sure if I mentioned how much it means to me to have the three generations of men in my life doing this ride. It’s beyond belief that all the planning over the last two years finally came to fruition AND that all 3 were actually able to make it. So, many thanks to those people in their lives who helped make this happen. I just wish the rest of my kids/families could be apart of this too. We miss you.

Now on to a swim in a Super 8 pool. Talk to you soon.

St. Peter, Ian & other small observations

June 26, 2008

Dan writes from Casper WY: A few observations before we hit the road for Lusk WY this morning. Peter and Ian are still asleep and it has been interesting to see how, Ian (who, being the only child) has never shared a bed before on a regular basis) and Peter (who, as a child, often slept with his brother) would get along in one motel room each night. In the beginning, one slept on the floor in a sleeping bag. That got old in a hurry. So, with the aid of a territorial pillow, they have made do on one bed. Both being 6′-2″ it’s been a bit difficult. But there it is again this morning, St. Peter sleeping ram-rod straight in 25% of the bed and Ian flopped in some diagonal configuration on the other 75%.

Having my niece Margaret riding with us now and then has been great and yet another small observation occured the other day on the road. For those unfamiliar with road biking habits (good and bad) the process of blowing one’s nose while pedaling 15-20 mph (as it MUST be done) is a pretty disgusting, messy process. So, how do you know when a woman is riding with you? While underway, she’s the rider that pulls out a pink hankerchef from her back jersey pocket.

Wyoming has been yet another spectacular state with a huge variety in terrain. What’s worthy of note is the beautiful horses. They do not have a horse on their licesce plate for nothing. What got me though, is having unswerving attention of a couple hundred cows… that’s like 400 eyes watching you pedal by. I’m thinking that’s maybe 80,000lbs of animals. Well, some odd things enter your head… particularly after mile 60, or so.

Dan’s view from Nebraska

June 28, 2008

First, about biking (’cause that’s what we do here). A few hard days of riding have put us in Nebraska. Starting with a tough 90 mile day from Casper to the Nebraska border. Great start, no traffic, smooth pavement, generous shoulders and a fine tailwind. We went through Glenrock WY, yet another small town that has it’s act together. Taking a short lift on I-25 until US20 split away, we set out again pounding our way to Lusk. The bikers were feeling the urge to reach the NE border that day so we left others to find the night’s accomodations and we pressed on for the next 20 miles. We were greeted with a horror show of bad roads, bad shoulders and a dicey strong cross wind. The last five miles to the border were into the wind, cold and wretched pavement. Next day, at the border, we said farewell to my sister Lyss, her daughter Margaret and family and a friend. We treasured their company as they were with us most of Wyoming. Margaret’s son, Peter A. (Bubba), finishing off the Wyoming leg strong with a fine, gutty ride the last day!

So, we crossed into Nebraska, the three of us and started to enjoy slightly better pavement but a building NNW wind was causing problems. I could really bore you with details (if you’ve read this far you’re interested) but; let me say we all had something akin to “enlightenment” when, at one time or another, our front wheels skidded a foot or so to the right. Scared? I probably was less so than the boys due my sailing experience. I’m serious! This strong wind (20-25, gusts to 30mph) the past three days has created big problems, as well as some incredable average speeds!

Next, one story (’cause that’s what you want to read?). So we are in Shoshoni, Wyoming at the end of the day, at a store for cold drinks, a chocolate milk. I am in my bike duds, spandexshorts, snappy jersey, wraparound sunglasses bristling with rearview mirror..  the whole smear. I come up to a gent (my age), Stetson, big rodeo buckle, shirt.. the whole smear. He’s looking at the bubmobile with a slight smirk on his face. So when he saw me I could’nt resist. “How’s it going, Cowboy?” Just like in the movies he pushes the Stetson up an inch on his forehead. He got a kick out of that.. we had a great conversation. O.K. partner, I’m outta here. 

Valentine, NE

June 28, 2008

There is a town in NE called Valentine and we are here for the night. It’s in Cherry Co., which is not at all what you would expect – lots of cherry trees dotting the countryside like we do in Door County, Wi.  In fact, there are virtually no trees to be had, cherry or otherwise. It’s mostly rolling sandhills with lots of long grasses on top. I understand these hills cover some 19,000 square miles. The hills are sand dunes – “the largest tract of stabilized dunes in the Western Hemisphere”. Besides the hills, there are thousands of Angus cattle, in herds, hanging out and mostly close to the highway. They wander about on an open range. Can’t imagine how they are ever found when the harsh winters set in. There are more cattle than people with an average of one person per square mile. I looked for signs of life while following the bikers, like some kind of structure but there is nothing like that for as far as you can see, at least not from Hwy 20 – no farms, no houses, no gas stations, no shacks, nothing until you get to the very low populated towns that are many miles apart. It is incredibly beautiful though, for the long grassy sandy hills blow in the wind, especially on a day like today with winds up to 30 miles an hour. You’d think you were on a hilly, sandy beach along Lake Michigan, except there isn’t any water in view, at least not from Hwy 20. 

Our friends Gail and Nick biked across the U.S. a few years ago. Gail has been a big help to me in planning my role for this journey. One of the things she said was, ” you’ll be eating more pizza than you can imagine as you go across the country”. I wasn’t sure what she meant at the time but I sure do now. Every small town has some kind of pizza parlor. They may have nothing else but you can always count on pizza. I think we eat it or something like it every other night. Ian is the only one willing to plunge in again and he worked at a pizza place all last year! Oh for a Big Mac!

Others are wanting to write too so will sign off. Surely someone will tell you about our experience at Fort Robinson.


Report from Western Nebraska

June 28, 2008

It’s been some time since I’ve written a post, in fact I can’t really remember the last one. There’s a good reason for this, I’m thinking, which is that every day is now blurring into every other. I think it has to do with the ritual that we go through every day: we get up early, go down to the motel breakfast, come back to the room to haul a huge amount of stuff down to the van, come back to the room to gear up for the ride, then get on the bikes and start the day. Our daily ride consists of 10-20 mile increments, interspersed by 10-minute breaks to replenish our water supplies and eat a bit in order to avoid bonking. After anywhere between 60 and 90 miles, we quit, depending on time/weather/exhaustion and proximity to a town.

And boy, have we been through a few “interesting” places. Most are dusty farm towns that appear to have seen their best days sometime in the early 20th century, before agricultural mechanization took its toll on rural employment. A few have managed to carve out niches in tourism, when the town exists in proximity to a particularly scenic spot or river.

Yesterday we did stumble upon one of the most pleasant surprises of the whole trip, when about 30 miles into our ride we rode smack through the middle of an old fort by the name of Fort Robinson, Nebraska. The original purpose of the place was to monitor Plains Indian activities during the late 19th century, after which it became a training base for cavalry. Its heyday apparently occurred during the early decades of the 20th century, when the fort’s major buildings and structures were built. Many of these not only are still standing but are kept in outstanding condition by the state of Nebraska, and in fact together constitute a very impressive collection of stables, barns, quarters for officers and enlisted men, and parade grounds. To make the place even more interesting, the state operates a kind of resort there, using all of the structures and grounds to attract tourists, offering not only lodging but jeep tours of the land around the fort (to see the wild bison that roam a nearby state park), horseback riding, rafting, mountain biking, huge campfires, and other such attractions. All of us were duly impressed by the place (dad chowed down a buffalo burger at the fort’s restaurant and pronounced buffalo “delicious”) and hope to come back sometime to stay a few days, although how exactly any of us are going to do that is an open question.

I think one other observation is due. We have now, for some reason, passed the point at which the land gets enough rainfall to support agriculture that isn’t dependent on irrigation. You have to be here to appreciate just what this means — from central Oregon through far eastern Wyoming, there was only high desert (the only exception being the Tetons and Yellowstone, which are at much higher elevations and thus attract snow/rain). For some reason, rain becomes more regular around the Nebraska border, and the land reflects this. The grasslands begin here; today the wind whipped the grass in ways that can only be described as waves on the ocean. This is, of course, beautiful, and after many, many days of riding across the desert, refreshing. But it’s more than that, for me anyway: it is yet another reminder of just how dependent we are on nature, despite all of our technology and wealth. Water is the only reason why we have anything at all to eat, and the west is absolute proof of that proposition: irrigation, which of course is a farming strategy that is based on mining a finite resource, is the only reason why there is any agriculture at all in much of the west. And, without the rains that begin somewhere over eastern Wyoming and western Nebraska, we would be unable to feed ourselves. Goodness knows what climate change will mean for the distribution of rainfall patterns over the North American continent; despite what has happened in Iowa this year, if we had to choose, we should always choose more water over less.

O’Neill, Nebraska

June 29, 2008

I’m writing this evening from yet another small town, this one by the name of O’Neill, Nebraska. As the name implies, O’Neill prides itself on its Irish heritage, complete with lots of Catholic churches and shamrocks painted on public buildings and water towers. Yet another surreal moment in our small tour of this big country, finding an Irish enclave in the middle of Nebraska.

Today’s ride took us 75 miles from where we stopped yesterday, which was to the east of Valentine. We are now well past the halfway point of Nebraska. While today’s ride had its share of crosswinds, it was unlike yesterday, which had the highest winds we’ve encountered on the trip to date. During yesterday’s ride the crosswinds were at times so strong that we couldn’t stay on the bikes; I was pushed right off the road, into the grass and right off the bike. It was my second wreck of the trip to date (the first was on the very first day), but both were at very low speeds, so my injuries can only be described as minor. Nonetheless, it is a very unsettling feeling during the 1/4 second it takes between beginning the fall and hitting the ground, kind of a small terror really, wherein you know you’re going to hit the pavement and there isn’t anything that can be done about it.

We are now into farming country, there’s no doubt about it. The grass is green everywhere, there isn’t much in the way of irrigation, and we’ve been riding past trees for a full 3 days now. Trees were, of course, something of a rarity across most stretches of eastern Oregon, Idaho, and much of Wyoming. Here, they’ve begun cropping up with ever-greater regularity, first in hollows and lowlands where water collects, then along the flat stretches alongside the highway. Interspersed with the grasslands, the effect has, at times, reminded me of the East African savanna, which I’ve seen with my own eyes. I know there’s the idea that suggests the reason why we are so attracted to parklike settings (meaning light woods and grass) is that we, as a species, evolved out of this specific landscape setting and thus our genes “view” it as home, in a sense. Whether that’s pseudo-scientific garbage or a serious theory is unknown to me, but it’s worth pondering.

Well, it’s off to bed. Tomorrow it’s another day in the saddle, hopefully with a nice tailwind.

The Midwest!

July 3, 2008

Do you know how I know we are in the Midwest? It’s not because things are green again, and it’s not because there are lots of big trees and woods scattered about, and it’s not because we are in Iowa, and it’s not because someone named this section of the country the mid-west, and it’s not because things look so familiar to me that I feel right at home. Nooooooooo, it’s because of that never ending, never get used to HUMIDITY! As soon as we entered this state, Wham! the humidity hit and immediately, you knew where you were without even thinking about it – and that this heavy feeling will now be with us across the rest of the U.S! Just coming off the sunny, cloudless, DRY climate forever, it was somewhat of a shock when the humidity thing happened. Welcome home gang.

We are in a nice, little town called Storm Lake. It does have a small lake and my guess, it’s quite a tourist area. Today, Thursday, we are riding to Fort Dodge where we will spend the 4th as a rest day. We were told that they have great fireworks. We’re also hoping they have a parade that morning as well.

I have decided one thing though on this trip. I will not make “driving” my second career. When this trip is over with, I just might take up biking too! Let me tell you, the ole Bubmobile and I are now one…….we are inseparable. I can get in and out of places along some of the most desolate highways that shouldn’t, no, really can’t be done with a car. (It’s ok Rob. No major dents)! It’s my buddy and if any of the bikers dare to treat it discourteously, I can get rather upset. It’s not healthy, I know, but when you’re in that thing day in and day out, from sunrise to sunset, strange things happen to you. Dear friends, I’ll need all the help I can get when I get back. Be ready!

We’re now 1/2 way home so it’s all downhill from here. Take care everyone – love your notes. Again, if you want them posted, you have to click on comments (at the end of each blog we write) and we will post it for you. Talk to you soon.


Lectures to myself: the west

July 3, 2008

Contained within this post are a group of loosely organized but related thoughts about a series of not necessarily important obsevations. Except that, I have found when you ride a bike saddle for a number of hours, your thought pattern is often neither relevant nor logical. Whatever, the west is behind us as of today. So, other than the map; How does one know this? Well, in riding a bike ones sense of smell is very much a unique factor particular to a bike’s slower speeds. I can smell a lot. The good stuff; flowers, grass, sage, lupen, rain, crops, good food cooking somewhere like fresh bakery etc. Then there is bad stuff; road kill, exhaust, live stock, black top, pesticides, bad water etc.

Lesson 1. For the rest of my life I will take with me those great smells from the rain-soaked forests of Coastal Oregon (stick your head in a bag of mulch and take a breath), the dry fragrence from Idaho’s sage and late spring blooms and the sweet grassland as we desended into Nebraska. Smelled hay again, great. Smelled the road kill but you expected to when you saw it coming along the road. Tough ones were smelling the ones you could not see. Just guessing as to what it might be. So, what’s the key to knowing you are back in the midwest?? You smell HOGS! Pigs, swine, porkers. They are here and lot’s of ’em. On the trucks, in the barns, pens, you name it. It’s hog heaven.   

Lesson 2. You learn and re-learn a lot about yourself on a journey like this. For one example, I’ve had to adjust my opinion about truckers and their disdain for bicyclists. In the west, I was thinking I would see my life flash in front of me every time a big-rig passed. A couple of times that was true, however, that was by far the exception and not the rule. The vast majority of the time these drivers would leave the lane open if they could allowing maximum distance between us. I saw, more than once, a big rig passing us slide into the center of the road so the oncoming truck put one set of wheels on the shoulder in order to pass. Some of these trucks were mammoth, mining trucks with huge trailers behind.  Perhaps the worst catagory of rigs are the livestock and logging drivers. There are also a bunch of RV idiots.

Lesson 3. After three western states have seen my tiny little tires roll over them; I ask myself: “What is a road trip, anyway?” Roads, hmmm. Having worked for the Wisconsin State Highway Commission about 50 years ago, I recall some basics about road engineering. For example, Oregon (apparently not having gravel) crushes feldspathic rock to make roads. Problem is the crushed stone is very sharp and then mixed with coal-tar (black-top) and smashed “flatish” by monster rollers. They think this is a fine surface. Most other states call this the “base coarse”. To shorten this some, all states have some unique “pain” built into their roads, which on a bike is felt very clearly and distinctly. Nebraska, it should be noted, has shoulders which pavement consistes of 50′ of smooth surface followed by a crack. The crack varied from county to county. Some cracks 1″ wide but usually about 4-6″ wide and deep. So, it was like this: pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal WHAM! pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal WHAM!  pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal WHAM!  pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal WHAM!  pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal WHAM!  etc, etc,

So, ” A road trip”……..  romantic adventure? or a pain in the butt? 

(Peter coverd some of this earlier and I will write on IOWA roads shortly) 

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