Thursday, September 30, 2010

Four flats and a scam artist

Ben raced us to the ferry in the morning, and we barely made it on. But, we made it! And forty minutes later, we pedaled off the ferry into Bremerton, Washington feeling simultaneously excited to be riding again, but a little nervous at the thought of heading down the coast. I think it’s normal to feel a little jittery after having consecutive rest days on this tour. Even though it was just a few days off, we always feel a little rusty and unsettled getting back on the bikes. But, it was a beautiful day, sunny and warm, and we were ready to get our day started.

Not five minutes off the ferry, we took a turn and were faced with a hill so steep it would have qualified as a vertical black diamond on a ski slope. We laughed and began our climb up the hill. Things were going great, until I got a flat. Brooke and I were like a pit crew at a NASCAR race working together to change the flat and before we knew it we were back in action. Until, the next flat. Same tire. Huh. Again, we didn’t get upset, I didn’t even feel the urge to kick my tire across the road. We changed it and again, I pumped and pumped furiously with the mini hand pump to get up to 90 PSI. Until, mid pump Brooke exclaims, “Oh no!” and covered her ears and took a staggering step backwards.

When the tube exploded it made a sound no less severe and jarring than a gun shot. This particular tube had given us trouble with bulging, and this time, it definitely was bulging and Brooke caught it just before it exploded, sending me flailing backward into my bike knocking it and all my gear to the ground. Yeah, now I admit reaching a point of raw anger and kicking something was tempting and seemed as valuable option as any. I refrained from kicking something, but that was our last tube, and it was not patchable at this point. So, after I stopped shaking, and began to find some shred of humor in this stupid situation, we grabbed the tube from the first flat, sat down and began searching for the hole. We got it patched and we headed down the road.

We made it about 10 miles until my third flat. Same tire. I know this sounds ridiculous, and I know you are thinking “why didn’t you check the tire for glass or thorns or any other obvious sharp object?” The thing is, I did. I thought I did a pretty thorough job of it, but obviously I was missing something. There was glass in the tire, which was buried in the rubber in such a sly, barely visible way that Brooke had to fish it out with tweezers. UGH. Anyhow, we moved on flat tire free for the rest of the day.

Astonishingly, we were still feeling happy to be riding. We planned to stay at a biker’s hostel that night, and we were looking forward to having a bed and a roof over our heads for our first night back in the saddle. We arrived at the biker’s hostel, and we met our host for the night. Right off the bat, he told us a strange story about his Scott carbon fiber road bike, and the story took a bizarre twist when he divulged that it was purchased with money a friend left him after the friend committed suicide. Huh. Then he trailed off with a regretful mutter that he should have done it differently and bought another brand of bicycle with the money. When it comes to knowing how to react to a story such this, Brooke is clueless. In this case, she relied on the enthusiastic smile and nod method as if she were agreeing. I however, thought the guy was a wacko and stared at him with furrowed eyebrows and left it at that. We moved on. As we were heading into the house, he took one look at our bikes and announced that we were carrying way too much. Again, Brooke politely smiled and nodded. Again, I looked at him with the same furrowed eyebrows that said, “nobody asked you”.

We moved on into the house where he began telling us how he makes very little money running this hostel, and how he was giving us a real deal. It seemed like a total hassle to move on down the road, so we took a room and paid way too much. When we were bringing in our gear, he told us to be quite because his wife was sleeping. Turns out, she was sicker than a dog, and Brooke and I had the pleasure of falling asleep to the hacking and coughing of his wife in the next room. Right before bed, our hostel host made the announcement that he was sleeping outside in the RV because his wife was too sick to be in the same room with. ICK.

The next morning he tried to give us directions to a place where we had no intention of going. Brooke’s attempts at explaining this to the guy were cut off in mid sentence, while he blathered on about a road we would never ride. Finally, we were out the door and on our way. Good riddance scam artist!

Melissa

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Seattle


We took off for Seattle where we stayed with my friend Ben, his girlfriend Megan and their dog Wendy for four nights. While there, I wrote a lot, immersed myself in an intense and focused job search, and came up with a few strong and well defined cover letters to compliment my new and improved, slightly tweaked resume.

Kind of.

In reality, our stay looked more like this: we rode our bikes unloaded around Seattle and through an industrial park that had multiple trains clanking around on several sets of railroad tracks; we ate at the amazing Thai restaurant that I have been raving about since my first visit to Seattle a couple of years ago; we went on a 10 mile hike where we spotted many different types of crazy looking mushrooms; and we drank some pretty fantastic pumpkin ales which reminded us all too clearly that fall is upon us.

Melissa

Friday, September 24, 2010

Port Townsend

Out of the corner of my eye I could make out three, maybe four photographers snapping away. I think, although I did not look, if I would have looked up, I would have seen a boom mike.

“Did you come to Port Townsend just for this?” an excited voice asked. How could I break the news that we did even know what festival we were currently at.

So I replied, “Yes! We did!” with a huge smile and nod.

Just twenty minutes earlier Melissa and I had gotten off the Port Townsend ferry and entered the town with one purpose: to stock up on food before pitching our tent at the state park a few miles down the road. We rode down the town’s Norman Rockwell-ish main street while people (and I can’t say for certain if I imagined this or not) waved and smiled at us. The air of the town felt different. It felt . . . festive.

I had been concerned with looking to my right while riding through town, where we could see the cold gray water that we had just crossed. But in a quick glance down a side street to my left, I saw a flurry of action. There were twenty people in official looking matching t-shirts setting up rows of hay bales, which were being set to face an official looking stage. Others, to the back of the street, were setting up a massive buffet line under a grand white tent.

“Did you see that?! A festival!” I barely managed to shout as I whipped a u-turn (of course, in true Melissa fashion, she was oblivious to all of it.) I’ve been begging for a town festival as of late, so I was thrilled.

We walked our bikes through the buzz of activity and stopped at the back street corner, trying to figure out what was going on.

“Are you ladies here for the film festival?” a small, impeccably dressed older woman sporting a ‘Women for Obama’ button asked. Her question was followed by another person’s question (“Where are you two coming from?”), who was followed by another (“Bike tour, eh?”), who was followed by another (“All this way for the festival?”) until Melissa and I were surrounded by what seemed like 50 questioning townspeople and accompanying photographers and videographers.

For a minute, we were the main event at this festival. Questions were being asked rapid fire and we could barely answer them all, both of us holding four different conversations at once.

“Where are you staying?” no one in particular asked.

“Well you could probably stay at my dental office,” said another voice.

“Really?” I asked, racking my brain for what this man might have just said. . . . stay at my garage . . . ? extra office . . . ? guest room? I thought what he had just said started with a “D” and sounded like “dental”, but that couldn’t possibly be it. We’d never been offered a business to sleep in . . . let alone a dentist’s office. Or any place with needles and drills (or any other place the Melissa fears and avoids -- he might as well have said, “Here! Sleep in my airplane! While I fly through turbulence! And oh! My dentist is on board! Can he clean your teeth for you?!). Wait-- did he just offer us a place to stay at his dental office?!

He did! He totally did. He gave us a key and directions and sent us off. We dropped off our bikes (at the dentist’s office!) and attended the outside viewing of American Graffiti at the11th annual Port Townsend Film Festival.

Brooke

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Anacortes

Months before we left for the trip, I was scouring Columbus for other people who had completed bicycle tours of their own. To put it mildly, over the rather depressing Ohio winter, deep in the planning phase of this trip, I had a few anguished moments which left me feeling like my plan was stupid, unrealistic and half baked. I was worried that I was just running from some as yet unidentified problem, or taking the easy way out. I was desperate to find someone who had done some touring of their own, so they could reassure me, so they could tell me it would be worth it. Realistically, I knew that was a tall order. Ultimately, I am the only one capable of deciding what risks are worth taking in my life. But still, I needed to hear the plus side of someone else’s pivotal decision to take off on a bike across the country.

That person was Todd Shaw. I was in court wrapping up some cases from the morning docket, when the judge who was hearing my cases for the day suggested I go talk to Magistrate Shaw about my plans to embark on the bike trip. I was sheepish, and totally overanalyzed the entire thing. I didn’t want to bother the guy, and I felt insecure about just popping down to his office to pick his brain about bike tours. And, I especially didn’t want to come off like I needed I pep talk, I wanted to seem self assured. Determined. So I put it off for a few days. But, finally I decided to go introduce myself and ask him to share some of his bicycle touring stories.

Man, his face immediately lit up while he riffled through his desk to pull out pictures from the trip he and his wife took across the country on a tandem. He traced for me on a map the route they took, and it was evident that he cherished the memories. He said it was the best time of their lives. He told me just what I wanted to hear. He told me with certainty that I’d never regret going on the tour. I left his office about an hour later with my enthusiasm and confidence was restored. As I was walking out the door, he said, “if you go through Anacortes let me know and I’ll arrange for you to stay at my home there.” At the time, I didn’t think I’d ever take him up on that offer. I thought it was probably just a polite gesture. But, now that I’m in bike touring mentality where I make it a rule to accept the kindness coming my way, I called him up and asked him if the offer to stay in Anacortes was still open. It was. It turns out that his wife Kathleen was just getting back in to town and was happy to accommodate us for the night.

When we got off the ferry in Anacortes, Kathleen was there with her bike ready to lead us to her house. We followed her to her place, and not five minutes in the door we were swapping bike tour stories. It was awesome to hear the enthusiasm in her voice about her and her husband’s bike trip, which was about ten years ago. The experience is still with her in such an apparent way, so again, talking with her I was reassured that these memories will be with me forever. This trip will shape who I am, in so many positive ways and I’m really looking forward to the day when I can give back the kindness that has been tossed my way.

Kathleen cooked us a delicious vegetarian meal and had chocolate bars and cookies for us. We did laundry, got a good night’s sleep and took off for Port Townsend the next morning.

If this bike trip has taught me anything, it is this: be willing to accept the kindness of strangers and be kind back. Take the extra step to be nice. Offer to help people when you think they need it. It is enriching for everyone involved. I know this sounds unsophisticated and obvious, but to really put it in practice is a tremendous thing. So, thanks Todd and Kathleen for the amazing night of rest in your home. We will pass the big-heartedness and generosity forward!

Melissa

Bridge coming out of Anacortes.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Orcas Island

We went to Orcas Island ready to climb Mt. Constitution. The view from Mt. Constitution, we had been told, is the eighth wonder of the world. The climb is “epic” and “brutal”, with 80 hairpin switchbacks and steep inclines. One three mile section has an average grade of 10%.

I wish that I could tell you about that climb. I wish I could tell you how we soldiered up that mountain and took in the 360 degree views of Vancouver, the Cascade Range, the rest of the San Juan Islands and the Olympic Range. But . . . we didn’t see much beyond the fog and rain from inside our tent at the base of the climb.

On a clear day, you can climb up Mt. Constitution and see forever. On a foggy, rainy, windy day, you can barely see one foot in front of your face. We went to the island with the main purpose of getting to the top, but left the island without even attempting to make the trek.

Brooke

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

San Juan Island

By the time we got off the ferry and through U.S. customs on San Juan Island, it was 7:40 p.m. and getting dark fast. Looking lost, as we so often do when staring at the map, a man, speech slurred and stance slightly wavering in the breeze, offered to help us find a campground. Melissa and I weren’t, but probably should have been, taking into account that we were standing outside a bar.

“Go this way,” the man said, pointing at an island on the map that was not the one we were currently standing on.

“Here,” he said firmly, then pointed in a huge gesture down the road. “Just follow this road, towards that big cloud.”

And the crazy part is, we did. We followed his directions. Until . . . we ran into a dead end not but two blocks away from the bar. But we thought, hey this is an island! we can’t get too lost! So we continued out of town on a nearby road (towards the cloud), which went smoothly until it got way too dark way too soon.

We stopped at a house, hoping to get some more directions, but it proved useless. And then, like angels sent from above, Katie and Kyle rolled up on their bikes. “You guys okay?” they asked. And just like that, they offered to let us sleep on their property.

We followed them, and their headlights, six miles inland, up a huge hill and down a steep gravel road, in the pitch dark. We arrived on their property, which they share with Katie’s parents, and were immediately invited in for a late supper, which turned into an invitation to sleep in their guest room.

The dad, Dennis, is a retired Lutheran minister and the next morning he cooked us a great breakfast and packed us a sack lunch, complete with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (cut in half, of course) and freshly baked zucchini bread. After hugs and pictures, Melissa and I headed off to the San Juan County Park on the other side of the island.

The San Juan County Park, without a doubt, is the most beautiful place we have ever camped. The park sits on a bluff, overlooking Puget Sound, with views of the Olympic Mountains, Canada and the many, many orca whales who migrate in the waters below. It was so amazingly calming there and we sat on the bluff and stared at the water, orca whales and passing boats until the sun went down.

Brooke

Before we could find a map, Kyle drew us an almost perfect rendering of the island (to which Katie exclaimed, "It's a kidney!").


Sunday, September 19, 2010

Victoria, B.C.

After a two hour ferry ride we arrived in Victoria, British Columbia. Mike and Jenna had set us up with a place to stay, Jenna’s sister’s place on the island -- a cute, quite farmhouse on the southern half of the island. The directions getting there (on paper) had been simple: get on the Galloping Goose bike trail and head south. For the life of us, we couldn’t find the trail, and ended up riding the non-scenic highway to our destination.

The next morning we work up early so that we could see some sights in Victoria before boarding the 10:30 a.m. ferry to Port Angeles. Three measly miles before the ferry, I felt that awful foreshadowing mushy feeling of a flat tire. Turns out I not only had a flat, but I had a big gaping, not-so-friendly looking hole in my back tire. After a not so quick detour to a bike shop, and an $84 tire, we had missed the ferry.

So on to Plan B: taking a later ferry to the San Juan Islands in Washington state (which quickly became Plan B when the employees at the bike shop told us about the amazing bike riding the islands offered. Previous to Plan B, we were on the Be-Pissed-Off-And-Cry-Because-You-Missed-Your-Ferry-And-Have-No-Idea-Where-You-Are-Going-Or-What-You-Are-Going-To-Do-Next Plan). Plan B seemed like a nicer option. Plan B also gave us time to explore Victoria.

When it was time to head to the ferry, Melissa and I looked (again) for the Galloping Goose bike trail. (Again) we could not find it. Apparently, the elusive Galloping Goose is rarely seen, except by those native to the area (hence, when we would ask a local for directions, they would point in the distance and say, “right there. You can’t miss it.” And then we would miss it.).
We would catch glimpses of it, be on it for a second, round a corner, and then be off of it, in the middle of a housing development, completely lost. But magically, like an angel from heaven, a cyclist on a carbon Trek Madone came to our rescue. “I’ll take you there,” he said, “As long as you can keep up!”

So, lungs bursting, legs pumping, we followed him a couple of miles (in the opposite direction of the one in which we were originally heading) to the Galloping Goose -- a beautiful rails-to-trails bike path that is so heavily signed and well kept, I’m not sure how anyone, including us, would ever miss it.

So Plan B: Island hopping!

Brooke
Lining up for our first ferry ride of the tour!
The Parliament building in Victoria.
The mythical Galloping Goose.
On the ferry to the San Juan Islands.





Saturday, September 18, 2010

Vancouver, B.C.

After eight fuzzy and dazed, but restful days in Eugene we took a Amtrak train to Vancouver. It was so awesome to be with our pals in Eugene, but we have to keep moving down the road. FYI-Amtrak is a pretty good deal if you are traveling with a bike. It was $5 per bike, which is pretty unbelievable considering how pricey it is to box up a bike and stick it on a plane.

We got into Vancouver late, around 11:50 pm. It was a 9 hour train ride, plus a three hour lay over in Portland. However, the lay over was perfectly timed right around lunch, and Brooke and I had just enough time to hop off the train and ride our bikes to the food carts for delicious vegetarian indian food! It was fun to sail through the streets of Portland, the country’s most bicyclist friendly city. Portland’s cyclist friendly vibe is heaven for me, with bikers everywhere enjoying their safe and roomy bike lanes!

We arranged to stay with a Warm Showers host to keep our costs down, and our host graciously agreed to pick us up at the train station, despite it being so late. (For those of you who don’t know about Warm Showers, it’s an organization where touring cyclists list their homes as a place for other touring cyclists to spend a night for free. It’s a great organization!) Brooke and I were dead last off the train, and on top of it customs held us up so they could personally check out our mace. While riffling through our panniers looking for our mace, Brooke and I were exchanging anxious glances fearing that Mike, our Warm Showers host, was on the verge of leaving us because we were so late. Alas, I was relieved to see him standing in the station with a smile on his face when we finally emerged off the train.

Wow! Vancouver is hands down my favorite city, and every time I go, it gets better and better. I must confess, the thought of moving to Vancouver is becoming more and more tempting. It’s rare to find a city so aesthetically pleasing, there are mountains and water everywhere you look. The city is surrounded with kick ass mountain bike and running trails. Everywhere you look, people are engaging in outdoorsy activities.

The first day we were there, Mike took us on a killer run along the water, and then up into the woods on a trail. Our pace was pretty fast as we headed off the paved path and up into the woods. We ran hard over roots and rocks, the path became hypnotizing to me as I settled into the pace. It was so awesome to fly though the woods breathing hard, it was the best run I’ve had in a long time!

Brooke and I spent the rest of the day walking around the city, we checked out the public market and bought some awesome vegetarian soup mixes that we plan to cook while camping on the San Juan Islands. That night, Mike and Jenna told us all about their 11 month tour down the Pacific coast and into South America all the way to Argentina as we drove around the city and over the Lions Gate Bridge to check out the amazing views. While we were staying with Jenna and Mike, they made sure we ate the best vegetarian food available! They were amazing hosts, and made Brooke and I eager to give back to other cyclists in the future.

The next morning, we rode off towards the ferry and headed for Victoria!

Melissa
We had a quick lunch at the Portland food carts on the way to Vancouver.
Japadog! Japanese inspired vegetarian hotdog, complete with teriyaki sauce, Japanese mayo and seaweed.




Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Revelations and relaxation in Eugene

Well, I might as well make it official with an announcement on my blog. Not that announcing an extremely personal life decision on one’s blog is the last step in finalizing said decision, but it’s a start, right? So, for all of you who would rather not read uber-divulge-y personal revelations on a bike touring blog, read no further!

I want a baby. Henry did me in. He proved too cute and irresistible with that little smile. He’d sneak it on me, wearing me down little-by-little and, 8 days later I’m convinced I want a baby. It wasn’t just his cute happy little smile. It was his cutesy socks, the sweet little hats he’d wear, and his adorable little t-shirts. He’s a charming little peek-a-boo player too, and he knows it. Suddenly, I have this fire under my ass to reproduce. It’s probably just some ancient chemical in my brian that kicks in right around my current age, telling me to spawn, but still, it’s there. It’s undeniably there.

So, now that the cat’s out of the bag on babies, it’s on to Eugene . . . Eugene was great. It was awesome to see one of my oldest friends doing all sorts of mom things with her first child. And, what’s cool, is that Jill is still the same old Jill, just with an adorable precious gift of a son. Eugene is such a hippy town, and Brooke and I liked it a lot. Good vegetarian food is easy to come by, and the vibe there was definitely laid back.

Other than jogging along the bike paths by the river and walking around the city, Brooke and I spent a lot of time getting caught up on True Blood. I know, such a stimulating and interesting TV program. Even though we burnt too many hours watching trashy vampire shows, we also started looking for jobs and thinking about what we want our futures to look like.

Unbelievably, I really enjoyed searching for jobs and imagining what type of work I may want to pursue when the bike tour is over. I’m definitely nervous about all of the uncertainty of the future, but on the other hand, I’m also trying to be positive and I’m attempting to enjoy the process. I usually get really worked up about stuff like this, I worry about qualifications, and whether I’ll fit in but this time I’m not going to get bogged down with that stuff. My stance on this is all way more zen than I am usually capable of pulling off, but it beats second guessing myself, and worrying myself to death. Before you know it, I may be reading Buddha books!

On a side note, this trip has made my brian mushy. I was supposed to meet up with some fellow bicycle tourists in Eugene, and I totally forgot. I don’t really know how this happened. So, my apologies to Aaron and his very generous wife who gave up her room at the Marriott so we could have a place to stay in Missoula. I’m really sorry I’ve turned into such a scatter brained dingbat. I wanted to hear about your trip down the coast!

Melissa

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

The final pass on the TransAm

Hey everyone, we did it! We’ve reached the grand finale of passes on the TransAm! McKenzie Pass--DONE! There were no fireworks at the top, however we had something much better! We were warmly (and hilariously) welcomed to the top of the pass by a bus full of rowdy and vocal senior citizens clapping, whistling and cheering us on. Lucky for us, we reached the top amid the hoots, hollers and cries of “you rock!” and “go girls” and “you can do it!” So, a huge thank you to the tour bus full of sweet senior citizens for the kind words of encouragement! What a great memory for Brooke and me. And, a somewhat sad goodbye to the TransAmerican Bicycle Trail, at least for the time being.

I know what some of you are thinking. You’re thinking, why didn’t they finish the route all the way to Astoria to the Pacific Ocean for god sakes!? The answer may disappoint some of you. The truth is, we don’t care about completing every last mile nearly as much as we care about spending time with our friends in Eugene. For us, it’s never been about completing miles, or doing the entire route. Plus, we will be riding down the Pacific Coast soon enough. Riding the TransAm has been simultaneously fun, crazy, terrible, terrifying, awesome, thrilling, hilarious... and hell, let’s just say we’ve certainly had our moments, all of which have been life enriching in their own way. In many ways, the ride hasn’t even sunk in, and i’m sure (keeping finger’s crossed) after I have some time off, I will have more to say on the matter. But it’s time for a rest, and it’s definitely time for the sanity and comfort of waking up in a snug and warm bed in the welcoming home of my friends!

But, back to McKenzie Pass. We started off good and early this morning, because last night while partaking in a few local brews at the bar, we were constantly warned of bad weather heading our way. We had a long ride and we needed to get a jump on it, so we took off early. The pastor at the Episcopal church was nice enough (read: concerned for our safety) to print off a weather report and leave it for us in the morning. So, at least we knew beforehand what we were getting ourselves into. The weather report was rather gloomy, and might as well have read: stay the hell at home unless you are batshit crazy. Nevertheless, Brooke and I batshit crazy as ever, pedaled out of Sisters, Oregon feeling great. There was a slight drizzle, but the lovely scent of rain and cedars hung in the foggy air making me feel thankful for the chance to ride through this stretch of forest, no matter what the weather forecast predicted.

It was chilly and wet, but beautiful right from the start. Being sandwiched between towering cedars, and lush ferns and feeling the mist on your face is totally worth the slight discomfort of being damp. As I was saying, I was feeling grateful for all kinds of things when I woke up this morning, and the most obvious being that we were scheduled to arrive at our friends’ place in Eugene late that afternoon. We had about 90 miles to go in what promised to be cold and wet riding conditions, and I couldn’t have cared less knowing that at the end of the day good friends, good beer, and one very smiley 4 month old baby boy awaited me.

We were about 8 miles into our ride when the road started creeping gradually upward. It was nice to ease into it, taking some time to focus on getting a rhythm. It was raining, and as we climbed it rained more. As no surprise, it also got much colder the further we went up. We were working hard though, which kept us toasty except for our hands and feet. The climb is full of switchbacks, so you really can’t see far enough ahead to know what steep pitch is right around the corner. But, wow, it’s such a amazing scenery, and when you are crawling along at 4 MPH, you really get a good look at things. We climbed for about an hour, curving with the road through the gigantic cedars and hugging the shoulder of the narrow road, which sometimes was cut so close to the rock that my shoulders or panniers would bounce off it. When we reached the top of the pass, it was raining hard, and there was nothing to be seen except age old hard black lava rocks in every direction. The combination of the rain, the black jagged rocks, and the grey lifeless sky may have been too much to take, but thankfully the seniors livened it up a bit for us!

On the way down, we immediately started winding through roads cut through the spiky and ragged lava rock. I’ve never seen anything like it, and it was pretty cool. It wasn’t long until the hill really got going and the grade steepened rather quickly. As you probably know if you’ve been following along, Brooke hates steep descents. Her fear was amplified by ten thousand today when she faced not only a steep decent, but a steep decent full of sharp switchbacks in the driving rain and visibility blocking fog. In short, this was Brooke’s worst nightmare. Meanwhile, it’s kind of the stuff I live for. We’re different in this respect! Brooke and I headed down, slowly, sometimes even stopping to walk. I would get ahead, then stop and wait for Brooke to catch up. Rain was pooling on the tops of my panniers, and dripping from my helmet. The forest was still as beautiful as always, and the trees were covered in a beautiful yellowy moss that glowed in the fog. It took us as long to get down the other side of the pass, as it did to go up it. When we got down, our hands and feet were numb and drenched, but our pricey rain gear worked tremendously, keeping our bodies dry and warm. We pulled into a coffee shop, and I noticed a bus stop on the edge of the parking lot. I didn’t think twice about checking to see if it headed to Eugene. It did, and there was not a moment of hesitation when we each forked over $1.50 to ride the bus in. Getting to my friends’ house and meeting their tiny adorable little baby 3 hours sooner than I would have had I rode in, was worth the insignificant pang of guilt or regret of skipping out on miles!

Melissa





Sunday, September 5, 2010

Long day to Dayville

When I came around the corner I saw Melissa standing there. She had already taken all the bags off her bike, which was lying on the side of the road. She had her back wheel in one hand, the other hand dangling unhappily at her side.

“You okay?” I asked.

“No, I’m not. I hate this,” she replied with tears in her eyes, as she kicked her wheel into the ditch.

Today was supposed to be an easy day. Today was supposed to be downhill and little milage. Today, we were supposed to get to the Dayville Presbyterian Church early. Instead, we were changing our third flat tire of the day.

I know, I know. This is what bike touring is all about. This is “what makes us stronger”. These are the hard days that make it all worth is. It also sucks. It turns a rest day into a long drawn-out pain-in-the-butt-day.

I hadn’t patched tubes in days. And the two extra tubes that we had left were already on my bike and hers, put there at 6 a.m. and 15 minutes before. And so we sat down on the hot, windy road and started patching.

A truck, going to opposite direction pulled up. “You girls need help?”

“We’re going the other direction,” we said in unison, both trying to paste a fake smile on our exasperated faces.

“Well, that’s okay girls.” And in a haze of motion we were in his truck.

No, I don’t feel bad about hitch-hiking the last few miles to Dayville.

Later that night, after we had put up with the weird guy who was also staying in the church, Melissa started to pump up the third tube of the day. I could hear the air flowing in and out of the hand pump and then suddenly, the loudest popping sound I have ever heard. I ran in the other room and saw Melissa standing with her back to the bike, her hands over her ears. And there was our fourth flat of the day. And this time, all we could do was laugh.

Brooke


This stain glass window was given to the Dayville Presbyterian Church by a cyclist. Their doors are never locked; open for anyone passing by.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Three summits in one day


Sumpter, Tipton, Dixie -- done. Three passes in 69 miles -- done. This one felt so good. Possibly we were powered by the all-you-can-eat salad bar we cleared out the day before, or maybe it was the woman who would not let us fill up our water bottles at her gas station unless we bought something (and she was the only store around for 50 miles).

5,082, 5,124 and 5,277 feet and every time we got to the summit of each I thought to myself, “Really? That’s it?”

Brooke

Friday, September 3, 2010

The people you meet

We met Jim and Sharon during one of our first days in Colorado. They were sitting at a table in a hotel eating hummus and tabouli. We liked them immediately. We spent the next 48 hours with them -- chatting in the hotel lobby, going to dinner, walking around town.

They, like us, were new to bike touring. But where Melissa and I had jumped in feet first, Jim and Sharon had jumped in head first. Weeks before, they had both taken an early retirement, sold all their belongings, including their cars and condo, and bought touring bikes. Literally, all they own is what they can carry on their bikes. Whenever they sign in to a hotel, their home address for the night is the hotels address.

They were like a breath of fresh air. Whereas most other bike tourist we had met along the way were competitive, Jim and Sharon were not. They didn’t care how many miles we had done the day before. They didn’t care how much or little we spent on food. Or how much weight we were carrying on our bikes. What they did care about where the people we met along the way.

Before checking into Hotel Ordway, they had spent two nights at a hotel 20 miles down the road. And upon checking out, they planed on only going 30 miles to the next town. Why? Well . . . why not? Bike touring to them is about meeting the locals and immersing themselves in the local cultures and customs. They figured that most of the small towns they were biking through, they would never be in again.

Their thoughts on bike touring really stuck with us. They were right, whenever again would we be in Twin Bridges, Montana or Ness City, Kansas? Sure, it’s really great to brag to other cyclist that you had just rode 105 miles in the pouring rain or hadn’t taken a rest day in weeks. But, it’s even better to tell them about the people you met, or the local bar owner who invited you to stay at his house.

When you put in the big miles, all there is left to do is find a place to crash for the night. But if you slow down, that’s where the real memories are made.

Brooke



Thursday, September 2, 2010

Oregon!

Needless to say, we are ecstatic to be in Oregon. We stood in front of this sign and took ridiculous photos of ourselves for 30 minutes. There are definite times during the bike tour that I hope I will never ever forget. This is one of them. The sky was blue and there was a slight breeze, making the high temperatures of Hells Canyon bearable. Melissa and I danced around the Oregon sign like absolute fools; we were absolutely giddy. Just simply getting to the Beaver State feels unbelievable.

Brooke

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

On to Idaho

Welp, we’re not in Glacier National Park. And we sure as heck are not biking into Canada right now. Nope, we’re going on to the coast. Why? Because it’s cold. Because, there is another problem with my sleeping bag (surprise, surprise)-- it’s only rated for 30 degrees. And a lot of times at night, it dips down into the 30’s. And then I freeze. So it’s on to the coast . . . and hopefully warmer temperatures.


Idaho made us like bike touring again. From the moment we topped Lolo Pass, we were surrounded by beautiful dense forests and small, almost hidden waterfalls. On our second day in Idaho we stopped for a quick break at a trailhead just off the highway. Two older hippies came trotting out of the forest and exclaimed, “If you have the time, it’s well worth it,” while pointing behind them.

What was behind them was heaven on earth -- natural hot springs. The hippies convinced us to hike back to them, with our bikes, down dirt trails and through huge towering cedars. We pushed our bikes 1.5 miles into the forest and saw the steam rising into the air. We left our bikes and climbed down a cliff to the stream, where the steam seemed to be originating. Beside that stream was the most amazing hot spring jetting out of the side of the cliff, into a small rock pool. Melissa and I peeled off our clothes and stayed there for two hours.

On one of our last days in Idaho we met Archie at a mom-and-pop diner. Although he’s retired, and actually graduated high school in 1939 (you do the math), he’s the bus boy, because he’s “got nothing else to do.” Back in the day, Archie was sued for 15 million dollars. At the time, he was living in Seattle, working in advertising. The suit came from one single line of copy he wrote -- “Idaho potatoes taste better when grown in Washington.” Now he writes poetry, and today he wrote a bike trip motto for Melissa and me . . . “One part stupidity, one part intelligence and one part determination.” I think it sums it up nicely.

Idaho has been a literal “Tour of Churches”. Almost every night we knocked on a church door and were welcomed with open-arms. It’s comforting sleeping in a church. It’s relaxing talking with the pastors. One night we even had these really comfortable purple velvet benches to sleep on. That night, as we were falling to sleep Melissa said, “I’m going to sleep so good in my manger tonight.”

Brooke