Iberia, MO

Yesterday I was banking on resting for a while midday in the library in Iberia. Unfortunately, the library was closed on Mondays. There was nothing else in town. I biked despondently East on 42, figuring I'd just pedal through the heat. But then, a mile outside of Iberia there was a gas station, that also looked like a bit of a country store. I stopped in, thinking I'd at least fill up my water, but hoping in the back of my brain that I could rest in there. A handwritten sign on the door said, "We are no longer taking credit. Absolutely no exceptions. If you have a balance with us, please pay it immediately." I didn't know any country stores still offered credit. There was wall full of shelved liquor. And a sign that priced different quantities of hay. To get to the bathroom I passed a couple tables in the back, set up like a dirty diner. I filled up one of my bottles in the bathroom. Then as I was going outside to put it back in my bottle cage, the lady at the counter, previously engaged with a customer, said, "You don't want any ice, son?" I said no, it usually melted so fast it didn't matter. She said, "And you don't want nothin to eat, either?" I said, well, what did she have. She pointed at a menu abover her head painted by hand on a big piece of plywood. There were hamburgers, different kinds of sandwiches, lots of fried things. I asked if this was a restaurant. She said, "It is. I'm the cook." She explained that she'd have to go in the back and cook whatever it was I wanted. "Takes about 20 minutes." I think she could tell I was hungry, which was why she was offering. But I could tell that cooking stuff kind of bothered her. I said, oh, I thought I'd pass. I'd have a look around at the snacks she had. I walked a loop around the store. Nothing really interesting. I was thinking about a hamburger, or two. I think she sensed this. She asked me one more time, "You sure you don't want nothin to eat, son?" I said, well, really, if she didn't mind. She looked at me. I could tell she did. But there was something else there too. She said, "You're the one paying me, son." She looked at me real sternly. It was like she was trying to teach me a lesson about life. And I didn't mind it somehow. "It's hot as hell back in that kitchen. No air whatsoever. I believe I lose a pound every time I go back there to cook a burger. But I did offer it to you didn't I?" I felt kind of awkward. I asked if I could have two burgers and a plate of french fries. She cooked it and brought it to me. Best burgers I've had in some time. I tried to pay her immediately when she brought everything out, but she said, "You eat that first, then you come pay me." She wouldn't even let me give her a tip later. I stayed for almost two hours, reading, and talking with a few local people that stopped in and stared at me. Talked with her for a while too. Once, after a long silence, she leaned her head around the snack rack to ask me if I'd gone to sleep on her. I told her no ma'am, just enjoying myself.

Vienna, MO

In Vienna, I biked into the park to have a look around, see if I could camp there that night. There was a little league baseball game winding up, lots of families all around. I stepped into the bathrooms to see if there were any showers. No, but someone had told me they'd be open all night, so they'd do. As I was coming out of the bathroom, a little boy, surely no more than 6 years old, was going in. He took a long serious look at me and then followed me directly out. I swung my leg over my bicycle and stared back at him. "You riding your bike?" he asked me. I said yep. Across the country. He stared at me, very business-like. "To see things?" I nodded. "Do you like it?" I somehow felt like I was getting interviewed. I said I liked it. Sometimes it was hard. But overall I liked it a lot. "Where do you sleep?" I said I stayed in city parks, like this one. And sometimes in cemeteries, I told him, which was a lie. I've been wanting to stay in a quiet little cemetery, but haven't yet. I just wanted to see if this little interviewer was actually a kid. "Cemeteries?" he said and raised both of his eyebrows for a second. Then he walked into the bathroom like he was done with me. Transaction over.

Reverend Kelley

It is hot. It is so hot that if I park my bike in the sun, my computer LCD goes completely black for a few minutes after I start riding again. It is so hot that my sleeping bag is always wet in the mornings, and I'm wearing nothing but boxers and sleeping on top of it. It is so hot that the first thing everyone who stops to chat with me says is, "You sure you're alright, son?" I'm beginning to shape everything I do around the heat and the humidity: when I sleep, how long, when I eat, how I put my sunscreen on, where I camp. Two weeks ago, my Dad told me, "Brett, there's going to come the day when you'll wish for this cold, rainy Colorado weather." I thought, sure. That day has come to pass.

Regardless, this third leg has brought whole new wonders. In Chanute, KS, I stepped onto the Transam Trail, which is just the name for the established route that most cross-country cyclists take. There's a lot of oral history and tips that get passed around every night in city parks (which is where I've largely been staying.) The things most commonly talked about are 1) the Rollers: these are the supposedly soul-crushing, endless hills of Missouri. They're not so bad. 2) Sending stuff home: everyone, every single cross-country cyclist I've met or talked to has mailed extra weight home after the first few weeks. (I've karate chopped my load down to two front panniers and 4 little sacks on my rear rack: sleeping bag, tent, pad, bag of clothes.) 3) Camping: how to do it, where to go, who to ask. 4) The next town: eastbounders talk to westbounders for advice and vice-versa. There's quite a community amongst the Transam riders. And there's a confidence and warmth between the riders and the local towns. It's very nice to experience. However, I've peeled off of the Transam for the last four days, in order to get to St. Louis to catch a flight.

Yesterday was particularly difficult due to the heat. I decided to eat out, instead of cook dinner, so I could get to bed early and get the majority of my miles in today before the heat got to heavy. After dinner at Margies Kafe, I stepped outside to get on my bike and pedal over to the park to set up camp. The heat hit me hard, and I decided to make a leap and call some churches in town, to see if I could camp inside. I'd heard this was acceptable, and that was all the impetus I needed. I got some phone numbers from a gas station attendant. I called a Methodist secretary who suggested I call Reverend Kelley. He wasn't even from her church, some church across the way. But she said, "You're gonna want to talk to him," as if he was THE guy to talk to in town. I told her it was not problem, I had the number of a Baptist church I could call too. She said, "No, call Reverend Kelley." She gave me his number. I called him and told him to please feel free to turn me down, it was an odd request. I was riding across the country and staying mostly in city parks and on public land, but I was wondering if I might be able to get in somewhere out of the heat for the evening. When he said, in a grandfatherly voice, "Aw, bless your heart," I felt a sudden relief. He told me to meet him over at his place. Gave me directions. He said, "Good timing, son. I've got just the thing for you."

When I got there, he'd fired up his old Winnebago LeSharo. He'd been working on it that day, repairing something in the engine. He showed me how to turn on the air conditioning, and told me to leave that on high all night. I said, "you bet!" He opened up the basement of his church too so I could use the bathroom. I slept in bliss for 6 hrs, got up and began today's riding just as the sun was coming up. God bless you, Reverend.

East from Kansas

I've had a great 10 days of riding with my parents. We arrived in CO Springs on Tuesday night. It was something coming over Wilkerson Pass and seeing the backside of Pikes Peak for the first time in over a month, felt a little like home. We were met by on friend, Melanie a few miles on the downside of Ute Pass, the last CO Pass I'll be climbing on this tour. Then two other friends, Ken and Sarah, up in Woodland Park to descend the 20mi into the city. That evening and the next morning I got to be with a number of other good friends. Also got to rebuild my creaking pedals in my old shop and catch up with a few friends there. Now, my parents have driven me to Eastern Kansas, from where I'll start my next leg alone. In a week I'll be in St. Louis, MO, staying with my Aunt and Uncle and then flying back to VA for the final summer event, my sister and Jacob's wedding reception.

Mom and Dad are about to take me out for a huge breakfast. In Kansas or Missouri I'm hoping I'll see tornadoes. In the distance.

Notes and Pictures After Day Fifteen

Notes and photographs relating to the five previous days of bicycle touring. (These are not in strict chronological order.):

Logistics -- Dad has ridden most of the miles with me, but Mom has joined me for 10mi here and there. Last minute, we decided on a more interesting route (and less snowy) than what I had originally planned. This means we're covering more miles than I think I can handle in 10 days. So we've loaded all three bicycles onto the back of my parent's Trailblazer and have driven one big segment in WY at the end of Monday, another short one in UT at the end of Wednesday, and we'll drive one last big one in CO tomorrow.

Dad loading the bikes on Monday.


The Weather Report -- Sunday: rainy and cold, mid to upper 40s. We wore plastic bags over our hands to break the wind. I wrapped my feet in grocery bags before I stuffed them into my cycling shoes. 3hrs and 30mi into our climb, Dad and I summited the pass. We blasted ourselves with the hand dryers at the visitor's center. Then we put on every article of clothing we could and descended 8 frigid miles to the edge of Bear Lake, stopping once to make sure our hands worked on the brake levers. Monday: beautiful morning sun, then scattered rain, temps rising to the high 50s. Dad and I chased a booming thunderhead for half of the day with a gracious patch of sunlight spotlighting our way along the wet roads. A little hail. Tuesday: very little rain, low 50s. Headwind. Dad and I traded drafts, with me mostly in the rear. Slanting rain at the end of the day. Wednesday: cool and sunshiny for first 2hrs of continuous climbing on the steepest grades yet. Then a sudden storm for over an hour. Temps dropped into the low 40s, mixed sleet and rain. Then more sun and spotty rain.

Sunday: Dad and me keeping our hands semi-warm.


Sunday: summiting the pass.


Sunday: Dad assuming compromising positions with a hand dryer.

Monday: A rare segment that we three cycled together. Happy sunshine.


Wednesday: Dad climbing in the sun up switchbacks of 9% incline.


Wednesday: Mom and me descending in the sudden storm. Very cold.


Riding Companions -- I can think of two things that make miserable riding conditions bearable: losing your mind (which I experienced in small doses on my first 10days) and having riding companions. The last four days of riding would have been my most difficult (even though they've been my shortest) had I been alone. But riding with either Mom or Dad has made a huge difference. Dad was worried about being able to keep up, considering the altitude and the fact that his son is in such awe-inspiring physical condition. He has definitely kept up. In fact, I've been ready to quit on a few days when Dad was gritting his teeth and ready to finish the last 10mi. And Mom has been cheerful and excited like a little girl to see the sights. I thought she'd have trouble biking at my speed, so on the first day I started slow. After a few minutes she told me, "I'm used to going a little faster than this, Brett." And on Wednesday, when she and I were getting lashed by sleet and I was in one of my most grouchy moods yet, I could hear her in the distance behind me singing, "Yippee, one more mile to go."



Wednesday: Dad and me summiting the big climb of the day.


Wednesday: Mom and me riding before the sleet hit us.


Food -- High luxury. We've eaten out a good bit. And Mom has cooked some great meals: chili, minestrone soup, fruit & nut pancakes. Mom even makes side-dishes for our camp dinners. We've had sandwiches with deli meat for lunch, and fresh chicken salad. And after our first day of riding, Dusty and Lisa even drove all the way up to Bear Lake to take us out for the famous raspberry milkshakes of Bear Lake. I can feel myself getting soft. Some mornings I even think, "We could just drive to the next campsite and start cooking dinner."

Sunday: Dusty and Lisa showing us the delights of the Bear Lake Raspberry Milkshakes. This is how good they are: we had just been riding for more than 4hrs in the cold rain. And we're eating milkshakes. And we're happy about it.



Sunday: Minestrone prepared by my mom in the fine KOA cooking arena.


Tuesday: Mom and Dad making chili.


Achilles -- Immediately into our first day of riding, after my 2wks of rest, I began to feel my right achilles aching again. After 3 more days of testing it, I decided to call Jessica, a friend who knows these things. She said something along the following lines: "Ibuprofen is not a long-term solution, Brett. Listening to your body is a long-term solution." The next day I offloaded all of my panniers except my right front one for tools and extra clothing. Until my parents head back East, I am going to take advantage of the car and ride light. Already it feels better.

Bob's Rock Shop -- In Kemmerer, WY at the end of Monday's riding, my mom stepped into a local rock shop. (Rock shops are about as common in Wyoming as 'coffee' shops are in Amsterdam. And their owners are equally religious about their respective products.) Dad and I joined her a few minutes later. Bob, the sole proprietor, was sitting in the corner holding a smoldering cigarette. I didn't see him put the thing to his mouth for the full 30min that we were in his shop. Bob is a short-answers, foul-mouthed, old man. (Normally for men his age I use the word, "gentleman", but in Bob's particular case, this descriptor doesn't apply.) Bob's single passion is rocks. And 99% of the rocks and petrified tree limbs and fossils in his shop he dug up, chiseled out, and polished by himself. He has no training, but he knows his stuff. "I read books about rocks. I got a lot of books in the back. You wouldn't believe how many books I got." In one display case he has a full fossilized skeleton of a prehistoric crocodile that he found and scraped out of the surrounding rocks over the course of one winter. We didn't ask where he found it. We sensed we weren't supposed to ask that sort of thing. My mom, being curious, asked if she could poke around in his back room. "Sure thing. It's my workshop. It's where I cut the rocks and polish them." We all joined her. Bob showed us his diamond blades and polishing belts and shelves stacked to the ceiling with rocks in various stages of preparation. He showed us one fist-sized rock that he said he'd been working on for 2yrs. "It's got fiery opal in it, you see. If I cut it just right and bring out that fire, you know what I mean? If I cut it in just the right place, this rock would be worth, oh, $2000." It looked like a plain old rock to me. I asked him what he'd done on it over the last 2yrs, if he'd chipped at the side or something. "Oh no." He looked at me sternly. "Oh no. I come back here, and I pick it up like this, and I think about it. I've got to find the right frame of mind to work on this rock. You can't just go in and start cutting the damn thing." He showed us a piece of flint that looked like a paleolithic knife. We asked if it was some Indian artifact. "No. I use this to scare away those kids with body piercings, those left-hand smokers." I don't know what left-hand smoking is, but I don't ever want to do it around Bob. After a thorough tour, Mom and Dad let me pick out my favorite piece of petrified wood and Bob sold it to us for $30.



Monday: Bob showing us around his beloved workshop in the back of his rock shop.


Flat Tires -- For those of you taking bets, I've now had 6 flat tires. You may want to readjust your betting structure. My 5th flat was a slow leak on Tuesday. I pulled out about 8 tiny pieces of sharp flint embedded in my front and rear tires before replacing the rear tube. My dad had no pieces of sharp flint embedded in his tires. (Maybe this disparity arises from the fact that he rides out in the middle of the lane, while I ride conservatively on the shoulder.) My 6th flat, occuring 45min later on the tube I had just replaced, was a sudden puncture and outrush of air. I had run over something very sharp, leaving a tire gash even bigger than the one that stopped me 30mi short of Logan two weeks before. Again, my tire boot did not provide enough structure to support my tube pressure. Luckily, I've learned some patching techniques since my first blowout. I layered 6 pieces of gorilla tape on the inside of my tire and inflated my tube to full pressure. Worked great. I've ridden over 50mi on it so far, and plan to ride until it blows, or until I get to CO Springs, whichever comes first.




Tuesday: flat #5.



Tuesday: flat #6.


Accommodations -- My parents and I started this 10day segment planning to camp primitively every night. On the first evening, after riding all day through cold rain, we stopped in at a little KOA, "just to see about the prices." (KOA means super-tourist cop-out in my family.) Shivering there in the KOA office we discovered that they had cabins with space heaters available pretty cheap. "They're called Primitive Cabins," we said to eachother. "They don't even have linens." We hemmed and hawed and then decided we'd take one, "just this first night." Then, as we unpacked in our cabin and cranked up the heater and sat down on our padded beds, we each had the very same two thoughts in quick succession. The first was, "Really, if we didn't have gear to dry out, we'd be primitive camping tonight." The second was, "This is nice." Writing this note five days later, I count 3 nights in KOA cabins and 2 nights in motels. We haven't unpacked our tents once. We're becoming KOA Primitive Cabin connoisseurs. "Oh, this one has the double bunks and the porch swing. And it's the same price as the ones in Garden City."


Sunday: primitive survival techniques.



Thursday: organizing gear for our day off.




A Day Off is Reviving -- Today, the fifth day of our leg together, I had scheduled for my parents and me to explore Dinosaur National Monument and to rest. We did a little of the former and a lot more of the latter. In more specific terms, we spent almost 5hrs this morning and afternoon camped out in a corner of a coffee shop in Vernal, UT. My dad and I read and uploaded pictures from our cameras. My mom touched up a few watercolors she's sketched out over the last week. All of us got online and caught up with the real world. In the late afternoon we roused ourselves to finally explore DNM. It's a bastard child of a park. Nobody seems to know about it. This is a misfortune. (To everyone who was not us: we had the park very nearly to ourselves.) The geology there is jaw-dropping. We drove 30mi along a canyon rim, passing pronghorns and mule deer and plain old cows. We hiked out to a promontory from which we could look straight down 2000ft to the confluence of the Yampa and the Green Rivers. The canyon floor was tilted in crazy directions. We could see layers of rock representing hundreds of millions of years arched like so many decks of cards being shuffled. Made us dizzy.




It's now in the am hours, and my parents have long been asleep in our little motel room. So I better wrap it up. Tomorrow we'll start riding again from a 3-house town called Lay, CO.

How to Ride Your Bicycle Into CO Springs

Several of my CO Springs friends are planning to meet me and my parents in Woodland Park on Tuesday 16 June, to ride into town for the evening. If anyone is interested in joining us, here is the route for the whole day. Only the Eastern segment, from Woodland Park down, is what matters for the purposes of this post:

Hartsel - CO Springs

The logistics are as follows: I'll be in the parking lot of the Rocky Mountain Dinosaur Resource Center in Woodland Park at 5:30pm. We'll begin descending at 6pm with whomever has showed up. Look closely at the map, we're not going to take 24 the whole way down; we'll deviate through Green Mountain Falls and Chipita Park: that's much prettier. (So if you're late, and you want to cross paths with us on the way up, make sure you take the same deviation.)

Any bicycle (Cervelo or Walmart) and any bicycler is welcome. I'm going to ride slowly. And it's almost entirely descent from Woodland Park, 2omi of it. We'll probably take 1.5hrs. I'd just love to see anyone that can make it.

Also, if you're planning to meet me further West than Woodland Park, be aware that my parents and I are planning to arrive in Woodland Park by 2pm or so. So there will be about a 4hr buffer of no riding.

We've had much colder, wetter weather than we thought we would through these Utah and Wyoming segments. It looks like much of the same for the Colorado passes. Maybe even some snow. There are plenty of stories to tell. I'll try to type some out in the coming week.

Day One of Utah to Colorado

Tomorrow morning I begin riding again after almost 2 weeks off.

Mom and Dad and I drove out to Logan, UT over the last four days. We're each really eager to get out of the car and into the mountains. Mom will ride with me for a few miles tomorrow morning. We'll meet Dad at the base of Logan Canyon, and he and I will climb to the pass over the next 30mi. Mom bought herself a lightweight easel, and she's planning to do some water colors along the canyon. We'll descend to Bear Lake and and camp for the first night at a little state park called Rendezvous Beach. (Named after all of the Trapper's Rendezvous held in these mountains over a century ago. There trappers would sell pelts, drink, and swap tales of the harsh trappers' winters.)

It's supposed to rain most of tomorrow.

Photographic Essay of the First Ten Days

Below are a few photographs from my first 10 days of riding.


Morning of Day 2, along the Lochsa Gorge -- Third flat tire. (Up to this point all of my flats had been self-inflicted: 1) cheap tire liner slowly sliced through my tube, 2) tore open a tube with clumsy use of tire lever, and 3) wiggled the valve stem around so much while pumping it up, that I tore a hole at its base.) I had no more spares on this, my third flat, so I patched a punctured tube.


Afternoon of Day 3, near Lolo, MT -- Josh met me 30mi outside of Missoula. I was happy to have a riding companion.


Noon on Day 4, near Hamilton, MT -- I hit the wall, didn't want to eat any of the processed food I had. I bought a bag of carrots and snacked on these for a few miles.


Early Morning of Day 5, near Sula, MT -- I woke up to a river at the foot of my tent. Moved it up hill a ways and went back to sleep. About 2hrs later, I heard a, "Hello?" outside. I hollered back, scrambled to get on some warmer clothes (you can see I forgot to put on my shoes, and it was pretty cold!) and stepped outside to greet a German tourist and his wife, worried about my welfare in a flooded campsite. I told him I was fine. I splashed across the little puddle and asked him to take my picture. They seemed to think I was a little crazy.


Noon on Day 6, Salmon, ID -- This is what grocery shopping looks like. These stops usually include whittling away the unnecessary packaging from a new set of granola bars and crackers, peeling off stickers from fruits and rinsing them off, refilling water bottles, readjusting everything to balance the weight, plugging my cell-phone into a socket and making a few calls, and tossing the previous night's trash.


Evening of Day 6, near Ellis, ID -- Great meal: beans, rice, sour cream, salsa, tortillas. I counted up over 2000Cal.


Morning of Day 7, near Ellis, ID -- Inspecting tire for things that shouldn't be there.


Afternoon of Day 7, Fulton Ranch SW of Borah Peak -- I knocked on Marge Fulton's door to ask for water. Got a friendly welcome.


Evening of Day 7 -- I camped on this night at a busy campground near Mackay Reservoir. At first I was really annoyed with all the screaming and laughing by the 'neighborhood' kids. I just wanted some peace. Soon, however, they came over and shyly asked if I'd set my tent up all by myself. They went up on a hill overlooking my site and watched me cook my dinner. I overheard them saying things like, "...real cowboy" to eachother. Later they showed me some flowers they'd found that "change colors" when you put them in water. I gave them one of my cooking pots and told them to get some lake water so we could do an experiment. I told them I'd take their picture if one of them would take a picture of me.

Morning of Day 8, Mackay Reservoir -- Laundry Day. My socks made a very potent sock stock. (I also tried to save money by doing my laundry in the bathtub while I studied abroad in Oxford, England. I think I saved a dollar doing that.)

Evening of Day 8, in the Lava Beds of ID -- The first picture is the somewhat disconcerting view I took in at 5pm, just east of Butte City, ID. I had 60mi to go to reach the next town. Flat nothingness in between. On my map it was marked as some sort of nuclear laboratory, with a town called Atomic City, and several sites miles and miles from anything marked as "Radioactive Waste Management Complexes". In parentheses all over this area was printed, "Restricted Access". About 30mi later the sun was getting low, and I was beginning to look for a place to hide my tent. Then I saw the silhouette of a touring cyclist coming from the other direction. Strange coincidence in the middle of nowhere. Conor Cash was his name. He gave me some advice about a good place to hide my campsite. I gave him some of my water.

Afternoon of Day 9, near Inkom, ID on I-15 -- An unfortunate but necessary 20mi stretch of interstate highway.

Evening of Day 9, Gilbert Farm near Virginia, ID -- I knocked on the door of this farm sometime after 5pm. I'd been rained on for about half an hour and was ready to pitch my tent. Ervin Gilbert showed me down to his barn where he said I could at least dry off. I met his son down there, Kent Gilbert, who's in the picture. Ervin came down to the barn and talked with me for about an hour while I dried off. Kent sat on his ATV and just watched me like I was some curiosity. Every time I looked his way, he'd look down at the ground and then at his dad. Ervin told me after a little while that I could pitch my tent in his yard. Later that night, as I was cooking my dinner, Kent came out to chit chat. He's the only Gilbert boy that didn't go to college. He's got a bum knee and has to hold on to things or sit down to support himself. But he still works all day long on the farm. I asked him if he hunts. He doesn't. He likes animals too much. He told me about how he used to milk his dad's cows when he was in high school. He described them like a bunch of old friends. He'd named several of them. One always came in first, led all the rest in twice a day to get milked. He liked her a lot. As I was going to bed, Kent told me he hoped his cats wouldn't bother me. I said I didn't mind cats, how many did he have? He said, "Ahh...twenty, twenty-five head. I've named about half of them." I saw a few of them later that night, one with an infected eye, another with a sad limp. Next morning I had to use the bathroom. I timidly knocked on the door, and Mrs. Gilbert let me in. They were getting ready to go to the tabernacle for Sunday worship. That's the second picture: me in their bathroom.

Noon on Day 10, Preston, ID -- I sliced my tire and had a blow-out near the border of ID and UT. As I was trying to fix my tire in the Talbot's garage, Mrs. Talbot came out with a heaping plate of hot food. It was a slippery slope. I called Dusty for a ride in to Logan about 10min later.