A Brief Note upon Arrival

I arrived at Dusty & Lisa's in Logan, UT, the final destination of my first riding leg, at 3:30pm today. It was not by bicycle. It was by jeep.

That might seem like an unfortunate ending, but let me assure you, on this end of the saddle, that was a lovely conclusion to my first 700mi.

I woke up today, in an Idaho Mormon farmer's lawn. (No, I didn't party hard with Mormons last night, I asked him and his family if I could pitch my tent there.) I cooked my breakfast and packed up my gear, wet from last night's rain. Then I headed out about 10am. I wasn't worried about drying it out because I only had 65mi to go to get to Logan. I was very excited about getting to Logan to shower, and eat a real meal, and not ride my bike, and hang out with Dusty & Lisa and another friend, Kara. Very excited.

A little more than 20mi into today's riding, the thunderhead I'd been keeping an eye on unleashed itself. This was the second rain I'd ridden through. Kind of fun, really. I threw on my rain coat and nifty yellow lenses and rode. It started to pour. Then about 45min into the rain, coming down a hill into Preston, ID, I heard a loud POP!

That's not a good sound for a cyclist. It means two things: 1) you got a flat (no problem, fix it) 2) that flat is a blowout (uh oh, could be bad).

I walked my bike through the downpour to a nearby house. Before I could knock on the door, a lady came out and asked if I needed to warm up in their garage. I said, "Well, yeah, if you don't mind. Can I fix my flat in here?" She was obliging. Her husband came out and said a few terse things about the weather. I threw on some extra layers to warm up. Then I pulled off my rear wheel. I was interrupted from any further repairs by the Mrs. coming out with a steaming hot plate of Sunday dinner. Mashed potatoes, roast beef, green bean casserole, salad. I think I dropped my tire levers. When I recovered I asked her name. She said, "We're Talbots." I asked her to take a picture of me, that my Mom would really like to see me eating well. She said I sure did have skinny legs. They left me to eat and repair my flat. I ate it all in about 5min.

I quickly discovered that it was a bad sort of blowout. Something had sliced my tire, probably a ways back, before the POP!, about an inch down the center. It looked like any repair wasn't going to work, because there was so little tire structure to hold the tube in, but I layered two tire boots and even threw a granola bar wrapper in there for extra support. It held up to about 20psi, then started to separate like a wound that needs stitches. It wasn't going to work.

(Anyone know how to fix serious tire gashes like this? In an emergency, way back in the bush, there's got to be a repair that can be done when a tire boot doesn't work.)

It didn't take long for me to think of calling Dusty for a ride into Logan. Once I had eaten a good meal, and warmed up a little in the garage, and watched the slanting rain and wind for a while, the prospect of being done for the day (really for the next week) started to grow on me. Rapidly.

I called Dusty. He came out in about 30min and drove me the rest of the way in. Now I get to play around Logan with three friends for the next three days before I fly out for my sis's wedding. I'll be back out in another week and a half to start riding again, with my mom and dad.

I'll tell more about my last three days in a later posting, they were amazing.

An Argument for Beef

(Warning: I don't know much about US Public Land policy. So this is coming from a perspective of ignorance. I'm probably mistating a lot of 'facts'. Bear with me. Contact my friend, Dusty, if you want better information.)

Made it yesterday to Mackay Reservoir. Was setting up my tent below an ancient cowboy cemetery a little after 8pm. It was my first really good riding day since day one. I felt energized, mostly by the necessity of covering 55mi of waterless wasteland, but also by the stark beauty (is that the word?) of the place. Almost all of the land I pedaled through was BLM land (public land controlled by the Bureau of Land Management.) It has very few restrictions. Ranchers with the right permits let their cattle graze on it. You can camp anywhere you please. You can drive your off-road vehicle all around it. Make a fire anywhere. And this isn't a little plot of land. It included a whole mountain range and huge prairie-like basins. Almost all 55mi that I pedaled through. And along the way I noticed some signs that said the land (or part of it) was under consideration by congress for Wilderness designation. That would mean it would have major restrictions. I think these include no motorized vehicle travel. No bicycles. Certainly no cattle grazing. And no more development whatsoever. I thought, "Wouldn't that be nice." More wild areas are alright with me.

Once I finally topped out on Willow Creek Summit, I had a screaming downhill with a nice tailwind. I was nearly out of water at this point, and had another 30mi to the reservoir. I was making such good time (steady pace of +20mph for the first time since I left WA) that I decided to take a 5mi detour to see a fault line from a 1983 earthquake which shook the valley and raised the mountains 17 days before I was born. When I came back down the dirt road from looking at the faultline, I decided I needed water for the evening. I had enough to get to Mackay but I didn't want to go all the way that night.

Like I said, this is empty BLM land. Some cattle here and there. But in the whole 55mi from Challis (SHALL-is) to Mackay (MACK-ee) I passed no towns, maybe 6 ranches, and about as many dilapidated and abandoned homesteads from a century ago. So finding water was going to be difficult. I was lucky to run across a functioning ranch 21mi outside of Mackay. Just as I pulled my bike into the gravel parking lot, a fellow came driving around a barn with a horse trailer in tow. I waved at him and pulled off my sunglasses to indicate I had something to say. He waved back at me then drove right on by, and down the road. I started to get nervous, thinking it was going to be another replay of the night before.

I leaned my bike down to the ground and walked up to the building that I thought was the house. Lots of trash around it. Knocked on the door. A girl's voice said, "Come on in." I knocked again, because I thought that sounded too friendly for a rancher, like she was maybe expecting someone other than a skinny out-of-towner in tight pants. She said, "Come in," again. I opened the door to a living room that seemed to lean with the whole building. Everything made out of wood. A yellowed portrait of Abe Lincoln on the wall. A wagon wheel in the corner with flowers on it. In the far room, the kitchen, a painfully stooped old woman was facing away from me. I said, "Hello," and she turned around. I indicated that I was biking through and was hoping to fill up my water bottles. She said, "Oh, come on in. Come on in. We've been having trouble with our water, though." She showed me her sink and turned the water on to check if any came out, like she hadn't turned it on all day. "Well it works. Now, this is how you get hot, and this is how you get cold," she told me. And then she said, "Now tell me about yourself." Of course I said a little about myself, but I was too full of questions for her.

Marge Fulton is 91 years old. She's lived there, 21mi outside of Mackay all her life. She was there when the '83 earthquake hit. She said she had just graduated from university when the Depression knocked everyone flat, but I backcalculated and that would have made her 11 years old. She may have gotten the Depression mixed up with WWII. She taught English at Mackay high school for most of her life. ("But really, teachers in towns this small have to teach EVERYTHING," she said, making sure I knew she had done it all.) She kept ending her stories with, "Now tell me about yourself." She showed me a recent newspaper clipping that told about the Marge Fulton Scholarship, $1000 to a deserving Mackay HS graduate. Every year some of her previous students donate $1000 dollars and give it away in her name. She has a son, Gordon, who flies airplanes, and is going up to Alaska in a week. She finally said, "Now tell me about yourself," and I went ahead. I started to explain where I was from, what I was doing in the middle of Idaho, that I was going to study physics in the fall, that I was a little nervous about it.

Gordon walked in right about then. He was a little suspicious. But he was really gentle and soft-spoken. A different kind of rancher than I'd imagined in my head. I asked him a bunch of questions about ranching on BLM land. They have 500 head of cattle. Doesn't seem like much, but out here in the high desert, that requires an unimaginable amount of land. I asked him why ranch in the west then, and he said it was the almost free land. For a very small permit fee, he had access to the land he needed in the form of BLM land. It balanced out, though, he said, with the ranchers in the South, who have lots of cheap grass, but expensive plots of land. I began to connect his story with those signs I'd passed that said, "Under consideration for Wilderness Designation." I didn't ask him what would happen to him and his family if that land became a Wilderness Area. I made a guess.

Pretty early on into our conversation, he stopped himself and said, "And I bet your a vegetarian aren't you?" It wasn't aggressive. He was embarrassed to be talking to me about beef cattle. It was like a gentle country priest might stop himself from talking about God to a city dweller and say, "Oh, now I bet you're an atheist aren't you." I told him I liked cow meat.

Before I left, I asked Ms. Fulton if I could take her picture. I pulled out my disposable camera, and she waved her hand in front of her face and turned away. But I convinced her.

As I was walking out, Gordon was talking to her about Alaska. I caught that he wasn't sure he could find help enough around the ranch to get away. Someone had backed out.

I thought about them as I rode off toward Mackay Reservoir for the night. I don't know enough about the situation to argue one way or the other, for wilderness designations, or for ranching on BLM land. I don't even know if those two are opposing arguments. But meeting Gordon and Marge Fulton, a hearty rancher and his mom living in the middle of nowhere, scraping their subsistence from a tract of land that's not quite theirs, gives me pause about my initial environmental impulses.

From Challis, ID

I'm in Challis, ID and I need to crank out just under 60 more miles today. So I'll be semi-coherent.

Hit the wall hard on the fourth day, leaving Missoula. Food failed me. From the first pedal strokes of the morning, I didn't want to eat any of my granola bars, nuts, fig newtons, m&ms, and I didn't have any desire to go anywhere. My right achilles had been hurting me and it really started to ache. (I've overcompensated and now my left achilles is hurting.) I treated myself to a nice Subway sandwich at lunch, which was enough motivation to keep me pedaling for the first part of the day. Then I kept going almost to Sula, MT at the base of the great Lost Trail Pass. Camped by the East Fork of the Bitterroot, first campground I had to pay for yet. Woke up at 5am to my tent standing in water. The river had risen about a foot, because of hot days and major snowmelt. I dragged my tent uphill a little more, picked up a few wet things to put on the picnic table, and went back to bed. Later the park ranger came by and gave me back my money. I said angrily, "The service around here!" No, I didn't.

Day 5, Lost Trail Pass was a success. About a 15mile climb in all, the last 8miles at a 6% grade. I sang all the songs I could think of, had a lot of conversations with John Henry. Topped out in two and a half hours, and was blasted by a crazy headwind. My descent was wild. Wind gusts in the 30mph range, from every direction. At one time they'd be slowing me down to 15mph on the steepest downhills, then they'd slingshot me forward to 35mph. I had to swerve a lot to rebalance from side blasts. Thankfully very few cars came by.

On the rest of my descent to the Dougherty's (where I was going to stay Tuesday night) I got a steady headwind. Really frustrating. So much so that once, when I got blown off the side of the road with a huge gust, I stopped my bike and said a bunch of nasty things. Right then I heard a CRACK! and turned around just in time to see a 70ft dead cottonwood at 15Deg to the vertical and on its way down. It was about 100yds out in the field. The wind was so loud I didn't hear it THUMP like I expected, just a bunch of crackling as the branches snapped. I stood there for probably 15seconds with my mouth open.

The Doughertys. My gosh, I couldn't have had a better end to this day. Mike and Jane are Uncle and Aunt to one of my best high school buddies. I'd never met them. But I'd heard crazy stories about them. Real adventurers and real pioneers. They came down to the base of their 5mi steep driveway to pick me up. (They had called ahead to the last town I'd passed through to see about my progress; Idaho's a giant local community.) We waited down there to also picked up their 2nd grade son, Conrad, from the bus stop. They live at the foot of the National Forest. The furthest homestead back on Fourth of July Creek Road, where E Hemingway used to have a house too. Really wild land. They've built up their own land into a rustic mountain farm. After dinner (Elk steaks and burgers, Idaho potatoes, huge salad, home-pickled cucumbers and onions) Jane and Conrad took me outside to help them irrigate their land. They use an irrigation canal that was cut in 1905, way up above their hill. They divert water from it into several channels that run through their land. Jane (healing a broken collar bone, thrown from a horse) instructed Conrad which stones to move to block or unblock different channels. He'd thrust his shovel at me indicating I was to do something too. Then he'd bend down and push a stone out of the way that was twice the size of his head. I chopped at the sod like an amateur. Their dog Chipper played along beside us. Later that night, after Conrad had showed me his books on fighter planes and his cowboy belt for a rubber band gun and Jane had put him to bed, I twisted Mike's arm to show me some pictures from his epic 1700mi, 3.5month kayak journey from Skagway, AK to Seattle, WA. He completed it back in 1996. Largely lived off of clams and fish and kelp. We talked about it late into the night. Got to see his navigation charts, and heard some stories that made me wince.

Earlier on, in the bathroom, Mike had left me a note on the empty toilet paper roll: "Better learn how to go without TP for a real man's adventure." This took on new meaning when I heard about his crazy expedition.

In the morning Jane cooked pancakes all the way up from whole wheat berries. She had decided to let Conrad skip the first part of school to ride with me on his bike to the base of Fourth of July Creek Road. I said goodbye in as meaningful a way as a could to these hearty people. They let me know that I was to come back in the future. The people I've gotten to meet along this trip have made the difficult riding almost negligible.

Day 6 was a haul. I climbed to Salmon, ID, stocked up on groceries, then headed further up the Salmon River. I didn't get as far as I had hoped. About 18miles outside of Challis (which is where I am now.) The land and the mood of the land changed dramatically over yesterday's miles. It got more desolate and far less hospitable. Real desert. Canyons. Lots of ranch land. More No Trespassing signs than there are people in Idaho. A different sort of wilderness than the Lochsa River Gorge. I found a campsite, then headed out in search of water. (I'd misjudged how much water I needed to carry at the end of the day; I hadn't passed any towns or campgrounds like I normally have. I could have used the Salmon river, but it was brown with more than high-water silt and cow poop. I was a little concerned about fertilizers drained into the river.) I stopped by one house a quarter mile down the road. Big handprinted No Trespassing sign. Knocked, no one there. About another mile down the road, in the tiny town of Ellis, ID I found another house. Just a dog barking inside when I knocked. It was like a ghost town. For reasons I can't explain I started to get a little spooked. My mind was a little off-kilter. I stopped at a third house. Before I could put my bike down, an angry dog choked himself on his chain and barked like a mad animal at me. A mean old rancher came outside and shouted, "What!" more like an order than a question. I'm not sure who he was talking to, but he was looking at me. I was really shaken up at this point. I must have sounded like a 12-year-old girl asking for water. He pointed at a spiggot and lit up a cigarette. He stood on his porch and just watched me the whole time I was filling up all my water containers. I asked him a bunch of silly questions to try to make conversation, then headed out as quickly as I could.

Today I've climbed 18miles to Challis, and I've just discovered there are no towns until I get up and over Willow Creek Summit (about an 1800ft vertical, 25mile climb from here) and another 30miles beyond that to the town of Mackay. I didn't realize it when I was planning this out, but this section is through some desolate country.

I'm loading up on water here in town, and then heading out for Mackay. Hoping to make it before dark.

Panacea

Three days in, I've arrived on schedule in Missoula, MT. My friend Josh surprised me by meeting me 30 miles out and gave me a draft all the way into town. Right now he's feeding me. (We finished our meal, platefuls of ravioli and asparagus, and then Josh indicated that, considering how much riding I was doing, he had planned for this to be just the first dinner. Sounds good to me.)

First day I rode 100 miles exactly from Pullman to somewhere between Kamiah and Kooskiah on the Clearwater River. 30 miles in, on the edge of the Snake Canyon, about to descend down US 195 into Lewsiton, I caught out of the corner of my eye a side road. I looked at my map. It's called Old Spiral Highway. I took it. From the first quarter mile, I dropped down onto the steep edge of the canyon and looked all the way down 2000 vertical feet to the town of Lewiston. I could see Old Spiral Highway switchbacking below me 200ft, 300ft, 500ft. It was a grand 10 mile descent past old battered farm houses clinging to the side of the gorge, and cows chewing the grass on the steep slopes. Not a single car passed me and I took the banked corners fast enough for the banking to matter. Just past Kamiah that night, I pulled off the road and found a hideaway spot to throw up my tent.

Second day I rode 69 miles, following the Lochsa River slowly upstream. Passed lots of classic western whitewater, huge amounts of water flushing through canyons, rapids that blended together into non-stop whitewater. Passed lots of kayakers. I was one of those on this very river with my Dad and Ron and Cy some 7 years ago. I'd drown in that whitewater now. My right achilles began to hurt this day, so I slowed down significantly, geared lower, tried to take it easy. As the sun was just about to dip below the ridge, I found a campsite on the opposite side of the river. To get to it, I got to push my bike across a hanging footbridge. Because I wanted a bath so badly, I stripped down right there, hoping no one would come by, and scrubbed in the freezing snow-melt of the Lochsa. No one came by accept a few cars on the road above, and they didn't know where to look. I don't think.

Today I rode 84 miles. I got an early start (so I was thinking.) I got up at 5am and after breakfast and breaking camp, finally got ready to step onto my bike a little before 7:30am. But then I decided to air up my rear tire. My hasty pump job punctured a hole in the tube right at the base of the valve stem. It took another 45min to get the wheel off, fixed, and back on. By 12:30 I had topped out on the mighty Lolo Pass (~5400ft) after about 4 miles of 6% grade. My achillles was still hurting me, but it cooled off a bit through the day. On the backside of Lolo pass, 10 or 15 miles into my descent, I ran into Josh, and we rode together into Missoula. By the time I met him, I was exhausted and getting into a foul mood. It's amazing what a riding companion does for ones mood.

My first lesson from the first three days is that when I'm putting in this many miles, food is the panacea. It solves everything. This is how it works:

"I'm tired."

"Eat your jerky."

"I'm cold."

"Eat your granola bar."

"I feel sad."

"Eat your oatmeal."

It has worked everytime so far.

Christmas!

I got several boxes in the mail today, and oh my goodness, it felt like Christmas.

John sent me his super lightweight Primus stove. It's about the size of a roll of scotch tape. It almost looks like it lights itself. I tried to get it to set up my tent.

Dad sent me 1) his sunglasses. They've got 4 different lens sets. The dark ones are for arc-welding, the clear ones are for riding way past curfew, which I hope to do very little of, the in-between ones are for precisely 5-6pm, and the yellow ones match my socks. 2) A new pocket knife. This is better than any I've ever owned. It has a pair of pliers which makes redundant multiple bike tools. 3) Small band aids, triple antibiotic ointment, large band aids. 4) Pot and pan. And eating utensils. 5) A reflector to put around my ankle. 6) A nice Capilene shirt for layering. 7) A couple tubes. (Like I'm going to get any flats, Dad!) 8) A squeezy bottle to put olive oil or honey or hard liquor into. 9) A pair of enormous camouflage clogs, which should be self-explanatory.

Ron sent me 1) his rain gear: a pair of gore-tex pants and a jacket, in a smooth azure color, which I'm afraid I won't be able to wear with the yellow lens set. 2) Another reflector to put around my ankle. 3) Some wind-proof fleece mittens. The mitten part folds down for better dexterity if I want to change my lens set. 4) A small Petzl headlamp. The very same kind that I had packed.

Greg sent me 1) several water bottles. They've got his name on them. Let's hope the police don't get nosy. 2) A set of Jandd panniers! These are great. They're the first set of panniers I ever used. Greg lent them to me along with a rear rack last fall just to try out. They're red Cordura Nylon like my home-made ones but almost certainly better engineered. 3) A bevy of really nice riding shorts and jerseys. They're all from a stash of official USA Cycling gear, so I'm going to feel very out of my league, and I'm going to look like Captain America.

Andrew sent me some essential tools.

Jacob & Kim sent me some money.

Mom & Grandmommy sent me some books to start with.

Whether donated or lent, each piece of gear is going to remind me of some of you as I use it or spend it or wear it or read it. Thanks so much.

I'll begin pedaling Friday.

The First Leg: Part VIII

Saturday 9 May, 8am, 50mi East of Portland, OR -- Awakes to finches chirping and lady bugs crawling on his tent fly. Stretches. Believes this is going to be the day he makes it to Pullman. Tells his car this is going to be the day he makes it to Pullman. Tells the camp hosts he's leaving his possessions on the picnic table and in his tent for a few hours while he goes to get a tire replaced. Hopes they won't get tampered with. The camp hosts say they'll keep an eye on things. The camp hosts cumulatively weigh close to 500lbs. Brett feels like his possessions are safe.

8:30am, Hood River, OR -- Because Volvo is all-wheel-drive, Brett has to replace all four tires. It costs him a pretty penny. "A final pretty penny," he says, cheerfully, doubtfully.

9:30am, 50mi East of Portland, OR -- Back at the campsite Brett begins to load everything back into his car. To shift the weight forward he straps two of the bulkiest items onto his roof. Gets everything loaded. The frame sags like before, but is no longer bottomed out on the rear axle. Leaves for Pullman. No music. No slouching. Just drives.

noon, OR/WA border -- Crosses the Jordan (Columbia).

4:30pm, Pullman, WA -- Enters the Promised Land.

The First Leg: Part VII

Friday 8 May, 9am, Portland, OR -- Brett gets call from Mom. She wants a list of the books that were taken. She and Grandmommy are going to replace them. Gets call from Sis. She & Jacob are going to send him some money to help out with new wedding & summer clothes. Gets lots of calls from friends sending him important and helpful things. Deals with strange mixtures of emotions. Angry. Grateful. Whiny.

10am, Portland, OR -- Brett maps out long ride up a road that looks pretty on the map, Skyline Blvd. Bikes downtown and buys sweet-looking Goodwill shirt to get sweaty on long ride. Immediately becomes new favorite shirt. Starts pedaling toward Skyline Blvd. Begins climbing above the city.

11:30am, above Portland, OR -- V-Shop calls. "Volvo's ready. Be here by closing 2pm or you won't be able to get your car until Monday."

noon, above Portland, OR -- Brett passed on long hill by road cyclist. He looks 35. Says a friendly hello. Brett says grumpy hello. Cyclist slows back down and asks about Brett's bike. Brett tells about summer plans and then about theft. Cyclist is matter-of-fact. Says his name is Rob. Says he's an ER doctor. Asks what Brett needs to get back on the road. Brett is flabbergasted. Doesn't know what to say. Rob looks at Brett's jeans and tennis shoes and sweet Goodwill shirt. Rob says he's got all kinds of riding gear. "How about some jerseys and shorts?" Brett enthusiastically agrees. Rob looks at Brett's bare hands. "How about some gloves?"

12:30pm, above Portland, OR -- Rob has to drop off some energy food at a checkpoint for a long ride he and some friends are going to do for his birthday tomorrow. After that, he explains, he can take Brett by his family's house to grab the gear, then point Brett in the right direction to get to the V-Shop on time. But they have to ride fast to make it by 2pm. Brett says he can pound it, if Rob leads the way. They ride hard for 20min, not talking. Brett drafts and pedals as hard as he can. He realizes Rob is fast. Rob realizes Brett is slow. Rob sympathetically turns him around at one point and says he'll drop of the energy food by himself and meet Brett back at a junction they had already passed.

1:40pm, above Portland, OR -- At his house, Rob packs Brett's bag with two pairs of shorts (not just any shorts, really nice bibs), a jersey, a nice wicking shirt, some gloves, two energy bars. He fills a bottle with water and gives that to Brett too. "I stole it off my friend's bike," he says. Rob points Brett on his way and says farewell. Brett is still flabbergasted.

2pm, Portland, OR -- Car repairs mysteriously cost $100 less than Brett had been quoted. V-Shop mechanics smile and say, "Hey, you vacuumed your own glass out of your car." Brett loads his bikes, goes back to hostel to pick up his last things, is given a copy of Dostoyevsky's The Idiot by a hostel resident he barely met, and heads back out onto the road. "In 6 hours," he thinks, "I'll be in Pullman." "Maybe."

3:30pm, 30mi East of Portland, OR -- Brett's Volvo begins to feel strange. Swervy. Like he's driving on ice. Brett turns off music and sits upright. Thinks it might be his suspension. Or it might be nothing. Drives for 10 minutes in state of extreme agitation. Begins to develop a stomach ulcer.

3:40pm, 40mi East of Portland, OR -- Volvo's rear right tire has a blowout. Brett maneuvers to side of Interstate 84. Gets out of car. Exchanges words with car. Christens car "Beelzebub."

3:45pm, 40mi East of Portland, OR -- Brett realizes it is now a game. He's trying to get to Pullman. His car is trying to stop him. It will not stop him. Nothing will stop him. Brett begins to unload bikes. Removes bike rack. Unloads half of his possessions from the rear of his car. Stacks everything neatly on the side of the interstate. A little too neatly. He takes a long time stacking things in clean rows. Gains access to spare tire and jack. Spare tire is flat. Brett laughs. It is loud. Slightly disturbed. Brett digs around in his gear until he finds bicycle pump. Stacks his gear back into rows. Pumps spare tire up to pressure. Laughs excessively.

4:45pm, 40mi East of Portland, OR -- Jacks right side of car up. Removes rear rim and shredded tire. Realizes he put his jack in the wrong position. Car is too low to the ground. Can't get spare tire bolted onto his axle unless he deflates it. He does so. Laughs the whole while. Strange. Loud. A man stops to see if he can help. He walks up and hesitates. "Are you alright here?" "Oh, my, yes." "Can I do anything?" "Oh no. No no no no no." Brett laughs. The man looks at him awkwardly. He leaves hastily. Brett installs the spare tire and pumps it back up to pressure with his bicycle pump. He is talking to his pump. "Good pump," he says. "Good, sturdy pump."

5pm, 40mi East of Portland, OR -- Talks to Dad on the phone. Dad looks up tire places nearby for morning repair. Also looks up camping grounds. Brett and Dad brainstorm about a problem: the spare tire cannot handle all the weight of Brett's possessions. He carries the half that he had already unloaded behind a copse of trees and stashes them for the hour that it will take him to get to the campground, set up a tent, unload the other half into the tent, then come back to pick the remaining gear up. Brett leaves a note on the boxes and bikes that says: "Friend- Please don't take anything. I'll be back in a jiffy to pick this up. I've had so many misfortunes in the last week it's almost comical. Please don't add to them."

6:30pm, 50mi East of Portland, OR -- Checks into a lovely, astonishingly cheap campsite by a creek. Thirsty. Goes to the bathroom to fill up his waterbottle. Sign says "Nonpotable water. Sorry. Camping fees have been reduced."

7:30pm, 40mi East of Portland, OR -- Brett returns and loads up his stashed possessions and bikes. Everything is there.

9pm, 50mi East of Portland, OR -- Digs around in his gear for water filter. Pumps clean water down by the creek. Fills up his Nalgene and Rob's donated bottle. Brushes his teeth. Sets up his tent. Gets into his sleeping bag. Hasn't showered in more than 3 days. Smells himself for a few minutes: spilled beer, sweat, anxiety. Goes to sleep.

The First Leg: Part VI

Thursday 7 May, 10am, Portland, OR -- Brett wakes. Rides downtown. Wanders bookshop. Reads for a long time from collected journals of A Ginsberg. Buys lunch from bosnian street stand. Decides for sure to start ride in Pullman. "I'm going to do it," he says throughout the morning. Cancels flight to VA and flight back to Portland. Feels weight lift off shoulders.

3pm, Portland, OR -- V-Shop calls. Window glass arrived a little late. Won't be finishing today. Brett decides to go on long ride. Buys map. Realizes he only has one pair of clothes. (Everything that wasn't stolen is at bottom of tightly-packed Volvo back at the shop.) Also realizes his tiny clipless pedals hurt with just his tennis shoes. Instead of long ride today, Brett decides to get ready for a long ride on next day. Buys used platform pedals at The Recyclery. Looks for a Goodwill or Salvation Army. Can't find one. Rides back to hostel and checks in for one more night. Happy greets him cheerfully. Brett in bad mood, but greets him back. Brett goes grocery shopping.

7pm, Portland, OR -- Cooks dinner. Eats and talks for hours with lovely hippie named Jo who is probably not yet 70. Brett says that's his mother's name. Jo is in Portland for her granddaughter's graduation. She doesn't like motels because they're boring. She travels alone and camps or stays in hostels. Jo tells Brett all kinds of stories about trekking in the Himalayas and doing some sort of hippie dance with A Ginsberg at Naropa in the 70s. Someone nearby talks about her MySpace page. Jo says her space is 6 acres of sagebrush in Northern New Mexico.

The First Leg: Part V

Wednesday 6 May, 6:20am, Portland, OR -- Brett wakes. Brushes teeth. Rides first bike back to car in morning rain, with second bike over shoulder. Feels herculean. Leans bikes against Volvo. Sees crumble glass on pavement out of corner of his eye. Walks around to passenger's side of the car. Front window is broken in. "Oh my," he thinks. Looks inside for a second. It takes a moment to fully register. Realizes everything from the front seat is gone except tent and sleeping bag & pad.

6:50am, Portland, OR -- Tow truck arrives as Brett is pacing the parking lot furious, unstrung. Tow truck mechanic laughs nervously. "Oh, Jeez. That just happen?" Brett runs back to hostel to bring last bike back to car. Locks it up with the other two on rack. Looks franticly in bushes and down street for panniers, box of books, tupperware, duffel.

7:45am, Portland, OR -- Arrives at V-Shop. Tow truck tips car back down onto the road. Tow truck leaves. V-Shop owner arrives. "Oh, Jeez. That just happen?"

8:15am, Portland, OR -- V-Shop mechanics gather around to hear story. Lend Brett a vacuum to clean out crumbly glass. Mechanics raise car up on lift, start investigating ratcheting noise. They tell Brett he can store bikes and rack in the back of the shop. Give him non-emergency Portland police phone number. Brett plugs in phone and starts calling friends and family.

9am, Portland, OR -- Brett leaves mechanics to their work. Walks down to local grocery store. Sits in middle of aisle and plugs phone into floor outlet. Reports break-in to police. Starts thinking about alternative summer options. Screw the tour, bum around the Pacific Northwest? Screw the tour, fly home to VA and go on long rides around the Shenandoah Valley? Screw the tour, get a plane ticket to Europe? Do the tour?

10am, Portland, OR -- Friends and Family start calling Brett with offers to ship gear and send money. Dad suggests new route options from Pullman, WA. Brett begins to imagine he might still be able to ride cross-country. V-Shop calls. Can repair badly burned-out u-joint on drive shaft and replace window for a pretty penny. Will be done by Thursday night.

11am, Portland, OR -- Brett & bike ride back to hostel on bus. Brett arranges a second night's stay with grinning hostel employee Happy. Begins to like Happy. Limitedly. Brett rides back to Wells Fargo parking lot and makes loops around local neighborhood looking for gear. Checks dumpsters. Goes back to hostel for long nap. Elsewhere, friends & family begin making arrangements.

7pm, Portland, OR -- Brett wakes and goes down the street to buy a cheap beer and look at maps. Spills beer on only pair of jeans he has to wear. Bartender gives him another one, even cheaper. Talks to Dad about new route options.

The First Leg: Part IV

Tuesday 5 May, 8am, Logan, UT -- Brett departs Logan full of renewed confidence. Destination: Astoria, OR. Objective: deposit bicycle and packed panniers. Then drive on to Pullman, WA.

noon, OR/ID border -- New car noises. Very subtle. Pinging? Ratcheting? Brett thinks he is being hypersensitive. Pats the dashboard. Turns up music.

1pm, eastern OR -- Brett certain there is new car trouble. Calls Dad. Asks for phone numbers for Volvo shops in Portland. Arranges for morning appointment at The V-Shop, SW side of town.

2pm, approaching Columbia River, OR -- Noises grow more unnerving. Sounds like Volvo is dragging aluminum bar along the road. Stops car several times and looks underneath. Turns music off. Listens attentively. Creases brows. Recreases brows. Sits upright. Calls Dad. Asks for phone numbers for hostels in Portland.

7pm, Portland, OR -- Brett enters city. Very worried about car. When he accelerates from stoplights, he feels thumping below feet. Resigns himself to another pretty penny, "prettier than yesterday's," he says to himself. Begins to think he might need a tow to The V-Shop. Parks in closest empty parking lot, a Wells Fargo 9 blocks from hostel. Breathes sigh of relief.

7:20pm, Portland, OR -- Walks 9 blocks past at least 200 hipsters and at least 30 fixies. Checks into hostel. Hostel employee says his name is Happy. He is. Irritatingly so.

7:45pm, Portland, OR -- Walks back to car. Calls dad for AAA phone number to arrange morning tow. Phone battery dies. Bums electricity from taco shop. Calls AAA. Buys a taco. Buys another.

8:30pm, Portland, OR -- Grabs toiletries, rain coat, a couple books, journal, some essential files, and wallet from front seat of car. Leaves a note on the windshield that says: "Please don't ticket/tow me. My car has broken  down. I've arranged for a morning tow at 7am. Thanks." Brett looks at his bikes. He looks at hipsters. Decides bikes are not safe for the night locked up to the rack. Rides them one-by-one back to the hostel and locks them up inside.

11pm, Portland, OR -- Sets alarm for 6:20am. Goes to sleep in top bunk, bottom floor of hostel.

The First Leg: Part III

Monday 4 May, 10am, Logan, UT -- Brett schedules 2pm appointment at Salt Lake City Volvo dealership.

noon, Logan, UT -- Dusty & Lisa's preacher, previous auto mechanic, agrees to look at Brett's Volvo. Brett thinking, "It's not that bad. I'll just spend a little more on gas." Doesn't want to pay for repairs. Needs a second opinion. Second opinion is unpleasant: "Take her in, she needs repairs," says preacher. Just before leaving for Salt Lake City, Dusty calls, then Lisa. They want to come down to the city too, wait around with Brett while the car's getting repaired. They follow him in their car.

2:10pm, Salt Lake City, UT -- Brett is late to his repair appointment. One block from the dealership he is rear-ended by a frazzed 18-year-old who is late for some appointment of his own. 18-year-old says, "Oh man, why didn't you accelerate at that green light!? Oh man!" Brett did accelerate. His car was heavy and has tuberculosis. Luckily Brett took bicycles & hitch rack off of his car before he headed South. No damage beyond a few scratches and the mental strain of talking to an 18-year-old.

2:20pm, Salt Lake City, UT -- Car is checked in for repairs. Dusty & Lisa pick Brett up to go find lunch. Eat at Nepali Super Buffet. Brett makes a glutton of himself. Dusty & Lisa pay.

3pm, Salt Lake City, UT -- Call from dealership. Repairs will cost a pretty penny, replace most of the ignition line. Spark plugs, distributor cap, sundry wires.

4pm, Salt Lake City, UT -- Brett and Dusty & Lisa walk around downtown. Explore Mormon Tabernacle. Feels like a foreign cathedral. Brett begins to feel sick. Not about the tabernacle. About the Super Buffet. Waits to see if Dusty & Lisa feel the same. They do not. They are cheerful.

4:30pm, Salt Lake City, UT -- Call from dealership. "Repairs are done. Come pay your pretty penny." Brett and Dusty & Lisa walk back to their car. Brett is nauseous beyond the point of self-delusion. Now is looking for a quiet corner of the city to launch his lunch. Port-A-Jon behind a fence. Opened manhole cover. Flower bed. Tabernacle wading pool. They arrive at their car. Brett bends over concrete tree enclosure. Says, "Oh man." Female pedestrian rapidly turns back the way she came. Brett heaves up Nepali Super Buffet. Dusty stands by. Says, "Oh man." Lisa gets a glass of water and a Pepto Bismol.

6:30pm, Logan, UT -- Dusty and Brett ride bikes around Logan. Dusty points Brett in direction of marsh and farmlands. Brett makes pleasant loop past lowing cattle, through plowed fields, beneath snow-topped ranges. Lisa prepares pleasant simple dinner. Brett leaves kayak and packet of resupplies for when he passes through Logan on bike tour. Sleeps like baby.

The First Leg: Part II

Sunday 3 May, 7am, CO Springs -- Brett leaves town. Drives North. "A simple excursion to the coast," he thinks. "Three buffer days before my flight from Pullman, WA to VA. Plenty of time," he thinks.

10am, near Rawlins, WY -- Engine hiccups turn into engine tuberculosis. Gas mileage goes from 24mpg to 15mpg. Brett calls Andrew, a knowledgeable friend. He suggests fuel-injector cleaner. Helps a little. Brett begins to grow anxious. Turns up his music.

7pm, Logan, UT -- Brett sputters into Logan, UT. Old friends Dusty & Lisa greet him with fabulous meal, film "Into the Wild", maternal admonition: "Don't disappear into the wild on us, OK, Brett", affectionate cats, allergy medication, and warm bed. Brett decides to stay an extra day in Logan to look for a Volvo mechanic. Dreams mostly about tomorrow's fabulous meal, maternal admonition, affectionate cats, allergy medication, and warm bed.

The First Leg: Part I

I've now parked my car for the summer. The next thing to do is get on my bike and ride East. Up until a week ago this had been mentally where my adventure began, on my bicycle. But things have changed, mentally. My road trip to Pullman, WA became epic, and therefore got mentally stitched to my bike tour as its first (and surely most eventful) leg. So here, for those who would know, is a catalog of events, a breakdown of the minutes, a breviary of the tour thus far, in (my goodness) eight parts:

Tuesday 28 April, all day, CO Springs -- Brett buys two sheets of Lexan and cuts out backing for panniers. Rebuilds panniers to fit onto bike rack. Engineering looks shady, but will have to do.

Thursday 30 April, am, CO Springs -- Brett discovers tongue on bike rack doesn't quite fit into receiver on Volvo. Drives up to shop of previous employment and grinds bits off of the tongue to make it work. Engineering looks shady, but will have to do.

Friday 1 May, pm, CO Springs -- Brett gathers bike gear together. Chooses appropriate clothes. Bags first 4 days of food into Ziplock baggies. Sorts all of this into meaningful packets and bags. Packs everything into panniers. Gear weighs in at 50lbs. Bike & racks weigh in at 30lbs. Brett weighs in at 150lbs. Two friends bring dinner by. Another friend stops by to say, "Bye." Brett hides the fact that he's already eaten, and gorges himself again, twice.

Saturday 2 May, all day, CO Springs -- Brett spends rainy day packing 3 cubic meters of possessions into 2 cubic meters of space. Throws away vast quantities of once-significant items. Uses pieces of bicycle tube to jerry-rig roof rack so he can strap kayak to the top of the car. Attaches hitch rack and three bikes. Volvo bottoms out on rear axle and expresses Swedish angst with quiet engine hiccups and pleasantly glowing warning lights. Brett waves a dismissive hand. Packs final items into saved front seat space: 4 meticulously packed bike panniers & 1 handlebar bag, box of ~25 books to read over the summer, tupperware of resupply items to deposit with various friends and family, and a big duffel full of summer clothes to leave in VA for wedding and playing.

The New Tour

As most of you know, I ran into several hitches on my road trip. I was driving in a loop to drop of my bicycle and gear in Astoria, OR, where I was going to be starting my ride, and then dropping off my possessions in Pullman, WA, where I'll be studying physics in the Fall. These road trip hitches included ~$1600 in car repairs and the loss of all of my touring gear (minus my bike, tent, and sleeping bag & pad). Yes, I ran into hitches, but I also ran into immeasurable sympathy and innumerable gifts from friends and strangers making it possible for me to still ride my bicycle [very nearly] across the country.

I've got to start a little later now, because I'm waiting to receive donated and lent gear from a number of friends across the country. Also, because I'm starting later, I'm also going to be starting just shy of the West Coast.  Actually, a whole state shy. I'll start pedaling from Pullman, WA on friday 15 May from my temporary residence with Ben, a second-year WSU physics grad student. I'll first be aiming East at Missoula, MT, then directly South through Idaho to Logan, UT. I'm still planning to fly out of Salt Lake City to be there with my sister when this wedding thing goes down.

I'm pretty sad that I won't get to dip my wheels in the Pacific, or camp along the Oregon coast, or ride up and over the Cascades, or visit my friends Jason & Sarah in Bend, OR. But I'm glad I'm still going to get to ride across the country this summer. Really, I'm amazed that I can still do that. I'm still a bit in shock at how my parents and my friends have gathered and shipped nearly everything that I'll need.

Tragedy and Friends

Plans for the last few days: drive my car from CO Springs to Logan, Utah, to spend the night with my friends, then to my starting point, Astoria, Oregon, to drop off my bicycle and packed panniers, then finally to Pullman, Washington, where I'll be starting grad school in the fall. A bike shop in Astoria cheerfully agreed to store my bike for a week, while I drove on to Pullman, then flew to VA briefly, then back out to start my ride.

Unfortunate, even tragic events of the last few days: Extra day delay in Utah to repair my stuttering engine. Then I got rear-ended by a hasty undergrad on my way to the shop in Salt Lake City. Then I launched my half-digested Nepali all-you-can-eat buffet into a raised garden on a public street in downtown Salt Lake City. The next day I drove in a state of high-strung stress waiting for something else to happen with my car. It did. It began clunking and ratcheting, to the point of tangibly thumping below my feet as I pulled into a Wells Fargo Parking lot in Portland. So another extra day delay, this time in Portland, to repair a destroyed coupler on my drive shaft. I spent the night at a hostel. Then the very worst of all: a midnight break-in to my vehicle parked in the Wells Fargo parking lot. My car was so heavily packed with all my possessions to move into storage up in Pullman that whoever did it decided not to get into the back (more valuable stuff) and stole everything in the front seat (hardly sellable but extremely valuable to me): all of my bicycle touring gear and panniers, my carefully selected box of books, and my duffel of non-touring clothes for the summer. When I discovered my broken front window this morning, arriving back at my car to meet a pre-arranged tow-truck (yep, my drive shaft was that damaged last night), I just about quit. All of the gear that had been given to me or that I'd gathered or built over the last year for this tour was gone, and in its place some crumbly glass.

Good, even excellent events of the last few days: My friend & Mastertech at my old shop gave me helpful initial advice by phone on my car troubles on the way to Utah. My friends, Dusty & Lisa in Logan, Utah, stopped their schedules to spend time with me, even meeting me in Salt Lake City to eat at the Nepali Buffet and wait for my car to be repaired. Dusty also stood by when I puked lunch back up in downtown, and Lisa had a wonderfully bland Pepto waiting for me. And I felt a lot better after doing that. Also, the undergrad's rear-ending of me yielded no damage beyond a few scratches on the fender. Then, later that night I got to ride around beautiful Logan with Dusty, then out towards some marshes for a cool dusk ride. The next day I got to drive along the Lewis & Clark trail down the Columbia River on my way into Portland (although I had no music playing at that point and I was jumping at every little noise my car made.) Also last night, I thought to move my three bikes into the hostel to lock them up for the night. And in the morning, after discovering the break-in, and getting towed to the shop where I'd made an appointment, the guys that were working on my car were super-sympathetic. "Oh, man, that sucks!" "Look, you even put this little sign in your window. And someone still broke in. That's low!" "You can store your bikes in the back of our shop if you want. We'll make sure they're safe." And most of all, my friends and family have jumped to help me. Melanie called a bunch of people to let them know and to figure out what they could do together to help. Andrew & Peter at my old shop asked for a list of what I was missing, so they could post it in the break room and gather donations from fellow employees. Greg is going to mail me a spare set of panniers and some riding clothes and lights. My dad and a family friend, Ron, are getting together some other riding and cold-weather gear. Every friend I've talked to, from my parents to Dan to Dusty to Joey to Melanie to Ken to Jessica to Greg and everyone else has offered to buy me various things and ship them to me, or fly out here to hang out with me, or has just grieved with me on the phone.

Conclusions: I suppose this is a group ride after all, not solo. If I was going at it solo, this would be the end of it. I'd have to throw in the towel. But instead I have this huge group of supportive friends who are making sacrifices to get me out on the road. That shouldn't be surprising, but it floors me. These are grand friends. I haven't figured out the new logistics yet (where I'm going to start, when) but I've decided I'm going to try to make it work.

But man, this is a blow.