Day 54. 77 miles.

We cruised down the hill, stopping only for water at a cold mountain spring. But the downhill ended too soon, and again we pedalled against the wind and against gravity. Being tired from the day before, we decided to stop at a pond to swim and nap for a few hours while waiting for the mid-day wind to die down.

We rode until we were about 25 miles outside of Missoula, then stopped at a fishing/swimming pond for the evening.

Day 53. 89 miles.

After a couple of brisk morning climbs, Piper and I stumbled upon a 15-mile downhill. We were delighted to ride 40mph through the pine forests, alongside cool mountain streams and through the canyons. It was absolutely beautiful, but sorry, no pictures. We were completely unwilling to break our downhill momentum for the purposes of taking out the camera.

We entered Helena, Montana, and I accidentally hit a patch of hot pavement. The heat melted my rear tire and tore the thing to shreds, so we stopped at a bike shop and I picked up a new one.

Outside of the grocery store in Helena, we ran into a couple of other cyclists from the east coast. They started their tour in Seattle, and were heading to Massachusetts. Again, we were astounded by the amount of gear they carried. Each of them carried full panniers plus BOB trailers stacked high with gear. Wow, we thought. These guys are rugged.

After Helena, we climbed a brutal six mile hill up into the Rockies. By the end of the climb, my legs felt like jelly. But the view was worth it.

Later that night, we met a married couple in a campground who had ridden a tandem bicycle up the mountain. They were preparing for an August bike tour starting in Maine and ending in Florida. We hung out and talked bikes by the campfire, until darkness and exhaustion forced us to sleep.

Day 52. 74 miles.

Around mid-day, we stopped to sit in the shade along the side of a ranch building, in the friendliest town I have ever visited. While eating lunch, five different vehicles individually pulled up to talk to us, each offering food and water.

We left the shade of the farmhouse and entered both a heavy wind zone and the foothills of the Rockies, whose majestic peaks appeared on the horizon yesterday afternoon.

Some locals told us about a reservoir several miles ahead, so we stopped for a swim in the first clean water we had seen since the eastern border of South Dakota.

Day 51. 64 miles.

After breakfast at Gail's house, I patched a flat on my B.O.B. trailer (we generally refer to him as Bob), and got back on the road for a rather late start.

Little did we know that today we would face--or fight--the fiercest wind we have experienced yet on this trip. We slowly struggled along for several hours.

Late in the afternoon, Piper acidentally slipped in a patch of gravel. As he tumbled in front of me, I swerved to avoid running over his head. Instead, I only kicked his head as I rode by (it was a mistake, honestly!). But Piper is a smart biker and wears his helmet, so the damage was minimal. There were a couple of drops of blood, but nothing to worry about, although Piper said it bruised his pride.



As the sun began to set, the wind died down quite a bit. We were able to put in some more miles at that point, but by 10pm we were exhausted from a hard day of fighting the wind. We really earned every mile we put in today.

Day 50. 10 miles.

When entering Montana a few days ago, locals told us that we wouldn't have to worry about getting rained on--Montana is in its fifth year of drought. We quickly discovered that this information was partially false. Despite travelling through an excessively dry region, our luck gave us late night thunderstorms for two nights in a row.

The late-night storm procedure goes as such:

One of us wakes up to the cold pelt of raindrops (usually Piper is responsible for this task, thanks to his perceptive bald head, which he lovingly refers to as "The Sensor"). Then both of us awkwardly stumble out of the tent--still half asleep--to construct our rainfly as quickly as possible and dive back into the tent. "What luck," we grumble, "...getting rained on in the middle of the desert...hrumph..."

We compensated for the late night disturbances by sleeping in and taking the day off in Roundup, Montana. While searching for a spot to use the internet, we stumbled across a schoolyard and ended up chatting with some elementary school teachers. Roberta invited us to her house to take showers. After hanging out in the public library for a couple of hours, we went to Roberta's house, where we met her husband Dave and ate some sandwiches for lunch. We showered and enjoyed the cool comfort of a living room and friendly faces.

Later on, another elementary school teacher saw Adam on the street and invited us to eat dinner with her friends at their church. After dinner, we watched an a cappella performance. Gail invited us back to her house to spend the night. Two of the college-age musicians also happened to be staying at Gail's house that night, so the five of us stayed up into the night, chatting about school, travel, and the other intricacies of life. Gail's somewhat psychotic but very lovable cat, Razz-ma-tazz, proceeded to entertain us for the evening.

Day 49. 90 miles.

We woke up early from our spot along the side of Route 12. It was only 6am, but it was bound to be another scorcher. We wanted to make it to the next town before our dripping sweat drained our scant water supply.

Silvery patches of sage interrupted the rippling hills, which looked somewhat like unstained leather. Vultures picked at the steaming piles of roadkill.

The landscape out here changes in the same way that time changes. If you watch a clockface, you can't really see the hands moving from one spot to the next...but then you look up to find that you are in a completely different hour.

And that's how it goes with biking. States come and go, the sun shifts its position in the sky, hills creep up and fade away.

I looked up to squint at a distant road sign, then looked down to see that I had almost hit a prairie dog! The little rascal quickly scurried away from my front wheel, about 12 inches from being maimed. Needless to say, I was relieved that I narrowly avoided producing more roadkill.

We pulled into the tiny town of Melstone to find some shade and wait for the cool part of the day. We enjoyed chatting with the locals in the town restaurant/cafe/bar/hangout spot, but we were foolish to think that there actually is a cool part of the day in central Montana in July. Nevertheless, we pushed another 35 miles into the town of Roundup and arrived just as dusk was beginning to set in.

As we pulled into town, a police officer asked us how far we had ridden that day. He then offered to show us a sweet (and free) camp site by the river. He drove down to the spot as we followed on our bicycles. There we met some other travellers from Santa Fe, and set up camp for a long night of sleep.

Day 48. 81 miles.

Out here the antelope are as numerous as the jack rabbits. Rattlesnake skins and carcasses line the cactus-speckled roadside. Layered rock formations and plateaus support the edge of a grand blue sky.

I'm not sure how many of those reading this have ridden bicycles through Montana in July, so I will let you in on a little secret...

...it's quite warm out here.

After riding for many miles through the blazing heat, Piper and I noticed a strong sprinkler system watering the bushes in a nearby graveyard. We ran around like fools in a parade, prancing in and out of the falling spurts of water. It couldn't have been better timing.

We went to a grocery store in the small town of Miles City, where locals gave us some advice--don't drink the water anywhere between here and the edge of Washington state. This was a bit disconcerting, since we were about to re-enter the deserts of Montana, where the gas stations are few and far between. Though if we ever get really desperate we can boil cattle water by using my stove, we still stocked up on extra water in Miles City. Piper carried a gallon and a half. Being a somewhat smaller person, I decided I could get away with carrying a little over a gallon for myself.

Loaded up with PB&J, some dried fruit, cookies, and water, we continued onward into one of the more unpopulated, drier regions of the United States.

Day 47. 103 miles.

Eastern Montana is dry, isolated, and beautiful. We watched prarie dogs run around us and antelope sprint through cow pastures. Wild sunflowers and sagebrush sweetened the air. Wisps of clouds swirled above us in the crisp blue sky. We stopped on the side of the road to pet some horses, and watched the full moon rise over the eastern horizon.

Day 46. 83 miles.

Antelope spotted the landscape of South Dakota, then Wyoming, then Montana. We took a break during the hot part of the day to talk to some motorcycle travellers (who seem to understand us better than most) and hang out in a park to catch up on some missing sleep.

Day 45. 19 miles.

Today we rode into Deadwood, South Dakota. It is a classic old west town, home of Calamity Jane and Wild Bill. However, the touristy/casino nature of the town was a bit disappointing. We watched a staged gunfight in the middle of the street, and walked around town for most of the day to rest our tired muscles.

And then Piper blew his lunch money on the slot machines.

Day 44. 59 miles.

Whew, wind! We laid low today in a shelter tucked away in a town park. A harsh wind blew all day from west to east, carrying with it the arid heat of the western states. I took out a book from a local library collection and delighted in the simple act of taking a few hours to read.

We hoped that the wind would die down as the sun sank lower in the sky, but by the time we left at close to 5pm, the wind was still cutting our speed by a serious margin. We crept painfully along Route 14, watching lightning bolts and the setting sun in the western sky. We made it to Sturgis, SD, shortly after nightfall. In about a month, Sturgis will be over-run by over half a million motorcyclists, congregating for the biggest annual motorcycle rally in the United States. But while we were there, it just seemed like a small western town with a couple of bars and a couple of gas stations.

Day 43. 86 miles.

I have never seen such complete desolation before. A six-year drought and an especially rough summer has devastated the local economy, creating a hardy breed of human in the Plains of western South Dakota.

We saw a truck stop on the side of the road and went in to grab some food and fill our water.

A number of rough-looking men with cowboy hats sat at one side of the counter. We sat down at the other side and waited for a couple of minutes before a woman in her early 30s with blond hair emerged from the kitchen and looked at us, then at the group of men.

"Geez, would one of you please help them?" she said, with much irritation directed at the men.

An older man with a big pot belly, suspenders, and a scruffy white beard groaned with annoyance, threw down his napkin, and stood up. He walked a few feet towards me and Adam, stood directly over us, and gave us a stern and uncompromising glare. He stood silently, waiting for us to order.

"So, whaddaya got to eat?" I asked.

He turned around, grabbed a couple of menus, threw them down in front of us and continued to stare down at us. Perhaps customer service is a little bit different out here than it is back east.

He wrote down our orders and gave the note to the woman working in the kitchen. One of the men decided to speak to us, and asked us how far we had come on our bicycles.

"We've been riding since Portland, Maine," we replied.
"Maine? You know, there's a much better way to get west from there. It has two wings and it's called an airplane."
"Ah, but this way is much more fun."
"Fun?" snickered another guy, "Sounds like a lot of work to me."

After awhile, the men began to warm up to us. Though they couldn't understand what on earth would possess us to ride our bikes across the country, they accepted our bizarre pursuit nonetheless. By the time we were finished with our meal, they were engaged in debate about which route would be the best one for us to take through the Rockies. We thanked them and headed on. I suppose we received a fair dose of the local culture in the Great Plains.

Day 42. 85 miles.

Over lunch, Piper asked, "So what do you hate most about this trip?"
"Butt-blisters," I responded, without hesitation.
"No really, what else?"

This time I had to think about it. Nothing really came to mind. Then it occurred to me that this might be my best vacation. Sure, the weather is hot and sometimes the biting insects are bit pesky, but overall the trip has been totally amazing. Well that's pretty wild, I thought to myself, I have nothing to complain about.

After passing through Pierre, SD, the route became desolate. The dry hills were scraped clean of any green vegetation. The clouds moved and changed form as the hours passed and the landscape retained its original barren beauty.



We pulled into a roadside park in the first town we had seen in over 30 miles. The run-down gas station was closed for the evening. The town of about 10 houses was eerily quiet. Everyone was out somewhere else to celebrate the Fourth of July.

A bit bummed about being so isolated on a night characterized by many festivities, Piper and I crawled up onto the roof of a small shelter and chatted as the sun set over the Western Plains.

Just as the stars began to appear, a car pulled into the roadside park. The door opened and a ten-year-old boy hit the ground running.

"Mind if we set off some fireworks?"

Piper and I looked at each other with smiles.

"Absolutely!"

And so that's how we ended up watching our own personal fireworks display on the Fourth of July, in a remote roadside park in Central South Dakota, under a brilliant starry sky.

Day 41. 90 miles.

Again, we woke around 5am and rode the early morning to avoid the intense heat of mid-day. I've found that living off of my bike has already become normal. It feels completely natural to sleep in a different location every night. Each new park or roadside feels like home.

We stopped for shade in a sports field along Route 14. The trees provided a meager barrier from the sun, but it was better than nothing.

Later we pedalled another 30 miles and asked a farmer if it would be okay for us to pitch a tent on his property. Not only did he say yes, but his two daughters later came to greet us by bringing cold water and home-made rice crispies treats. There are some really great people scattered across this globe, and taking this bike trip has enabled us to meet many of them.

Day 40. 89 miles.

We arose early to avoid the sweltering weather, but the heat beat us to the road. The temperature was up in the 90s as we pedalled through eastern South Dakota. We stopped around 11:30 to catch some shade and wait for the hottest part of the day to pass.

We began riding again at 4pm, ate dinner in a park around 7, and got back on the road to catch the sunset. Pink clouds crept into darkness, as an ominous blue sky threatened rain to my right. The flat landscape extended into nowhere, exposing the barren beauty of South Dakota.

Day 39. 54 miles.

We found a beautiful lake in a state park in the early morning, and decided to spend the day swimming instead of riding. I caught some fish with my bare hands by baiting them with pieces of macaroni, but the fish survived the traumatizing ordeal because I am not a meat eater in any way. I released my few fish immediately.

We started riding again at 3pm, and allowed ourselves a short day to celebrate reaching 2,000 miles on our journey.

Day 38. 91 miles.

When I awoke, the netting on the tent appeared black due to a thick swarm of perched mosquitoes, waiting for us to come out of our safe bubble. We waited in terror for awhile, and then realized that the mosquitoes would not go away and we would likely starve if we did not get out of the tent and face the beasts.

I'm sure all of you think that you have seen bad mosquitoes in your lifetime, but I have never seen anything like this. These mosquitoes were probably 5 to 10 times worse than the worst mosquitoes I have ever seen. This is saying a lot, considering the fact that I grew up in the woods of Central Maine, where we have mosquitoes, black flies, deer flies, moose flies, midges, green heads...lots of biting insects.

We counted down from three, then unzipped the door and ran. We grabbed the tent poles and literally ran around the grassy area while we deconstructed the tent. Though we may have looked entirely ridiculous trying to pack up our gear in a full sprint, trust me, it was necessary. We made it out of there and rode through the heat of the day. We were told later that it got up into the 100s that day and I believe it. It felt like riding through a toaster, and I am the Rye.

But depite our difficulties, we pushed onward and put in a lot of miles. We found a grand park with an open field spotted with black-eyed susans (and not too many mosquitoes) to sleep in for the night.

Day 37. 86 miles.

After riding through sun and fields for many hours, we stopped at a gas station in a remote part of western Minnesota. We were given some great advice to go eat at Cactus Jack's across the street, with a $4.99 all-you-can-eat buffet. Adam and I dig the limitless buffet deals.

We were also given some advice about a camp spot by the lakeside, so after dinner we pulled up alongside the lake. Shortly thereafter, a father and son riding a horse and buggy pulled up to talk to us. They happened to be at the restaurant a bit earlier, and they hung around to give us some advice about South Dakota. After awhile the man and the boy rode off again, heading out into the setting sun.

Mosquitoes began to attack, so we set up the tent immediately and jumped inside. Within a few minutes, the outside of the tent was coated with a layer of mosquitoes. We were reminded of Alfred Hitchcock's movie, "The Birds". The mosquitoes circled the tent waiting patiently for us to exit so they could draw from our blood. We fell asleep to the loud, steady whine of thousands of mosquitoes flying around the tent.

Days 35 and 36. 0 miles.

Since St. Paul is just about the halfway marker in our journey, Adam and I decided that it would be a good idea to take a couple of days off to explore the city and rest up a bit. We were very appreciative of the great home and great food that Jean and Jim so generously offered. Jim even took us on a tour of the twin cities, showing us the local landmarks, including the unbelievably tasty local ice-cream parlor. We gave our bikes a thorough cleaning and fattened up for the second half of the journey.

Thanks, Jim and Jean!

Day 34. 69 miles.

"Hey Piper, I think that truck wanted to make out with you!" I teased, after an 18-wheeler passing at 55mph came within a couple of feet from Piper's left shoulder. He was not amused.

Much of the day involved high-traffic riding, as we neared the twin cities. Congestion has a tendency to make drivers grumpy. This often means more unfriendly honks for us, despite our adherence to the rules of the road.

In the late afternoon, we entered St. Paul. We took a rather long and somewhat misguided route to the home of Jim and Jean Gabler. Jim, who now works to ensure the availability of afforable housing in St. Paul, previously served in the Navy with Adam's father, Don.

After showers and a fabulous dinner, Adam, Jim, and I took a walk around the neighborhood to learn about some local history. Then it was an early night for me, and wow that mattress was nice.