Days 67, 68, 69, and 70. 85 miles.

Alli decided to ride with me to the coast. We took Route 26 out to Cannon Beach, stopping only for snacks and fresh blackberries.

The road was terrible, beginning with four fast lanes on each side, and ending with a crappy shoulder along a fast and narrow road. Note to anyone traveling to the Oregon coast from Portland: 26 is no fun.

However, the beach was much fun. We made a campfire and toasted s'mores late into the night, until the rain washed us away. We didn't get much sleep that night due to the rain, but we were able to make up for it the following day by taking a long nap on the beach in the sun. Later we went hiking in the cliffs along the shore, and found some amazing views of the coastline.

Again we made a campfire and slept on the beach, which became quite cold in the middle of the night, but fortunately it didn't rain.

The next morning, a man asked us if we knew of a place to get coffee nearby. We said sorry, we just rolled in on our bikes and don't know the area.

"Well, if I find coffee, would you like me to bring you some?"
"Absolutely!" we said.

He came back ten minutes later and offered to buy us breakfast around the corner.

Frank had taken a motorcycle trip for 18 months when he was in his early 20's, but was inspired by those who were tough enough to travel long distances without a motor pushing them along. Several years ago, he had created a bike product that could transform a regular bicycle into a tandem. Unfortunately, his target market was more inclined to just purchase tandem bicycles rather than his conversion piece, and the product flopped. But he was still very interested in cycling, and he was generous to provide me and Alli with some breakfast.

Alli needed to get back to Portland for work, and I decided that I was kinda sick of biking, so we both took the bus back to the city.

The next day, I visited the bike shop and asked them to ship the bike back to Maine. Though I had thought pretty hard about riding back east through Canada, I decided that I would save it for another time...at this point I am ready to chill out and read books in hammocks until the fall semester begins. Plus, my parents maintain an awesome organic garden back in central Maine, and I would be bumming if I were to miss out on fresh veggies and berries again this summer. I really had to ask myself...another month of PB&J, or tons of fresh veggies and homemade meals? Hmmm....

But I don't think I am finished with "bike tripping". Sleeping out under the stars and living off of my bike has truly been an incredible experience. I've met a lot of great people on this journey, seen a lot of beautiful landscape, and watched the muscles in my legs transform into the beasts that they now are. Piper agrees that this will not be his last long distance bike trip, only the first in a series that may well become a lifestyle. At this point, I have complete confidence that I can get anywhere I need to go by pedalling there. This summer, I have taken my devotion to bike commuting to a whole new level. In the upcoming years, I will continue to live car-free and bike-centric.

Hey, thanks to all of those who have supported me on this journey. I really, REALLY appreciate everything that people have done to help us along the way. And thanks to everyone who supports their local/state bike organizations—it makes a HUGE difference in making the roads safer and more accessible for cyclists.

If anyone wants to get in touch with Adam Piper, his email address is manic676 [at] hotmail.com.

And of course, anyone reading this blog should feel free to contact me for any reason: trinachi [at] gmail [dot] com

—Peace—

Days 64, 65, and 66. 0 miles.

Aaah. Rest days in Portland. Piper went to the bike shop in the morning of Day 64 to replace his chain, cassette, and head set...all of which were horribly worn out. I took him into downtown Portland and showed him Powell's, which is probably the most famous (and the most awesome) used book store in the United States. We grabbed some slices at Rocco's Pizza and sat around in Pioneer Square, watching games of hacky sack and street performers. We rode the MAX line up to North Portland to visit my buddy Chris, then went back to Alli's house in the evening, where many young people were listening to music and tossing frisbees around in the dimly lit backyard.

The next morning, Piper and I said our goodbyes. He began riding south to visit his brother in Eureka, California. I stuck around in Portland.

That night, I went to the last Thursday art walk on Alberta Street. The street was alive with raw street art and the energy of urban youth. Fire dancers moved to the pulsating drone of drums and didgeridoos. A clown rode up and down the street on his tall bike, blasting flames and hooting wherever he went. Clown girls with black pom-poms danced in a mud pit to the bizarre noises of an electric guitar hooked up with sound effects and an amplifier. Artists lined the sidewalks with prints and canvasses. Tall bike jousting competitions took place in backyards, while music and dancing enveloped the streets. Wow, I miss Portland, I thought. It is a wild, crusty city, like none other.

Day 63. 71 miles.

We woke up in Hood River, OR--the windsurfing capital of North America. Might seem obvious, but it was very windy. We had a hard time going any faster than 6mph for the first couple of hours. After awhile, the wind died down a bit and we made one big push into Portland. It was exciting for me to recognize street names and see the light rail line that I used to know so well. It was fun to see bike lanes again, and know that I would soon be able to take a shower.

We stopped by a park by the Wilamette River and basked in the glory of finally arriving at our destination. We rode our bikes to my friend Alli's house, where four other college-aged housemates arrived home from work one by one. We hung out, we feasted, and we enjoyed being off of our bikes for a short while.

Day 62. 76 miles.

We woke up early and chatted with a hair dresser from Los Angeles who drove a shiny green Jaguar. He happened to be strolling through town, and offered us a ride to Portland. Thanks for the offer, we said, but we've made it this far and we gotta finish it on our bikes.

We got coffee and rode for 50 miles, with two small interruptions...one flat (me), and one broken spoke (Piper).

We went swimming during the hot part of the day and left around sunset in an effort to avoid heat stroke.

Day 61. 68 miles.

We woke up early and rode for 40 miles until we found a nice rest stop. We slept for a few hours, and I finished patching up the many thorn punctures on my tube from the day before. It was so hot outside that I had to put my bike gloves back on in order to push the water fountain bar without searing the skin on my hand. After 4pm, we decided to get back on the road again to crank out some more miles, despite the fact that it was still extremely hot outside.

Heat channeled through the metal frame of my bike, through my cranks, and into my pedals. The clips on my shoes conducted the heat from my pedals, and burned little patches on the soles of my feet. It was so hot that I began pulling up on all of my pedal strokes so I could avoid putting pressure on the sole of my foot, where the pedal connected with my shoe. For awhile, I was concerned that the plastic sole of my shoe might melt.

We drank water nonstop, and tried to deal with the heat. After 15 miles, I noticed my thoughts were beginning to get a bit soggy. My balance wasn't quite as good as it should have been. Piper started getting chills.

We saw a construction zone on the side of the road and hid in the shade behind an excavator while we tried to recover. We kept drinking water, but Piper felt ill. Later we found out that it had been another 114 degree day.

We left just before sunset. A hot head wind blew in our faces, killing the few downhills we might have enjoyed.

We pulled into the town of Arlington and ate dinner in an air conditioned diner. We were too exhausted to continue. We found a park and lay down to go to sleep, only to be awakened by the sprinkler system several hours later. We moved to a dry spot, only to be awakened by more sprinklers awhile later. Yet again, we moved to another dry spot, and yet again, the sprinklers came on and forced us to move. On top of that, Piper was experiencing some, er, intestinal difficulties that interrupted what little sleep he might have gotten in that booby-trap sprinkler field. In the following days, he would refer to that evening as the "water fountain poop festival."

Day 60. 87 miles.

We arrived in Walla Walla, Washington after 45 miles. I had a flat, so I sat on the side of the road with my patch kit. Soon I realized that my tire was chock full of little thorns, which I had to remove with tweezers. After patching 5 punctures in a row, I gave up and threw in my spare tube. We hid in the public library for hours while the heat raged outside. Around 5:30pm, we decided to venture out again, knowing that the hottest part of the day was gone. But despite the late hour, the hot wind burned our eyeballs, and we adjusted our sunglasses to hug our faces as best we could. Later, we found out that the temperature had reached 114 degrees in eastern Washington on that day. We climbed a large hill and went down again, where we met the Colombia River. I found the perfect climbing tree and swung around in the branches as the stars began to appear. We slept alongside the river, where spiders the size of fifty-cent pieces hung out in the tall grasses that surrounded us on all sides. I woke up with spider webs coating my skin, and wrapped my tarp around myself to prevent the appearance of further strands.

Today we reached my goal of 3,500 miles.

Day 59. 78 miles.

Today we faced triple-digit heat. We took the hot part of the day off to swim in the lake, then began biking again around 6pm. We pedalled into the evening to gain some more miles, knowing that we would not be able to bike in the middle of the day tomorrow, either.

Day 58. 78 miles.

Today we felt a bit better and the miles added up with less effort. We took a good chunk of mid-day to swim in the Clearwater river. We stopped in a park at the end of the day, where we stumbled upon a Democratic Convention and were offered cold sodas and conversation.

Day 57. 62 miles.

Some locals told us where the real hot springs are, so we decided to give it another shot. We hiked into the woods and found the springs, no problem. We lazed around in the streaming showers and the warm pools for an hour or so, then hit the road. For the rest of the day, we were unusually tired and sluggish. Though we were riding a slight downhill along the river for the entire day, we both felt as though we were working too hard for our miles. The terrain was beautiful, but the camera battery was dead...sorry folks.

We ate at a small diner in the evening, where we met Bill, a touring cyclist from Florida who was following the TransAm route from Astoria, OR, and heading east.

Day 56. 75 miles.

So I decided to make some adjustments to my riding set up. With the intention of riding back east after making it to the west coast, I realized that I would need to seriously pare down on weight if I wanted the slightest chance at riding 3,000 miles in under a month. I figured out a way to rig a rear rack to my bike (which posed a bit of a challenge due to a lack of eyelets), and grabbed a couple of mini panniers to hold my rain jacket, a U-lock, my notebook, a small tarp in case it rains, and a bit of food. I sent home everything else--the trailer, the tent, the stove, extra socks and underwear, extra top layers--everything. By the time I had finished, I had a 29-pound box ready to ship. My remaining gear (not counting water) weighed about 10 or 15 pounds, and fluctuated tremendously based upon food supply. I was psyched to do the minimalist thing. After hauling all that weight for a couple thousand miles, I felt like I was pedalling on a cloud. Piper was jealous.

We climbed up to the top of Lolo pass on the border of Idaho and Montana, with an elevation of about 5,500 feet. We rode a sweet downhill and stopped at Jerry Johnson hot springs, where we got lost hiking through the woods and never actually found the springs. Frustrated and exhausted from mistakenly hiking up another mountain and then falling into the cold river somewhat by accident, we went to sleep laughing at ourselves for fumbling so awkwardly through the woods. We also laughed at the fact that we were trying to sleep on piles of rocks. But at a certain level of exhaustion, even rock piles will not prevent you from closing your eyes and drooling all over your sleeping bag.

Day 55. 32 miles.

On the last little stretch into Missoula, Piper had two flats within 20 minutes. I hid behind a cement wall while he cursed the wire bits that have accounted for 95 percent of our flats on the trip. Once in town, we began asking around for a bike shop, but were instead directed to the Adventure Cycling office. We walked inside and were delighted by what we encountered there--an air conditioned hang out room with internet access, cold water, and complimentary ice cream, all to welcome touring cyclists and give us a cozy break from the road. We spent a good chunk of time hanging out with other cyclists and enjoying the air conditioning. Though we admitted that we hadn't been using the Adventure Cycling maps (AAA maps have been our primary tool), we were impressed by everything the organization is doing to help cyclists of all different backgrounds get on their bikes for an awesome journey. From my perspective (which Piper also shares), the more people riding bikes, the better. Bikes are good for the mental and physical health of those who ride them. Bikes are good for decreasing traffic congestion and pollution on the road, which increases the livability of cities. The more political and organizational support we have for cyclists, the more we will see people on the road riding bikes, the more we can see improvements in things like air quality and the general public health. Every small step contributes to the larger task of figuring out how to create an inclusive transportation system--one where individuals can choose to walk, take public transit, or ride their bikes without continually struggling to find their way in an increasingly auto-dependent transportation structure. After spending time in the Adventure Cycling headquarters and marvelling at their dedication to making long-distance bicycle travel more accessible, I have decided that I would like to become a member of their organization once I return home. What a cool space.

Later that day, we went to visit my old room mate from my first semester at Lewis and Clark College in Portland, OR. Laina was spending the summer working with honey bees in Missoula, and riding her bike around the city. We made a big pasta meal and went to bed early.

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.

Day 33. 75 miles.

Rain, rain, and more rain.

Despite our wrinkled fingers, Piper and I rode side by side on the giant shoulder by the river and tried to keep our spirits up by any means possible. We told jokes, sang songs, and told stories to distract each other from the fact that we had been riding through a cold rain for hours on end.

Around 5 or 6pm, we finally beat the storm and found a bit of sunshine. We pulled into a park to cook dinner. The friendly maintenance man informed us that it would be okay for us to pitch a tent for the evening. We were asleep by sundown.

Day 32. 73 miles.

We crossed the Mississippi for the second time and entered Wisconsin. Green forested bulges of land and cliffs lined the river. We saw a park full of people, and rode over to ask for directions. We were a bit surprised to see a "Bike Wisconsin" van pulled up alongside the park, and many bicycles scattered across the lawn. We soon discovered that this was the starting location of a week-long bike tour for 831 riders. We chatted with some cyclists for awhile, snagged some better directions, and decided that running into such a large body of other cyclists must be a good omen.

A bit later, rain began pouring down. We pulled into a covered picnic area for some PB&J. Once the rain stopped, I pulled into a gas station and downed a cup of watery coffee.

After crossing another bridge over the Mississippi into Minnesota (which makes three states in one day), we found a rest area that allowed camping. We made fried eggs and toast for dinner.

Then it began to pour. We ran inside the information center, and the kind maintenance man/night watchman told us that we should sleep inside for the night. After the rain let up, we walked down to the beach and went swimming in the 75 degree river water at dusk. Pink lightning flashed in the distance.

Biking cross-country is such a fabulous way to spend the summer.

Day 31. 86 miles.

Nobody told us that Iowa has monstrous hills. We began the day with a killer 40mph downhill, then continued on a series of climbs and descents for the remainder of the day. The hills reminded me that I had become a bit spoiled with the mild terrain of the past few weeks, and that I had better prepare--both physically and mentally--for the Rocky Mountains that lie ahead. Despite the sheer pain of pushing hard up steep hills, the climbs felt good. Forcing my muscles to overcome gravity and continue pushing onward for 86 miles is both humbling and rewarding.

It also happened to be one of our most beautiful days, with sweeping fields and hilly landscapes lying beneath blue skies.



My only complaint of the day: the opossum/s that ran around and growled outside of our tent at night. I tried to scare it away from our food bag by shining a light in its direction, but it did not seem to mind. Instead, it continued to run around making noise and severely disturbing my sleep. Though it did not get the chance to take our food, it did get the chance to bother me throughout the course of the night. Adam neglected to wake up during the rustlings, and babbled relentlessly in his sleep.

Day 30. 68 miles.

A cold, wet morning dropped rain around us. We packed up the tent and hid under a pavillion for a bit longer, willing the rain to stop.

Eventually, we could no longer justify sitting under the pavillion, especially since the day before had been a low-mileage day. We ventured out into the weather, which felt a bit like riding through a big sponge.

The sky cleared around noon, and we pulled into Savanna, Illinois just before 3pm. We went to the post office and to a bike shop to run some errands.

86 North ran alongside the Mississippi River, and connected to a local road named "Blackjack," which carried us up to the top of a gorgeous hillside and winter alpine ski area. We passed by several farms and wildlife preserves. I stopped to say hi to the goats.

Day 29. 42 miles.

Shards of lightning tore apart the dark morning sky, and deafening cracks of thunder sent rumbles through the earth. Piper didn't want to leave the dry tent in exchange for the rain, but I was persistent. There ws a small window of opportunity where the rain stopped, and I was determined to use that moment to pack up and get on the road.

We rode through the rain from 7 to 10am, at which point we found a covered pavillion in a state park. We took shelter by the picnic tables to eat, read books, and hang out for the remainder of the day.

Day 28. 53 miles.

We checked out of the hostel and hung out with some other travellers until 12:30 or so. Getting out of Chicago was relatively easy following 64 West.

About 20 miles outside of Chicago, a man with a brown moustache leaned out of the passenger side window of an old green pickup truck to offer me some advice.

"You know, you really shouldn't be riding in the road. You should be on the sidewalk."

I looked to my right and saw large piles of dirt, enormous ditches, and orange construction signs.

"What sidewalk are you talking about?" I asked, motioning to the dirt piles. Piper grinned. He and I both knew that, A) sidewalks are for pedestrians, not cyclists, and, B) this town didn't really have any sidewalks.

We rode away. Then Piper broke another front spoke.

Day 27. 0 miles.

After toast with peanut butter and coffee, we caught a city bus heading South and got off at the Field Museum. We spent the day checking out exhibits detailing Native cultures from around the world, botany, geology, and the largest T-Rex skeleton named Sue. We stopped by a large fountain for ice-cream cones and went back to the hostel for more sleep. Zzzz...

Day 26. 85 miles.

Thunderstorms rolled in during the night. Cloud cover lingered in the morning, when I awoke to find hundreds if not thousands of little grubs crawling all over my handlebars and helmet, presumably licking the salty residue from my perspiration the day before. Gross.

Exhaustion crept up with us, after several days without a break. It was a coffee morning.

We rode towards Chicago, through Gary, Indiana, where large attack dogs barked and slammed their bodies into fences in attempts to gain access to the two lone bikers pedalling by. As we neared the city, sheets of warm rain plummeted into the streets. Road shoulders disappeared and the traffic speed and volume increased.

In the early afternoon, we entered Chicago. We rode North along the Lakeside park trail for the last 15 miles, until we snagged a left and pulled into our hostel. We paid for a couple of beds for the night, took showers, and grabbed a cab into town.

Before leaving on the trip, Piper's mom had bought him a $50 gift card for a restaurant meal. Taking the time to sit down for a full meal was absolutely fantastic. We took the subway back to our hostel with aching, full stomachs and crashed.

Day 25. 67 miles.

Today we met our first distance cyclist on the road. Aaron started pedalling from Los Angeles back in April. He hauled the same Bob trailer that served as the caboose on my bike, except he was carrying a whopping 120 pounds of gear (as a reference, Piper and I each carry about 75 pounds, including the weight of the bikes). He had all the frills--walkman and cassette tapes to listen to, multiple changes of clothing, and birkenstocks to wear while riding. On top of that, he had pedalled right through Colorado over the highest part of the Rockies. And he did it all without bike shorts. Wild.

Day 24. 42 miles.

We checked maps, cleaned our chains, and ate lunch with Carolyn. We waited for the hot part of the day to pass.

More fields. More flats. More sun.



Railroad tracks lined the left side of 6 West. The drone of trains coming and going filled the hours. The wind pushed against us. Piper found a large screw lodged into his rear tire, and we stopped to patch the tube underneath.

We slept in a motorcycle couple's backyard, with their trained army of attack mosquitoes.

Day 23. 96 miles.

We left the church and continued west along the flat expanse of Ohio's agricultural land. A cloudless sky hovered above the acclaimed amber waves of grain. Towns became few and far between, but the grade was in our favor and the breeze was mild. We covered quite a bit of ground with little effort.


We stopped for ice-cream cones in a small town named McClure, and then chased the sun as it proceeded to dip down towards the earth. We located a picture of a picnic table on the map, and aimed to camp at the park there. When we finally saw the picnic area, we were dismayed to discover the tables smack in the middle of a town, trapped between a heavily travelled road and an active set of railroad tracks.

We asked some firemen about alternate camping spots in town.

A man with grey hair sitting in a rolling office chair in the parking lot by the fire truck responded.

"Well, you could pitch a tent right here behind the station. There's a water tap and some electrical outlets over there, too."

Fantastic.

After a few minutes of chatting with the sociable firemen, another woman walked up.
"Excuse me, but are you two looking for a place to spend the night?"
"Why yes, in fact, we are."
"You should come to my house for the night. We have two extra beds and a shower that you are more than welcome to use."

Even more fantastic.

It turned out that Carolyn and her husband Vern parented a bike-touring son who pedalled from Ohio to Maine to Florida at the age of 19. Since then, they have hosted many touring cyclists. They were welcoming and kind, and gave us food to eat (which is a dangerous offer to give to bikers who have just pedalled 96 miles with full gear, and have the potential to completely demolish any available food supply).

However, the home-made chocolate chip oatmeal cookies were excellent.

Day 22. 50 miles.

I swerved left to avoid plowing through the day-old clump of fur and blood adhered to the center of the road shoulder. The unmistakable yet all too familiar scent of rotting flesh wafted from the steaming asphalt.

After taking a nap on the beach and a shower in the public restroom, Piper and I pedalled into the flats of Ohio. The sun thrust its scalding rays upon my skin, which attempted to resist the wrath of ultra violet by hiding under multiple layers of sunscreen.

Stunted by a lack of sleep the night before, our saddle time fell short of its usual duration. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the flat consistency of the landscape. There is something strangely spiritual about riding alongside fields that extend out into the horizon, while my feet circle around and around, inches above an unchanging river of asphalt.

We entered the small town of Fremont, and stopped at a church to ask if it would be okay to camp out in their field. They said yes without hesitation. We cooked grilled cheese with sauteed mushrooms and onions, and tomato soup for dinner.

Day 21. 82 miles.

One might think that riding through Cleveland, Ohio would take only a small portion of a day, leaving hours to push through other parts of the state. But the reality is that the city of Cleveland actually sprawls on for 80 miles.

But I do enjoy the urban areas. Time flies when there are constant obstacles to watch out for, twists and turns that throw you off of your route, and the wild energy of a dense body of people. I dig city riding.

After falsely exiting the city, we pulled over at a park above a marina on Lake Erie, and made a warm dinner.

I am beginning to feel as though I am not really on a biking vacation, but that I am actually taking an eating vacation. We go to lots of different places and eat.

And wow, do we eat.

I don't think I have ever eaten this much in my life, and Piper agrees. Tonight, Piper and I collectively polished off more than 3,000 calories for dinner alone.

We pushed on through a residential neighborhood, looking for a spot to spend the night. We found a city park and asked some police officers if we could pitch a tent for the night. They kindly informed us that we would be robbed and beaten by morning.

We decided to continue heading west, even though it was getting quite dark. I enjoyed riding at night, piercing the cool night air on a road free of the heavy day traffic. And in those last 10 miles, we broke our first Grand.

1,000 miles total.

Day 20. 82 miles.

"I hope there's a decent strip mall outside of Cleveland." --Adam Piper, Quote of the Day (taken completely out of context)

Pennsylvania's surprisingly extensive network of vineyards enveloped the landscape for hours on end. We stopped for a quart of fresh strawberries from a roadside stand. Although the calorie to dollar ratio of strawberries is low, the benefit of fresh berries was definitely greater than the cost.

The day of rest provided us with an incredible burst of energy today. It is amazing how well the human body can perform if you just listen to and comply with its requests--hunger, thirst, sleep, and rest. As the day progressed, we drew closer to Cleveland, but our high energy refused to fade. We knew that we would have to find a place to camp before we reached the denser urban area, but it was quickly becoming too late. Our options looked bleak. We saw a small family chiropractic office with a green backyard and thought, hey, it can't hurt to ask.

Our request was met by an excited yes, along with many questions about our journey. A worker named Julie said, "I guess you can stay in the lawn here if you really want to...or you could pedal another mile west and stay at my place where you'll have a fenced in backyard, a spot for a campfire, and warm showers."

It was a tough choice, but I think we made the right decision.

Day 19. 0 miles.

Perhaps the best part of this trip is re-learning solitude. Too often, I neglect spending time with myself, and I forget how to sit quietly and peacefully amidst the surrounding world of people and things. Every night on this trip, I have thought about how whole and beautiful it is to sleep outside in the fresh night air. I love bathing and doing laundry in a stream bed, and then air-drying in the sun. I love collecting wood sorrel, dandelion greens, and wild strawberries to snack on. I love taking the time to be outdoors and appreciate this earth that sustains us. In the jumble of people, school, and work, it's easy to forget that this wild natural beauty even exists.

Today we took a day to rest on the beach. We ate food, read books, did laundry, cleaned chains, etc. We also gave our quads, glutes, and hamstrings a rest from the fierce western winds. Healing time is still necessary in this stage of the journey.

Day 18. 56 miles.

Lesson of the Day: When riding against a strong wind with your bike partner drafting directly behind you, always veer to the side before launching a snot rocket.

We slept in this morning to compensate for a lack of sleep in Niagara Falls. The morning was cold and windy. We stopped at a state park in the early afternoon for a lunch of bread, hummus, apples, carrots, cashews, and many other miscellaneous food items. We lay in the sun for an hour or so, bundled up in our warmest layers and using our gear as shields against the wind.

The rest of the day was a fight against the wind. Where we ususally average about 18 mph on flat, smooth surfaces, today we were only getting about 11 or 12.

The night before, we noticed that our fuel for the MSR stove was getting a bit low. We stopped at a gas station to explain our predicament, then constructed a funnel out of cardboard and filled the bottle with gasoline. As we were leaving, a heavyset man wearing a red flannel shirt looked at our bikes and said, "Don't fill up here! Wait 'til you get to Pennsylvania. Gas is cheaper over there."

"I know," I said, holding up the red fuel bottle, "18 cents is pretty steep."

It took some effort to overcome the wind, but eventually we crossed the Pennsylvania border.

Day 17. 57 miles.

CT, the park maintenance guy, liked to chat with visitors. It was from him that we learned of the terrorists in Toronto the week before, which explained the absurdly large number of border patrol officers we had seen along the river the night before.

We took the multi-use trail to the falls, and wandered from vista to vista, awe-struck by the incredible power of the water cascading over rocks and sheer cliffs.

After our liesurely stroll around the park, we got back on our bikes and continued south. We hit Buffalo, and again we were forced to navigate the convoluted nature of traffic in a downtown urban area. When our origninal route decided to transform into an interstate, we took an array of small roads and bike paths in an effort to follow the river. Our plan worked; soon we were out of the city and cruising on a more bike-friendly section of our route. I caught a glimpse of a 2-lane bike highway in a park to my right, but was resistant to find an entrance to it, for fear that it would end without warning. Miles passed, and the bike highway remained paralell to my inferior route. I continued to stare longingly at the lane, possibly even drooling a little at the sight of such a beautiful bike space. Eventually, the yearning became too intense, and I dipped across another road to access the bike highway.

Aaah...a trail made for me! How nice to feel acknowledged.

Day 16. 73 miles.

For the first time in a long time, I managed to get a solid night's rest. Vivid dreams danced in my head throughout the course of the night. When I awoke, a strong wind blew across the lake and through the tree tops.

We finished the ugly stretch of interstate-like roadway and continued heading west, until we hit the Niagara River and began to cruise South.

We entered the town of Niagara Falls around 6:30pm, and wandered on a trail in a park for a bit, checking out the "whirlpool" section of the river. We cooked mac and cheese with broccoli, garlic, and tomatoes for dinner.

Day 15. 60 miles.

The birds began chirping at sunrise. I sat up in sleeping bag and looked at the sky. Pangs of hunger set in almost immediately, and I rummaged through our gear searching for a pineapple muffin I had bought the night before. Piper lay quietly folded in his sleeping bag, and I wandered over to the shore to sit in solitude.

I watched the birds and fish interact as the sky changed colors. Eventually Piper awoke and wandered over to the lake. We left the park a little before 9am, and pedalled to Rochester before noon.

We had no intention of actually entering the city, but unexpected freeways appeared, forcing us into unfamiliar territory. We found ourselves maneuvering the streets of the city slums, and in no time we were hopelessly lost. Eventually we found a generous man with a map to help us out, and we finally exited Rochester.

However, our new route, which claimed to be a "shared roadway" more closely resembled the interstate. Multiple lanes, exits, mergers, and high speeds infringed upon our satisfaction with this new "bike lane". But without another east-west road nearby, we continued on this very irksome stretch for 20 miles before we found a turnoff for another state park.

Beach, lawn, and picnic tables extended as far as the eye could see. We changed out of our bike shorts and tossed a frisbee around on the beach.

Day 14. 71 miles.

We said our goodbyes and rode through the city of Syracuse. We rode through downtown and then along a lakeside bike trail until we hit 370 west. The sun shone brightly above our wide, smooth shoulder.

I have been continually impressed by the quality of biking conditions in New York state. Shared use road signs paired with images of bicycles speckle the highways, making us feel welcome and respected. It is nice to know that biking is taken seriously here.

We turned north on route 14 and hit Lake Ontario in the early afternoon. We rode a smaller, lesser-known lakeside road until we arrived at a beautiful park along the shore. We hung out in the sun, tossed a frisbee around, and went to the local store to buy a large spinach pizza--which we finished off in a matter of minutes.

We returned to the park and slept under the pavillion by the lake, alongside a brilliant starry sky.