Adventures of the TransAm Bike Race

I kept thinking about riding my bike into town when I was 15 years old. “Do you really think you can ride 50 miles a day?” My father would ask. I would nod my head and reply with a confident “yes”, even though I truly had no idea whether or not it was possible. This was one month before my first bicycle trip- a 1,000-mile ride around Lake Michigan. Now, 6 years later, I laughed at that bike ride.

I had passed the 3,000 mile mark of the TransAm Bike Race and my mental clarity had began to decrease. It was around 3pm, and I was somewhere in the Ozarks trying to think of anything to improve my mood. I had close to 100 miles logged for that day, but the sleep deprivation and events earlier had started to take their course. Running low on water, I wheeled into a church hoping to find some source of hydration. After walking around the perimeter and realizing that there was nothing available, I broke down. Back against the wall, the tears began flowing and I felt completely defeated. A few days ago I had caught up to the legendary Scott McConnell, but when we hit the road earlier that morning, something on the bike felt wrong.

     

          “You have to be f*cking kidding me”, I shouted. Scott stopped and whipped around, checking to make sure I was okay. “Damn thing won’t shift”.  I told him to go on, that I was sure I’d be able to figure it out and catch up to him later. He left, and I pulled back to the picnic table I had slept on the night before. I went over the shifter and slid my hands along the cable, realizing that it was moving freely through the guides. The cable had snapped, and there wasn’t a bike shop for the next 250 miles. The only thing I could do was keep my cool and revisit the same words that had been running through my head since the beginning- “just keep moving forward”. Scott had been on a single speed for the last 3,000 miles, so I’d surely be able to make it the next 250. By noon, my legs were burning. My calves were starting to cramp up, and I was losing hope at a rapid pace.

           Jesse Carlson said it best, “There’s no coincidence that Missouri and the word ‘misery’ are so closely related”. I hadn’t given much attention to the lack of shoulder. I didn’t let the more frequent explicit hand gestures and the lack of general kindness that was going on get to me. But when a couple of people decided it would make for a good laugh to throw a full can of beer out the window of their oncoming car at my bike, I became fed up. I screamed back at them, but it did nothing to ease my anger. I threw my bike into the ditch at the side of the road and buried my face in my lap, giving my vocal chords the exercise of a lifetime.

          Every racer seemed to have bad luck in Missouri, and this was apparent when I caught up to Eelco and Gavaskar just after lunchtime. I thought it was bad to have a can of beer chucked out the window. What was really bad was having fireworks shot at you…twice. We rode within eyesight of each other for a good portion of the afternoon, but by evening they had opened a sizeable gap.

          I rolled into the town of Eminence around 10pm, and found Scott and Gavaskar outside of a gas station. They greeted me with smiles and conversation, but food was the only thing on my mind. I walked into the station, but as luck would have it, they turned me away as soon as I entered- they already closed the register. I walked out, trying my best not to break down. Scott offered a snickers bar, but I turned it away, trying to hide how disappointed I was. I remembered that earlier that day, Eelco had offered to split a motel room. I, too proud of the fact that I had slept indoor only once in the last two weeks had declined. Now, I had wished I hadn’t. Gavaskar pointed me in the direction of the motel that Eelco had gone to, and left me to go search for a place to crash for the night while he and Scott cycled on through the night. When I reached the motel, I asked if another cyclist had shown up. After an affirmative answer, I knocked on the door and sure enough, Eelco was there to welcome me in. I consumed what food I had left- two pop tarts, a bag of Gardetto’s and some warm Gatorade.

           It truly is amazing how much good conversation can turn your mood around. We chatted about our “normal lives” and promptly fell asleep, ready to wake up five hours later to ride our bikes all day, once again.

Hartford, IL to Rocheport, MO

Fun fact about typing a blog on an iPad- if you switch apps, it will delete everything you've spent the last half hour typing. Anyways, it turns out that the only public place in Missouri to offer wifi seems to be Mcdonalds, so I decided to indulge in a cheeseburger in order to let you people know that I'm still alive. The weather has been more or less cooperative, and the people are friendly once you learn to get past the accent, a feat much harder than expected.

I started this journey Saturday morning at the Lewis and Clark Memorial Park right outside Hartford, where I perused the adjacent museum for a while taking in the exhibits and information. I easily could have spent a few hours learning more and appreciating the original expedition out west, but it was already getting late and in order to meet my daily mileage I needed to get going. The first 25 miles seemed to fly by, perhaps because I still had a fresh pair of legs, but it also could've been the company I had from my Mom. We stopped in the picturesque village of Elsah in hopes of getting lunch, but the owner of the only diner in town was out in order to celebrate her daughter's graduation. The lovely people at the bed and breakfast informed us of a few restaurants a couple miles down the road, so we took their word and enjoyed lunch near the river. Soon enough it was time to say goodbye, and we parted ways.

Mom's too cool for gears

Shortly after we seperated, I picket up the Katy trail. This 250 mile crushed limestone surface used to be the route of the old Missouri-Kansas-Texas railroad, and historical markers are dotted alongside for a majority of it. I would ride a total of 150 miles on the trail, enjoying the flat surface but slowly getting frustrated at the lack of traction my wheels got, slowing my pace down. Around dinner time, I stopped at a trailhead and contemplating setting up camp, but the proximity of a nearby road and clear "open/close" sign was enough to push me down the trail to find a better spot. 6 miles later, I found a nice peaceful spot, though quite buggy, it had a port-a-potty nearby which is a fantastic amenity when you're on the road.

Some of the Katy trail

Later that night, I awoke to some a crazy lightning storm. Thinking of protocol for camping with lightning, I was going over everything I had learned over and over in my head, but kept drawing up blanks. This was a serious storm. No thunder, just constant lightning illuminating the night as if it were day. Luckily I managed to sleep on and off for a better part of the night.

That morning, the sun was out and it was as if nothing had happened the night before. After a quick breakfast and managing to burn a layer of eggs on my pan, I packed up and started my first full day by myself. 15 minutes in, a downpour dropped out of nowhere, but luckily left as quickly as it came. I would be on the Katy trail for another 60+ miles for the day, and quickly grew to hate gravel surfaces. I ran into another long-distance cyclist, traveling from Texas to St. Louis to catch a ball game. We were going different directions, so we didn't chat much. For lunch, I stopped in Mckittrick (population 64) and found an open supermarket. It was close to 90 degrees, and at this point, even snow started to sound alright. As a munched on some fruit and orange juice, I caught a few people staring at me. It's become obvious by my lack of an accent that I'm clearly not from around here. 

Missing the Midwest. Which is spelt more accurately?

I stayed the night at a campsite off the trail, and was the only person. Instead of an office, there was an envelope and the instructions to drop money in a little slot, based entirely on the honor system. After seeing that it had a shower stall, I took up the opportunity and enjoyed an early night reading and cleaning a couple days worth of sweat from my body.

Monday started off hot. I mean really hot. Sweating just rolling my sleeping bag up hot. Remember, this is at 6 in the morning. Making sure I stocked up on water, I headed back to the trail for another full day of gravel riding, busting a sweat just to stay above 10 mph. Not far into my ride, I caught up to a guy who has been riding from Florida, through New Hampshire, with a final destination out west. Where? He didn't know. His setup was a little more ragged, and I could tell he was really roughing it.

His cross country setup

We jogged back and forth, and finally seperated ways just outside Jefferson City. As lunchtime approached, I made countless attempts to find a diner or anywhere just to get some food, but every place seemed to be closed both Monday and Tuesday. Losing patience, I followed a sign three miles further wheee I found a tiny little house offering cold drinks and snacks as well as Indian memorabilia. I bought a Gatorade and a snickers bar and walked around, trying desperately to cool off. A voice accompanied with the smell of tobacco invited me to sit on the porch in the shade, which I gratefully accepted. Robert, the owner was in his 70's with a long blonde ponytail and seemed to be extremely well spoken, at least compared to the other locals that I had met. We spoke for the better part of an hour about everything from politics, to technology to nature. He spoke a little of his past- a navy and marine veteran, retired architect and MD and member of the Osage tribe. I asked to take his picture, and upon seeing his hesitancy, quickly added that I didn't mind if he declined and completely understand. He replied with"normally I would say no, but for you I'll make an exception".

Before I left, he cut some onions from his garden (where he grows all of the food he eats) and handed me some salad, wishing me a safe journey. This experience was truly y what I was searching for, and with a little more energy, figured I could put in some extra miles.

I made it into the city of Rocheport where I stretched and took a little break, and looked to the west where some angry looking clouds we're coming from. Seeing my concern, one of the locals walked up to me and chuckled, "going west? You ain't gonna make it". I sat under a restaurant overhang as a bulk of the storm passed, but decided to call it early and take refuge under a shelter in order to avoid the downpour that was supposed to happen the rest of the night

So much else to write about, but I need to keep moving. Hopefully I'll find some more access down the road within the next few days, but for now, westward ho!

Rocheport, MO to Council Bluffs, IA

And so ends the first week on tour. So much has happened, and yet when I look at the full map, I've hardly made a dent. Picking up from Rocheport, I headed to the city of New Franklin in hopes of finding a place to get some breakfast. When asking where I could find such a place, the lady behind the register at the Casey's general store told the only place is four miles down the road in Boonville. Dreaming of eggs and sausage, I powered through the last portion of the Katy trail only to find the diner closed, just like every other one that I had wanted to go to thus far... After another 9 miles of empty rolling hills, I ripped open a bag of almonds and called it a breakfast. Lots of old farm houses dotted the way, and I passed some pretty cool cemeteries with stones dating back to the mid 1800's. I got to Marshall by lunchtime, which is where I found the McDonalds to type the last blog post.

Plenty of farm dogs came up to say hi

I had hoped to type out the blog real quick and be on my way, but an older gentleman who saw me ride up made every possible effort to delay me. It first started with stories of how he found some old guns in a cave in Arrow Rock, and how he had a book on amazon that I should buy. For the next hour he would come over to my booth and talk about guns and Jesus, how I the sun will burn out in eight years which is why I should start talking to the "guy up there". 

He even kept one in his trunk...

I finally finished up and managed to escape undetected, and rode a total of 88 miles to Higginsville, where I set up camp at a city park, where a couple kids on bikes came over and talked to me for a little while. They could hardly believe I was planning to bike to the ocean (they didn't know where Oregon was, so I figured the ocean would suffice), and after seeing that my shoes clip into my pedals, thought I was a professional "bike guy or something".

The next day had all sorts of ups and downs. It started off as one of the nicest days yet, peacefull rollers through a surprisingly wealthy part of Missouri, though the majority of homes were cookie-cutter mansions. After a failed attempt at securing a host from warmshowers, I decided that I could make use of the extra daylight and tried to see how far I could get before dark settled in. On my map, a camping symbol  appeared about 100 miles out, so I set that as the goal. As I approached the 100 mile mark, I missed the last turn and continued for about 4 miles up some gnarly hills before I realized the mistake, forcing me to ride yet another 4 miles of pointless hills. When I got to the campsite, it turned out to be an RV resort, and the cheapest they could get me in for was $30. Since I had just ridden 108 miles and had an almost empty stomach, the smell of food and promise of a shower was enough to make me fork over the money. Upon getting to the camp site (which was so far out that a guy in a golf cart had me follow to ensure I stay on route), I realized that it was crawling with ants. Normally, fine whatever. But not after a 100+ mile day, not with all of my worldy possessions and food with me, and damnit not for $30. I biked back to the front desk and asked for my money back, that I'd rather sleep in a park in the rain than have me gear crawling with ants- to which they responded with sticking me next to a couple giant RVs. At that point I just wanted sleep, so I agreed and shortly thereafter passed out.

This guy knew which bag I keep the food in

If you've never heard of warmshowers.com before, it's one of the best things to happen to cycle tourists. In a nutshell, people are registered and it'll show on a map where they live, and you can call and ask if they'd be available to host you for a night- implying if nothing else, a warm shower, but more often than not a bed and a hot meal. I called a family the night at the RV park, got the voicemail and left a message. Not 2 minutes later I got a call back, the woman regretfully informing me of her unavailability that weekend, but that she had called a friend and set me up with them! Knowing that I had a bed and shower waiting for me in Council Bluffs was enough to push me to do some crazy mileage.

I'll spare you the details, but these are what the towns looked like for the next two days.

Home of...?

My first day in Kansas, and I had headwinds. Constant. Stupid. Horrible. Headwinds. Only making it 85 miles by 8pm, I found a tiny village to set up camp, but upon realizing that I had no food and only a few gulps of water was left with a choice. Either stay in a really creepy town running on empty, or race against the sun to get to a larger town with gas stations 10 miles down the road. I decided to go for it. I reached Falls City, Nebraska just as the sun had set, with enough time to buy a sandwich, find a park designated for camping and promptly went to sleep.

I woke up this morning freezing my arse off. Opened the tent and there was frost eveywhere

Can't see it too well, but my bike was covered in frost

3 layers of clothes, full fingered gloves, wool socks and shoe covers and it was still cold as hell. Knowing that I had another 100+ mile day, I tried to just keep going and stopped as little as possible. My legs didn't like this...

Everything was going just fine until I hit the area right before coming into Iowa. At first glance I thought I had made a wrong turn. The road I was supposed to turn onto was not there (or should I say was there, but named differently) and then immediately turned to gravel. This proceeded up a large hill which would have been a decent climb by itself, but the rocks made the bike slip constantly, and I had to make every effort just to stay upright. The next road I needed to turn on, Hwy 2, was being repaved.

The lane closed off was covered in oil,a and the other was full with semi traffic. Sitting down for a while and considering my options, I ended up walking my bike nearly half a mile to the bridge into Iowa in order to make it out alive. Luckily, the rest of the ride was suuuuuuper flat, and there was little to no wind, letting me push it out until I reached the city knowing that Steven and Mary (my hosts) would have a warm meal waiting for me. I got in just before 7 and Steven was on his bike, waiting to ride in with me! Finally, the first leg of the trip was over. 

Next stop, tornado alley!

Council Bluffs, IA to Pierre, SD

I woke up Saturday morning to the sound of coffee being made. My hosts for the night, Steven and Mary told me that they'd make sure I get something to eat before heading out once more, but that "something to eat" turned out to be taking a ride in Stevens '55 Thunderbird to go to a breakfast buffet. After roughing it for a week, this felt like five star service.

Fully restored, and such an honor to ride in!

I had told myself that I would take it easy- a self prescribed rest day of sorts in order to get my legs ready for the next week. However, the near perfect weather and windless afternoon made it more difficult not to want to ride. My "rest day" ended up being nearly 90 miles. When it came time to start looking for a place to camp, I noticed a sign pointing to Lewis and Clark State Park, just out of Onawa. I still had a few hours of daylight, and figured I'd take a swim and maybe have the evening to myself. When I pulled up, it was RV city. Hundreds of huge campers filled the park, and if that wasn't enough to turn me away, the fact that there was no tent camping price- just electrical hookups deterred me even more. No way was I going to justify spending $20 to be surrounded by a bunch of tourists. I decided to take my chances and keep moving. 

You can't see it too well, but the only other traffic consisted of farm equipment

About 10 miles down the road, I found a sign pointing to a campground an additional 4 miles down a dirt road, supposedly on the river. I figured what the hell, might as well take a look. As soon as I arrived, a friendly woman came up and said that tent camping was $12 and proceeded to talk to me about where I was from, where I was going, the usual. There were about a dozen campers, mostly the super rural farmer-type of families who "don't talk English too good". But damnit if they weren't some of the friendliest people. After enjoying some freshly fried catfish that the people in the RV next door caught that morning, I took a walk along the river, found a spot and had some quality reading time.

My idea of a Saturday night party...

Although it got a bit rowdy after sundown (due to a lack of people and abundance of alcohol), I got a good night of sleep. Woke up a little later than usual, so I hurried to pack up and get out. As I was spreading some peanut butter on a slice of bread, the woman who runs the campsite rushed out of the house, explaining that it "ain't no bed and breakfast" but that she wanted to make sure I had some food in my stomach before leaving.

Two hard boiled eggs and a yogurt, included with my stay!

I had heard that it was supposed to be windy, but what I didn't expect was that it was coming from the southeast. For the majority of the day, I was on a road heading northwest. Perfect day much? My panniers acted as sails, sending me off at an average of 15 mph throughout the entire day. At a few stretches I would maintain close to 20 mph at almost no effort! I had originally been in contact with somebody through warmshowers, but by lunchtime I had made 60 miles so I decided to take advantage and push on further. Kevin, the would-be host invited me to stop by anyways to fill my bottles. When I got there, it turned out to be his son's graduation party. He introduced me to people and insisted I get something to eat, which I graciously accepted. After the usual bike talk, I was on my way once again.

When I reached my destination of Yankton, my odometer showed 117 miles. Not bad whatsoever. I found a park and was about ready to set up when I saw a couple hippy looking guys (ages 30ish and 60ish?) and asked about the regulations, to which they notified me about the strict rangers around. Basically, they'd find me and kick me out. However, they told me that I might have some luck at the west end, and insisted that I take a few beers with me! I mean, it'd be rude not to accept, right?

After biking around the area for a couple hours, I found a spot tucked away down a maintenance road and got set up right as the sun went down.

I woke up to some rumbling off in the distance. Knowing that it was about to rain, I hurried to pack and set off, barely making it to a shelter in the campground before the sky started to dump buckets of water. Soon enough, the sun came out and I left the city behind, into a stretch sparsely populated. It was hot. How hot?

Considering the fact that it had rained that morning, this was not a good sign. Not only was I slowly starting to realize that my water was running out and that there was no shade, there were bugs flying all over my face. Even the birds seemed to look at me and judge my decision making skills. After passing the Yankton Sioux reservation, I reached a transportation building and filled my bottles. The people inside seemed to understand how desperate I was and quickly ushered me in to the kitchen where cold water was available.

My destination for that night, Pickstown, had two campgrounds. One was run by the parks department, and like every other one in South Dakota, charges $20 a night, even for a tent. The other was a primitive site, though right on the river, my map showed that there was no potable water available. I figured I'd stop in the "real" campsite, fill my bottles, use the bathroom and then enjoy a night of peace and quiet. However, by a stroke of luck, the only people I saw in the campsite were two cycle tourists! After seeing me, they quickly told me to pitch my tent and that I was more than welcome to stay on their site for the night. After a much needed shower, we combined food to make a fantastic mixture of pasta, beans onions and spices. It really is amazing what you consider to be a delicacy while on the road.

Janet and Todd, the cyclists, were doing a shorter tour in the area but live near the Cascade Mountains. After seeing some pictures of the property, they insisted that I come and visit if I'm ever I the area. Future bike trip anyone? We made breakfast and coffee the next morning, and I took off a little earlier than they did, since I had a warmshowers host planned out in Chamberlain- 115 miles away.

I had already knocked back a few 100+ mile days so I figured that this would be no different. Wrong. 20 miles in, and my back tire was flat. Faaaaaaaantastic. What made it ironic was that Janet was telling me about the horrible time she had flat after flat for days on end, and I, the wise cyclist who invested in Conti Gatorskins, haven't had one. 

As if that wasn't enough, 10 miles later my derailleur lost tension and my chain got caught- I the middle of a decently sized hill. Hurray for more setbacks. This was going to be a long day.

I hit 70 miles around 6pm, and though hey, that's not too bad. Until I remembered that I had another 40 to go. Luckily my host for the night, Jessica, was extremely understanding, offering if I needed anything and that I shouldn't worry about time.

Mentally more than anything I was exhausted. I hadn't learned my lesson from the previous day and ran out of water again, this time 30 miles from the next town. I was on a straight road for 20 of those, and could only see one farmhouse. There was a car parked outside, so I knocked on the door and was not only given water, but a few cookies and even offered dinner! I accepted the cookies, since anything sugary was good at that point, but explained that I had plenty of miles to go, to which they offered to drive me in (which I seriously considered but knew that I'd regret it come morning, for not actually biking the whole way).

I finally got to Jessica's at 10:30. I could've passed out as soon as I sat down, but she had some veggies and meat that I couldn't pass up on. The other issue was that we were both bike nerds. This means talking about everything bicycle for the next two hours, and when I finally got to sleep, it was well after midnight. Totally worth it though.

The area known as Bijou Hills, shortly before running out of water

When I woke up, it felt like it was before 5, so I got ready to turn over and go back to sleep. That is, until I saw that clock that read 7:30. Shit! I had another 100 miles to cover (I was fortunate enough to have yet another warmshowers host in Pierre). I still had to pack up and stop at a grocery store to restock on necessities before going back out into the abyss. 

About 15 miles in, I hit a pretty awesome milestone. 1,000 miles! 

Although exciting at first, I soon forgot about it when I realized how the day would look.

The route I was taking was long. It started with a big uphill, a slight downhill, and then a 20 mile climb through the hot, desolate Brule Sioux Indian reservation. My mind was gone. After hardly enough sleep, my body wasn't too happy with how much I'd been pushing it lately. But since I was so far ahead of schedule, I vowed to start taking some shorter days to give my legs an overdue rest.

The thin barb wire didn't give me any comfort when this guy started looking towards me 

After the long climb, it was much easier. I was told by Mary and Bruce, my hosts in Pierre to give them a call when I get there for either directions if I was feeling up for a hill, or for a ride in a nice comfy pickup truck. I chose the latter. Why? As soon as I got to the city line, my back tire went flat again.

So that's where I sit. I get to go to the bike shop tomorrow to stock up on a couple tubes, have my tire looked at and make sure I'm fully equipped with patches. The next stretch of my journey swings me north, through primitive reservation country with services few and far apart. 

See you later civilization!

Pierre, SD to Bismark, ND

It's been a crazy few days. I started off in Pierre at the bike shop getting my tire looked at. Two flats in two days on the same tire? I must've done something wrong. Turns out it's not that uncommon up here, since thorns and "Texas tacks" are a large part of the vegetation. After I was all set up, I popped in next door to a cafe for a bagel and to check some emails/catch up with the news. Since I didn't leave until noon, I figured I'd just take it easy and bike till around 6 to have an early night and actually enjoy a full evening for once. I had heard of a primitive campground just a few miles down the road from an RV park, but stopped at the convenience store for my daily bit of ice cream.

That's when I noticed that my wallet was missing. I panicked, and considering that I had not only my credit and debit cards, but also my license and insurance card I was rightfully worried. Thinking that I left it at the café, I was able to get on some wifi and do a google search of the cafés in Pierre (since in couldn't remember the name of the place) and found the number. Luckily, somebody had turned it in, contents still in tact. Now the only question was how I would get back. I was 60 miles away, and they were closed for the night when I called, so my options were to...

A. Start riding back, camp somewhere, pick it up in the morning and get back to the same campground the next day, essentially losing a day

B. Stay at the campground for the night, and try to push a 120 mile day, essentially losing a day

C. Go back in the morning and stay in Pierre for the night, essentially losing two days.

See the trend? I was not a happy camper.

However, when I pulled up to a site (the primitive campsite ended up being an additional 12 miles, and I was not in the mood for that. Luckily I had a stash of bills in my bag to pay for a cheap tent spot), I was greeted by a guy drinking a beer, sitting on an atv. We chatted for a bit, he tossed me a beer, and after I explained what a dumbass I was, he without hesitation gave me a fourth option to retrieve my wallet.

He would drive me back in the morning, then back to the campground so that I could take off the next afternoon losing hardly any time.

Are you kidding me? Talk about changing moods. He had plans that night, but told me he'd be back at 9am to pick me up.

I could relax after all.

Reading with a view, munching on some elk jerky given to me by Bruce and Mary in Pierre

Sure enough, he pulled up at 9 the next morning, and he along with his wife Gerri drove me the 60 miles back to Pierre, refusing to let me at least treat me to breakfast. They were so gracious, and we had no problem making conversation the whole way there and back. By the time we got back and I was ready, it was already around 1, so another 60 mile day was in store. Seeing a sign pointing to a recreation area, I took the mile long dirt road to the shore of the river, hoping to have a nice peaceful night.

There were a few RVs there when I pulled up, and while I was pitching the tent, a guy came up to me asking where I was from/going and offered to help me set up. After I told him that the tent goes up real quick, he told me to come on over if I want after I'm set and grab a beer. There were about a dozen people in all, and they ended up being some of the best people I've stayed with thus far. They treated me to a home-grilled dinner to start off. Pork Chops, salads, sides you name it. One of the guys in the group, Brad, told me that the only thing I need to worry about is having a beer in my hand. 

The night was filled with good conversation, a roaring fire, plenty of adult beverages and even s'mores. After the topic of fishing came up, I confessed that I hadn't been in ages. Brad offered to take me out on the boat in the morning if it worked with my plans, which it did! We along with a couple others set out the next morning and caught a whole bunch of walleye. I snagged three of em, two of which were big enough to keep.

The day's catch

We got back earlier than expected, so we decided to bust out the fryer and have some of the fish for lunch. Catch and eat my own lunch? Check. It was the perfect morning to go with the perfect night. They even invited me to stay another night, convincing me that one more mouth wouldn't take much more to feed. I thought about it a lot, but given the last couple half-days, decided that I really needed to log some miles. We said our farewells, and I promised that we'd see each other down the road at some point.

Grillmaster Brad doing his thing

I made it 60 miles north to the small town of Pollock, where I asked a couple people if there were any places I could pitch a tent (since I didn't want to pay the $20 at the campsite), and they suggested heading out to the park, which sat at the end of town. After a good 20 minutes of sleuthing around, I found the most perfect spot. 

Stealth camping at its finest

This morning my plans were to get into Bismark. After failing to make a connection with a warmshowers host (they were leaving to go to disneyworld this morning), I found a campsite charging $10,but I was overdue for a shower, and sometimes it's nice knowing that you don't have to worry about any curious people going to check out your stuff.

So that's where I'm at. I'm enjoying a little bit of the city tonight, and then it's back to the middle of nowhere.

Bismarck, ND to Jordan, MT

I took a little extra time leaving Bismarck, due to the store that had the gas canisters I needed not being open until 10 because of Memorial Day. I figured with the extra time I might as well treat myself to breakfast next door at Perkins.

This was a different "Perkins" somewhere between Council Bluffs and the boonies of South Dakota. 

Only planning on a short day, I had time to do a little sightseeing, which involved stopping at a couple abandoned Indian towns. Though no structures were there, it was really neat learning about what was once where I was, only a couple hundred years ago. The first site, Double Ditch, was a booming Mandan post until a smallpox epidemic broke out, killing 9 in 10, forcing a relocation.

My next stop was in the historic town of Washburn, home of a really nice Lewis and Clark interpretive center. I thought it was a little odd that they charged admission, but it turned out to be worth my while, as I spent the better part of an hour looking at historic artifacts and learning a little more about the route that I had been following the last couple weeks.

The expedition: Lewis, Clark, Sacagawea, and Kazilsky

After a healthy dose of sunscreen (apparently pasty white boys burn up real quickly), I left to head another 25 miles to the next Indian site and area of Fort Clark. Once playing a key role in the American Fur Company's legacy, this was the westernmost site of the AFC's trading empire. Once again due to a smallpox epidemic, the Indians were forced to abandon, while Fort Clark burned to the ground on a seperate occasion. I spent another hour here, and could've easily doubled that time if there weren't so many Mosquitos.

This was tucked away a mile and a half off the road behind a ranch. I think I'm becoming a history nut.

My destination for the night, Stanton, is a town most people have never heard of. Boasting a population of 306, you wouldn't think it has any significance. It was, however, home to one notable figure. Sakakawea (or Sacagawea, as we more commonly know her as)

At first it looked like a silhouette of a hunter, but it was indeed that of Sakakawea

As I was packing my gear the next morning, somebody drove up and rolled down their window, asking which direction I was traveling. When I answered west, a worried look ran across his face. Apparently there were a few tornados that had touched down last night in the area, and that some severe thunderstorm were expected to form later that afternoon. I was going thorough small towns 12 and 25 miles into the day, so I figured that if I ran into any trouble, I'd just duck inside a gas station and wait it out.

A few black clouds loomed in the distance, but it ended up clearing up to open skies. I think this sign did the trick...

Though I had originally planned in stopping for the night in Glen Ullin, I decided to push an extra 15 miles to Richardton. I had heard if a Romanesque Monestary being situated in town, home of about 30 Benadictine Monks and that it was common for them to welcome visitors. I was greeted by Father Odo, who invited me to either pitch my tent on their grounds, or to sleep in the guest room down in the basement. To be honest, pitching my tent sounded much more appealing at the moment, but how many people can say they've slept in the basement of a turn of the century Monestary? Besides, I was invited to take a shower and the magical L word, laundry, was an option if I so desired. After joining the Monks for a fantastic dinner, I went to my quarters to start looking over maps for this upcoming week.

Father Odo came to check up on me and see if I needed anything later that night, and told me that another adventurer had arrived- this guy who was walking the return route of Lewis and Clark- and would join us for breakfast in the morning! 

Lucas, Father Odo and myself in front of the towers of the Monestary

Although the Monks eat breakfast in silence, Father Odo explained that when most are gone it would be okay to whisper. When this time passed, I got to learn a little about Lucas, the man walking the trail and possibly extending it to the east coast.

Before he began his journey, Lucas adopted a dog through Craigslist from owners who wouldn't be able to take care of him anymore. After a little training, Buddy the dog was ready to join Lucas on his epic adventure. One fateful day, Buddy went underneath an underpath and wound up on the opposite side of the street. Without looking, he dashed across to meet Lucas but was hit by a car. He had back off just in time to survive, but not without extreme damage to one of his legs, forcing an amputation.

So now, Lucas and his three-legged pup are travelling the country by foot, Buddy walking up to 20 miles daily, and learning much as I have that people are more generous than what is given credit to.

 Go give his blog a read, you won't regret it!

http://walking-eastward.blogspot.com/

Graced with a 20 mph tailwind, I was able to go just over 100 miles, crossing over the border into Montana, and still have time for a few stops along the way. One such stop was at Theodore Roosavelt National Park, the painted canyons. Holy scenery change! Coasting through the badlands has to go up as one of the best riding moments I've experienced thus far. I whizzed by herds of bison grazing, and went through entire cities of prairie dogs. Passing the city of Medora, the badlands evened out with the rest of the terrain, the landscape beginning to flatten out with the exception of a few monstrous buttes.

 Camel's Hump Butte. I have a Semi circled for scale

Lucas had let me know of a great place to pitch a tent for the night- right behind the small museum in Wibaux. As I read up on the history of the "Gateway to Montana", I stumbled upon a fun little detail.

My first full day in Montana consisted of a 30 mile climb, gaining just over 1,000 feet in elevation. Of course, my good luck had caught up to me and the climb was accompanied with 20mph headwinds. It's amazing how much it wrecks your mental game, one day pushing 16mph easily, the next, struggling to break 6. I've been honked at dozens of times so far (good honks, usually accompanied with waves), so I didn't assume anything out of the ordinary from the RV that honked as it passed me as I struggled up the hill. But when I looked up again, the RV had stopped, a man waiting by side side watching me intently. I got off my bike, and he reached out to shake my hand, explaining that he had done a bike tour of sorts a couple decades ago. 9,000 miles, through the United States and Canada. After retiring from GM, he made it a goal to pay off his home and purchase a motor home. When he realized his passion for traveling across the country, he took on a job delivering RVs to dealerships across the country. After we chatted about our love for touring, he proceeded to hand me a $10 bill, explaining that somebody had once done the same for him, that he doesn't want to hold me back but would still like to buy me lunch.

Seriously. The generosity of some people is amazing.

As I approached the cluster of homes known as Lindsay, MT, I began to consider pitching my tent there for the night, 24 miles short of the town I wanted to stay in. Although the climb would end in 10 or so miles, my legs were telling me to quit. As I cooked dinner, the wind began to die down a little bit, and with a full stomach, decided that I could push my way to Circle, my destination for the night.

My day today looked like this all day.

Long rolling hills with nothing and nobody in sight

In the 70 miles to Jordan, there was one 'rest stop' which consisted of a bathroom, and a picnic table. Other than that, wide open ranch land. Dry, dry ranch land.

They tell it like it is

And I thought finding wifi in Missouri was hard. Ha! I obviously hadn't biked through Montana.

Jordan, MT to Missoula, MT

My last blog post went up as I sat at a bar, eating some fries and mooching off the wifi. After I finished, I was informed that it was the one-year anniversary of the bar's establishment, and so free food was being served in less than 15 minutes. One of these days my luck is going to catch up with me...

I dined on a fresh BBQ roast, and plenty of potato salad. In addition to the BBQ, they were having a nut roast- what i thought would be peanuts. Luckily, the gentleman next to me informed me that they were indeed, Rocky Mountain oysters. So I indulged in Montana's form of "junk" food.

These signs frequented the roadside

I picked up a weather radio a few days ago, since the weather seems to be extremely unpredictable. Not only am I unable to check the weather as often due to the lack of internet connectivity, but the two or three people I come in contact with out here don't seem to have the slightest idea. I had heard that a big front would be moving through in the afternoon and getting severe towards the evening, so I decided  to get an early start, hoping to make my 75 mile day by the afternoon in order to avoid the storms. I had one rest stop along the way, and the skies were clear enough that I figured I could take a little time to eat and walk around since I had been riding since 6. That quickly changed when I left the bathroom and saw a pretty angry looking cloud come over the horizon. I considered my options. Stay at the stop and hope for it to pass, or try and book the last 25 miles to the town of Winnet in hopes if beating the looming storm.

At first, it seemed like I had made the right decision. Though there were storms on both sides of me, I had managed to be giving straight through a clear passage.

Until the road began to curve...

What was a bright afternoon quickly turned for the worse

All of a sudden, thunder. Then came the rain, and of course my favorite, frequent lightning strikes, touching the ground near my vicinity. Lesson learned: don't play chicken with nature.

I really don't mind riding in the rain. I can even tolerate wind to some extent. But lighting quite frankly scares the shit out of me, especially when I'm by myself. In the open. With nobody around. On a steel bike. In Big Sky Country. I was seriously beginning to consider sticking my thumb up at the pickups that would pass me once every half hour or so in hopes of a ride to a safer place. But before I knew it, I was close enough to the town to not think anything of the storms. Stopped at the general store to pick up some comfort foods (chocolate and gardettos usually fix the problem) and headed to the park to pitch for the night.

No surprise showers tonight!

My plan for the day was a short ride to Lewistown. Not a tough feat, except for the Judith Mountains which stood in the way. Though not exactly the Rockies, it would be me biggest climb thus far, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least a tiny bit nervous. The climb was easier than I had imagined, but I was met at the top with good ol' Montana headwinds, putting a damper on what would've been a beautiful decent into the Judith Mountain basin.

For the past few days I've been hearing a click near my cranks at the same point in the rotation almost consistently. Irritating would be an understatement. I had heard of a bicycle shop in the town, and decided to take my chances that it'd be open on a Sunday afternoon. After asking a few locals, I wound up outside a house belonging to the guy who runs the High Plains Ski and Bike shop out of his garage. Though the sign said closed, he must've seen me ride up, because he came out of his house almost immediately after I pulled up. Luckily he was free and agreed to take a look. 

Everything checked out to be fine mechanically, and we could not locate the source of the noise. In typical cycling fashion, the click had stopped shortly before coasting down to Lewistown, so I couldn't even show him first-hand what was happening. He ended up taking off my cranks and dipping them into a cleaning solution, getting the grime and dirt to which he assumed was causing the problem, taken care of.

Though I couldn't tell if the problem was fixed since technically there wasn't a noise when I came in, it definitely felt like a smoother ride. The wind had died down and it was a gorgeous day, so I couldn't justify sitting around off the bike. I decided to ride on to Denton. Making good time, I saw a sign advertising the 'Gigantic warm springs' and decided to check it out. A steep dirt and gravel road off the main drag, I quickly questioned my decision and whether or not the climb back up would be worth it. 

It was paradise.

I was the only person there, but it gave the impression that hardly any people knew of its existence. Though I took more time than I probably should, I can say it was the best little break I've had in this trip. I went for a dip and had some snacks, just enjoying the scenery (since I had seen mostly wide open ranch lands the last week).

 Another view of the springs 

I got to Denton with just enough time to pitch my tent before the sun went down- a full day by my standards.

I packed my gear eagerly the next morning. My elevation map showed a wicked downhill that was supposed to come up about 10 miles into my ride. Even better, the air was calm. Would I finally be able to get some speed??

As I rounded a corner, my heart sunk a little bit. A road construction sign was in place, followed my a warning to motorcycles to consider using an alternate route.

Well, I guess I'll take riding my brakes and enjoying a little coast over no coasting at all. I waited at the temporary stoplight, they had a car leading traffic in order to minimize confusion. When it came up, the guy told me that it'd be in my best interest to throw the bike in his truck and let him take me down. 

To my cycling friends: 8% grade, two full miles.

Down the canyon, sulking the whole way

Maybe some day I'll come back, just to ride that hill.

Since I went further that I originally planned the day prior, I planned on staying in Fort Benton that night, a town that Adventure Cycling recommends to take some time to explore. However, I had a tentative warmshowers host in Great Falls, so I called and asked if they preferred to have me one day or the other. I could stay the night in Fort Benton and arrive any time the next day, or make haste with the rest of my Monday, getting there just after 8. They said that night would be easier, so off I went. An additional 50 miles isn't so bad when you know there's good company and a hot shower waiting.

In those extra miles, three things drove me absolutely mad.

First: Mosquitos. Mosquitos that make the stuff we have in the Midwest seem like a walk in the park. If I were to get off my bike at any point, within seconds I was thrown into a slap-happy mosquito killing tantrum. It did, however, motivate me to keep pushing. Not because I physically needed to be on the bike, but if started riding anywhere less that 7mph, they'd be able to stick their suckers into my skin, causing me to make constant choices between controlling my bike and not getting bitten.

Second: Hills. By now, I'm fine with hills. Heck, it'd be safe to say that I enjoy riding them. What I don't like, is a nice long hill with a stretch of gravel around the turns. 

I hit 30mph before realizing that I should probably slow down before hitting the curve...

There were four consecutive hills, two up hills and two down, each with between 100-300 yards of this mess. I was getting frustrated.

Third: The ticking noise was back.

So imagine if you will, riding up this massive hill where the pavement suddenly changes to gravel, because of the lack of traction and the fact that it's fairly steep I'm going slow- slow enough to get getting mosquito bites while riding, and then... 

Click

Click

Click

Click

Like clockwork, with each rotation of the pedal.

But when I came within 5 or so miles of the house, a white pickup slowed down asking if I was Adam, and Ron gave me a ride back to his house, where Becky already had dinner made. It's rare on a trip like this for me to be completely full, but damnit, Ron and Becky made sure I was just that. After a hot shower, we talked a bit about the usual- bikes, biking, and what I should expect for the next leg of my trip. Their daughter Allie just graduated from High School, and was getting ready to head to El Salvador for a while. She also shows steers, something I know nothing about, so I took the opportunity to help hang some fans in the barn and try and understand as much as I could.

I don't know if I would have the energy to take care of an animal requiring so much work, but major props to those who do. It was a fun experience nonetheless.

Of course, I was fed to the max the next morning, and Becky even made a sandwich and cut up some poppyseed bread for me to take to-go. They had cousins in town, and since they were on their way into the city, took me along so that I missed to stretch of gravel leading from the house, and to get closer to the bike shop, where I hoped to finally fix the mysterious clicking noise. Of course, the clicking wasn't happening when I brought it in, and when the guy at the shop took it around the block couldn't figure out what was wrong, he took it in back to give it a closer look. The root of my problem? My bottom bracket was giving out. Oh well, I guess after 2,000 miles something's gotta give. Now with a new bracket, I took off out of the city.

An hour later, I saw another guy on a bike heading the opposite direction, so we of course, had to chat.

Now retired, Lawrence was biking coast to coast, mostly along the northern tier, but branching off in the Great Lakes. The last long distance cyclist I'd seen had been weeks ago, so it was nice to see and chat with him. We gave each other pointers for what was down the road, though he was going only as far as Dickinson, ND before heading north again to parts unknown to me.

My initial plan of making it to Missoula two days after Great Falls came to an abrupt halt after yet another onslaught of headwinds. By doing it in three days, I had a chance to rest up, and besides, at this point I was in no hurry. Augusta, my first night after the city, was a nice little western-style town. A few saloons and a general store, nothing too fancy. Camping wasn't allowed in the park, so instead of heading to the RV park right away, I decided to ask the sheriff if there was a place I could pitch for free. He gave me a few options. There were a couple reservoirs about 7 miles from town that May or may not charge for camping, but he assured me that the guy doesn't come around too often and that he (the sheriff) wouldn't come down.

Unfortunately, it was an additional 7 miles out of the way. Not a huge problem, except I had mentally checked myself off the bike, and was in no mood to wrestle the winds any longer. I managed to talk the campsite host down from $15 to $10, assuring them that I wouldn't even be taking a shower, and called it a night. The view was pretty great too...

Next was the big day, my first mountain pass. Rodger's pass, while in terms of passes was no monster, was still the highest peak I would climb on this trip. By now, I knew the prevailing western winds were inevitable but that they were the slowest in the morning. I woke up extra early to bike the 30 miles to the pass before they came in full force. While present, they didn't seem to effect my climb too much.

Until I reached the top.

Damnit! Nobody should have to pedal down a mountain. Yet here I was, fighting what was now constant 20mph winds gusting up to 40. All of that work, for nothing. And to make things even more miserable, there was yet again, a hefty dose of construction.

And then it happened. The pavement sloped down steeply where the shoulder had previously been. I wasn't able to correct in time, and my front wheel hit the soft gravel as a result of the sudden dip. My bike went down, and I went up. 

Somehow, I escaped quite literally unscathed. A few nicks, but not a drop of blood was drawn. I sat down off the road with a view of the mountains, Considering my luck and for the first time thankful for headwinds. If I had been going faster, no doubt I could be in rough shape. No doubt I was having a rough day, but after sitting a while, I thought to myself:

The most miserable day on a bicycle is still a better than a fantastic day back in the "real world". And hey, at least I have a picture at the Continental Divide...

So maybe I didn't have a wild downhill ride, but it sure was pretty. I made it to Ovando in plenty of time, and there were a couple cyclists at the town center, where cyclists had the option of staying in a teepee or an old wagon. Patrick and Alyssa, who were biking th transam trail but were branching off to do a bunch of rails to trails, had taken the teepee, so took residence in the wagon. It was a delight to talk to people other than my shadow for a change. We played a game of horseshoes and continued to talk well into the night. It's amazing how late it becomes before the sun finally sets here in the mountains.

 When I realized I would be bunking with two hornet nests and a plethora of spiders, I changed my mind and pitched my tent outside. After all, it was a clear night and I really do enjoy sleeping under the stars.

When I was in North Dakota, I took some time to explore the visitors center at Theodore Roosevelt National Park. It was nice to take in some different scenery at the time, and gave me an excuse to get off the bike. While I was perusing the displays, a woman came up to me and we began to chat. Almost instantly, she asked if I had a place to stay once I got to Missoula and that she and her husband would be glad to have me when I come rolling through! I called her up a couple days ago asking if I could take her up on the offer, and the answer was yes.

So I rode happily through more headwinds, knowing that I would see a friendly face waiting in Missoula for me. But before heading to my hosts Marcia and Jerome's abode, I made a necessary stop at the Adventure Cycling headquarters, where I got a tour, had my picture taken, had some free ice cream, and finally, weighed my bike.

I hadn't been grocery shopping in a few days, and all three water bottle were empty. The weight?

89 pounds of bicycle and gear. No wonder my legs look a little different....

Marcia invited me to stay not one, but two nights after telling her I was looking for things to do in town for a rest day. So here I am, spending some time in an abnormally bicycle friendly oasis in what else is a desolate, dry state.

Total miles- 2,300