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

Missoula, MT to Clarkston, WA

What an amazing few days it's been. Marcia and Jerome took me out for dinner, where we planned the next day- my first day off the bicycle. I couldn't have asked for a better city to do it in! Since Marcia was busy for a portion of the day, Jerome and I (and Belle, their pooch) decided to go for a hike up in the mountains. After 13 miles up an old forest road, we hit the trailhead, grabbed out packs and began to hike, planning on 4 miles up to the summit. What we didn't plan for was snow...

The road brought us close to 6500 ft, where the ground was mostly clear, but shortly after our ascent we ran into big snowdrifts. Knowing that the summit sat above 9,000 feet, we had to call it early, which was unfortunate but necessary.

We drove around for a while after, Jerome pointing out the various mountain ranges and surrounding wilderness, giving me an idea at how vast this part of the country really is. Even though our hike was cut short, we still managed to work up quite the appetite and ended up in a burger/brew pub where I indulged in what might have been the best tasting burger and fries to ever grace my palette.

While we were on our way back, the dog managed to get ahold if the bottle if bear spray, chewing off the safety and then bit down on the trigger. I heard a hissing noise, looked back and grabbed the bottle away, preventing any further destruction. Eyes watering, we pulled over and coughed out a lung. The dog, of course, was perfectly fine. We, on the other hand, got a nice dose of spray. We knew it could have been much worse, and took our newly cleared sinuses for granted. Plus, now I know what bear spray tastes like...

Fresh mountain air

By the time we got back, it was time to go out again, this time to experience Missoula's "First Friday", the monthly art crawl. This month was special, as they unveiled the poster for the 50th anniversary of the wilderness act, which helps keep the wilderness as such. Being highly active members, Marcia and Jerome knew plenty of people, introducing me along the way. It was such a nice day, and a nice change from the nothingness that is east Montana and the Dakotas. During dinner, they let me know that I wasn't obligated to leave the next day either if I wanted to spend more time in the city.

Although I eventually decided to take off the next day, we went to the farmers market in the morning, where I had the chance to peruse and taste some local delicacies. Huckleberries are a Western Montana thing, and man, do they do it right. In everything from jam to croissants, chocolates to wines, huckleberries were present, and did not disappoint. 

It takes a lot for me to truly love a city to the point of imagining myself living there. The last time that happened was when I visited San Fracisco, but that was short lived after realizing the cost of real estate. Missoula was the perfect city, and there's no doubt I'll be back again. But for now, the adventure had to continue.

In store for the day was my last pass, Lolo pass, which would bring me into Idaho. The narrow shoulder had me on edge, but there really wasn't too much traffic, making it enjoyable. I even had a chance to snap a picture of an eagle and a cow...

They weren't on speaking terms...

The coast down the mountain was phenomenal. Nothing too steep, but a 6% grade for over 5 miles which ended up being cut short to stop at the Devoto cedar grove. I spent some time walking around and making my appreciation of nature skin deep.

 I had to...

The night ended at a US Forest Service campground, hidden in the forest and running alongside the Lochsa River. I realized I only had a $20 bill, therefore unable to cover the $8 camping fee, so I went to an occupied site asking if they could break it. Instead, they invited me to take up a spot next to their tents and invited me to have dinner with them! Of course, I accepted, and enjoyed yet another night of good food and good conversation.

I had let them know that I'd be out before they woke up, so we said our goodbyes that evening. My route would snake me along the Lochsa river through the Clearwater National Forest all day, making for the most scenic and enjoyable cycling conditions to date. The lack of services was a positive this time, since a lack of services meant a lack of traffic.

I flew through the miles, hitting 70 by 3:30. When I saw a sign for a campsite, I ducked in and rewarded myself with a short day, giving me time to read and just enjoy nature for a while. There was one other car in the site, and that belonged to a family having a picnic. I rode up, asking if the water was good for drinking. They responded with hot dogs, ribs and potato salad...

I just kept getting lucky with nice people and good food!

A family of Nez Perce, they told me their history and I asked plenty of questions, eager to lose my ignorance of native culture and heritage. I've learned quite a bit on this trip, just by stopping at markers and taking every chance to visit interpretive centers and local museums, but nothing compares to talking first hand with the natives. It really is quite a sad story, one that we white people should really be ashamed of. But that's a story for another day.

They packed up, and I was left to set my tent and relax.

Doesn't get any better than this!

Shortly after, a couple drove up and got out of their car to talk to me.

Bill and Sara had camped in the site 30 years ago, and on their trip to Missoula decided to take a peek. After hearing where I was planning on going, Bill informed me that they lived in Portland, and that if I pass through after the 17th, to ring them up for a place to stay! And that's not all... They just happened to have a plate of ribs in the car, and graciously offered a couple my way. Unbelievable.

Perhaps the best way to get a sense of the animals around you is to pay attention to road kill. Watching the animals change from squirrels and possums, to snakes and groundhogs. Today I added a new one to the list.

The bobcat

The forests slowly began receding, and I found myself back in the grasslands and red rock country of Idaho. Though the scenery was lackluster, I appreciated a lack of wind, and the knowledge that I'd see the coastline within a week.

It's been a full month on the road, and I've loved it. However, I'm getting excited to head back to Winona and into the real world for a little bit. I'm reminded constantly.

Near Winchester, ID

Clarkston, WA to Seaside, OR

Let me start by saying that you should thoroughly read product labels before you indulge in food or drink. Just because the Gatorade is green, doesn't mean it's lime flavored.

A little flavor surprise to wake up the taste buds

I thought something tasted funny....

Soon after leaving Clarkston, I hit the Columbia River Gorge. I had been told of two things to expect- unmatched beauty, and fierce wind coming predominantly from the west.

I was crushed. The wind was the worst thing I had come across this entire trip. The front of my bike, equipped with two front panniers and a handlebar bag acted as a sail, at times nearly bringing me to a standstill. Don't believe me? Here are some fun stats.

For the most part, I had been averaging 11mph on this trip, putting in 8-10 hours on the bike. My second day on the gorge, I had 10 hours on the saddle, making 57 miles. Twice the effort, half the distance. Soul crushing is an understatement.

Just another day in the gorge, apparently...

To be honest, not too much has happened of notable importance in the last week or so. My dayshave been filled with self-pity and pedal rotations of frustration. 

I happened to know a couple friends in Portland who moved from Winona a few years ago and the knowledge that I would be in good company in the next couple days helped motivate me to push on through. 

The winds died down my day coming into Portland, which was a fantastic feeling. My ride was alongside historic highway 30, parts of it being from the original highway which was the first in Oregon, and the first official "scenic highway". The new interstate ruined most of it when it was being constructed, but a large chunk still displays intricate masonry and stone architecture. Not to mention the "scenic" part.

I rode at the perfect time too- an organized ride helping to fund a bike path to complete at completely off-highway bike path directly from Portland to The Dalles, stretching over 90 miles. So I, along with the 400 other riders had access to a few stops with bathrooms and water along the 30 miles stretch from The Dalles to Hood River. 

When the day was coming to a close, I saw two campsites near each other, so I decided to check both out. The first, a state park, offered sites for $17. A good number of people too, a majority being RVs of some sort. Knowing the other was a US Forest Service campground, I figured it'd be less expensive due to a heavy tent-camping presence. 

Yep!

$5 to pitch in a spot without a table. They even had flush toilets!

More spectacular views were in store for the next morning's ride.

Unfortunately, things changed later in the day as I climbed the 500 feet into what was some pretty heavy fog. So much for a view...

During the fog...

A little while later, maybe an hour or so, it began to clear up. 

 A couple other bicycle tourists, with a good taste in bikes!

I got to Portland later that evening. We went out to get some Chinese food (which was surprisingly delicious), and checked out some local shops. A little piano playing, and then a good nights sleep ensued.

Kelly was flying back to Minnesota for the week and Ross worked the next day, giving me the day to walk around Portland. I had a great spot in a cafe that gave me some prime people watching real estate, and treated myself to some Ben and Jerry's, straight out of the store.

We called it another early night, since I had to ride the next morning. After all, I'd be back in a couple days before catching my train home.

Getting to seaside was great. Hardly any winds, great views, and the feeling of success as began to wrap up my journey. Oh, and it helped that I hit my goal mileage halfway through...

I pulled into seaside, and was planning on staying with a host, that way I could have my gear and bike locked away while I enjoyed my birthday at this beautiful city on the beach. Neil, a retired school counselor wouldn't be home until later, but told me the garage was unlocked and to make myself at home. When Neil came back, we chatted about our travels. He had been all over the world, having vowed to go someplace different every winter. He had the pictures, knowledge and books to back it up!

He had a few meetings on Thursday, so I enjoyed my birthday exactly how I would've wanted it. Well- almost.

Most of the day was spent walking along the beach, checking out the aquarium (which included feeding the seals) and really just taking time to relax. I went to a Mexican restaurant at Neil's suggestion, and it tasted fantastic. My stomach had other thoughts...

The evening was spent between the bedroom and bathroom, paying my respects to the porcelain goddess. Oh well, better now than in the middle of the trip. I felt better in the morning anyways, and how many people can say that after their 21st?

I took the bus back into Portland, where I'll spend a couple days checking out some great breweries and watching one of Kelly's gigs. 

There have been countless ups and downs on this trip. Every day seemed to contain multiple. 

There were many more ups, and not once would I have rather been anywhere else, doing anything else.

Good thing I go around Lake Michigan in a couple weeks!

A 3-day test ride

A couple weeks a go I learned that we wouldn't have class on Friday the 18th, so I figured it'd be a great opportunity to load up the bike and get a good test ride in. The original plan was to go from Winona to Rice Lake in Owatonna and camp at the state park, then down to Forestville state park for another night, and head back sunday morning.

I packed almost all of the gear that I'll be taking on my trip this summer, just so I can get a hang of packing my panniers just right for ease of access and even weight distribution. This proved to be a bit tougher than expected. It would be fine on the flats, but you can definitely get some bad wobbles going down hill if the front bags aren't weighted evenly.


Stayed pretty cool, and I was abled to pump out 90 miles relatively easily. When I pulled up to the campground the office was closed but I decided to check it out anyway (and what other choice did I have?). The gate was open, but there was a sign that read "closed for the season, open in April", so I figured it was okay. Nobody was there. One car passed by the loop circling the campsites, but that was it for the entire night.

 I haven't purchased a sleeping pad yet, since I've been okay in the past without one. Maybe it was the fact that I haven't been camping in a while, or maybe it was the fact that it dipped down to 36 degrees and the heaviest piece of outerwear I brought with me was a light wind shell, since the weather showed 60-70's. Guess that's Minnesota for you... Either way, I had a tough time sleeping for more than a couple hours at a time.



 I woke up Saturday morning, and knew it was going to be a long day the minute I tried to fold up my tent. Although a little breezy, it was manageable at first. I was able to make some coffee and take my time to pack my things up. But once I got on the road, the full weight of the situation dawned on me.

It was windy at the campsite- and I was completely surrounded by forest. Out in the open, the winds didn't let up. I was going South East all day, which just happened to be the direction the wind was coming from. Not until that night did I find out that it was blowing at a constant 30 mph all day, with gusts past 45. Headwinds are bad. Headwinds with 60 pounds of gear that act as a sail is heart crushing. The day before I was averaging 15 miles and hour without breaking a sweat. Now I was battling to keep pace at 7mph, and my legs were not happy with me.

The sign was constantly at this angle due to the wind

Where I grew up in Wisconsin, there were plenty of farms. I lived smack dab in Dairy Country, and have plenty of experience cycling the state. Here's the difference between Wisconsin and Minnesota-
Wisconsin's farm roads are all paved, even though many are in rough shape. Minnesota's are predominantly dirt and gravel, which didn't help my cause. The route I took had me ride on these roads for miles at a time, into the wind. I'd have to pedal downhill in order not to fall over, and that's not an exaggeration.

In addition to the terrible energy/distance ratio I was achieving, the zip-ties for my odometer broke, and the harness for my handlebar bag came loose, making it jostle around for the remainder of the day.

Miles of farm roads...

By 4pm, I realized there was no chance I could make it to the camp by nightfall. I had been pushing for 6 agonizing hours and had barely reached 40 miles, which messed with my mental game. After weighing my options, I decided to snake north another 20 miles and catch somewhat of a tailwind to the town of Stewartville to crash at a motel for the night, and get some much needed rest.

I woke up this morning feeling much better, and helped myself to a "continental breakfast", which consisted mostly of orange juice and coffee, and headed out. It had rained overnight, but only a slight drizzle was coming down. There was hardly any wind, which made the rain only the slightest nuisance, causing the dirt from the roads to find its way into my drivetrain. Knowing I only had 55 miles to go, I decided to take it slow and enjoy the countryside before I go back to work. 

Every single cow turned and watched me go by. It's as if they've never seen a bicycle!

The miles flew by, and before I knew it I was back home. Things to do: buy a damn sleeping pad. Bring warm clothes. Don't get mad at Mother Nature. 

3 weeks to go!

As light as possible

Enjoying a ride around the bluffs without any gear feels fantastic. Gotta enjoy it while it lasts, soon enough 18 mph averages will only come with a tailwind.

Issues with people

Well first I received the wrong color sleeping bag. But at this point, color isn't a huge priority for me. However, the fantastic people over at campmor sent the wrong color front rack. Rechecked my order (I like to make sure I'm right before complaining.....usually) and I definitely ordered a black rack. 

This is only a problem because in order to receive that rack, I have to send this one back, which means it'll be at least another couple of weeks before I can start training with front panniers (took em 2 and half weeks just to ship it here).

Man, these are such first world problems.

Gear-a-palooza!

Well, I ordered what should be the last of my gear (of course I'm inevitably going to need more before I actually leave....). Amazon was so kind as to split my shipment into four or five separate packages to be arriving this week, but I suppose I'll survive. 

Now it's just a matter of figuring out the best way to pack two months of gear and clothes into four small bags. 

Let the week of packages begin!