Sitting here in the reading room of Seattle Central Library, the imminence of my return to Ann Arbor seems to have suddenly caught up with the wealth of experience I've taken from this summer. As new friends disappear into their past lives, so must I.
It is a bittersweet, but fitting transition - this space, at this time. At this moment, my legs still tanned and toned, I am confronted by the work of a master craftsman, his genius setting the standard for my own. At this moment, my motivations are in conflict, my goals less certain than they've been over the past two and a half months, but my conscience filled with a sort of purpose I don't think I've ever known. My sense of accomplishment is quickly fading, replaced by the overwhelming self doubt of the coming weeks, months, even years. The hope I've seen in the work we've done has little to no hope in academic discourse, at least not at Michigan.
I ran into Craig here a few hours ago, with his friend from another life, completely messing with the spacetime continuum. Something about this moment makes one both quick to recount the past and project onto an uncertain future. But for now, for the sake of my own sanity, I will keep to what I know. That is, to bid farewell to this summer as a series of unbelievable memories.
On an eventful Wednesday afternoon, after an eventful early-summer week, I came upon a screaming bunch of hoodlums standing in a circle in the parking lot of a Lutheran Church. Their apparent lack of civilized communication skills, alongside seemingly naive ambition and excitement, had me seriously concerned about the remainder of the time I was about to spend with them. As it turned out, most of them could actually communicate effectively, and all embodied a unique and undying spirit that could have sustained the group far beyond the following ten weeks. Some made me laugh, many nearly drove me insane, but I found far more calming voices, and even more motivating spirits, to keep me going on even the worst days. I cannot say I ever found a confidant within the group, and often regret never doing more to build strong and lasting connections, but was often comforted to share special moments (be they good or bad). We may not have been best friends, but there were still many moments of solidarity. And in solidarity, the path certainly became more clear.
And so I will miss them all. What a group. They all gave me a reason to get up in the morning, because it was them who made me aware of what I could do and could accomplish. There was no fierce competition (except during "Assassins"), we all had different reasons for having the same goal, and we were unstoppable. I will miss the comedy of Kathy, Zach, Kevin, Jessie, Ian, Quang, and Christopher, who made me laugh probably more than I'm willing to admit. I will miss Isaiah, Arianna, and J-Muffin, who gave me a reason to keep pedaling, harder and harder. I will miss Erik, Joy, Anson, and Derek, who were always kind and generous. I will miss yelling at John R to get up in the morning. I will miss Laura, Kristen, Lindsey, Bobby, Reed, Michelle, Dan, Kim, Pen, and Dae, who always kept things interesting in their own unique ways. And I will miss Katrina, Craig, Sharon, and Kate, who kept me sane.
Indeed there was a huge support network within the group, but it was what extended outside that made me proud to call myself a member of Bike and Build, and always made my blog postings worthwhile. This blog has always been not just about updating any and all who wish to read about the days in the life of a cross-country cyclist, it has been an outlet for some of the thoughts I keep pent up all day. My writing too keeps me sane, allows me to gather up the pieces of a day or few, reconciling them into palatable memory. Though my thoughts were never all here, I'd say these entries have been sometimes obsessively detailed, and it makes me feel content to know there are people out there who enjoy reading what I have to say. From my father, whose pride and encouragement were persistent, and my mother, who constantly worried about me, to Arianna's mother and grandfather, Derek's mother, all of Anson's family, Craig's dad, Joy's mom, and the other family members I've yet to know, you all kept me writing in addition to riding. I even heard encouragement from people I've never met, people who stumbled on my blog randomly, or followed it after hearing about the organization. The breadth of investment has been overwhelming and I cannot thank you all enough for your love and support.
Finally, I want to refer you back to my first post. After crossing the country, much of what I said back then I still feel very strong about, perhaps even more so. Now I am more encouraged by the human spirit than I have ever been, but am still concerned that we are not doing enough to support each other, that the spirit of competition has hindered the spirit of camaraderie. The work we have done with Bike and Build has certainly been a great deed, but never great enough to ease our burning consciences. I hope at least, from this blog, and our spreading the word, that consciousness will grow and good deeds will become more widespread. Problems will persist, but they will only get bigger with apathy.
It is with sadness that I bid farewell to all of you, those whose faces I know well and those I've never met. But the time is right, and the transition is fitting. I will pass now into a world where I hope, one day, I can use these experiences from Bike and Build much more extensively and effectively. Thank you again for your support. Keep in touch, if you can (sjhought@umich.edu).
And we were free to go...
29 August 2008
27 August 2008
relief
Well, if you haven't guessed it by now, we've made it. Trip complete. Almost...
It's been a few days since the ceremonial end to the ride, but I'm still in Vancouver with many of the remaining Bike and Build-ers. We're staying at a Salvation Army church and emergency homeless shelter. The shelter is closed for the summer, so no homeless are staying with us, however they do still open the building up for church and food services. And there are several homeless shelters neighboring the building, so it is an interesting experience. Nobody really bothers us, and the people who run the facility are really nice, so I've felt pretty comfortable there for the past two nights. More about that later.
So, on being done. What a relief. I don't know, I haven't felt the excitement of having just completed a whirlwind bike ride across the US, and BC. I'm happy to be off the road, especially after two final days of dodging insane Richmond/Vancouver traffic, although it does feel a bit strange. It's been two days since our final ride, and I'm feeling a bit sluggish, like I need to get back on my bike to feel better. My body is telling me to get up, put my jersey and chamois on, and get on the road. But I can't, my bike's already in a box, ready to head back to Ann Arbor. I think, probably as soon as I get back to Ann Arbor, I'll probably hit the road for more riding. Its like a drug, those exercise endorphines....I think my body is going through withdrawal or something.
So not too much emotion for me...at least not yet. We all ended our ride at a beach in Stanley Park, beside downtown Vancouver. Most were elated, throwing their bodies into the water, champagne into the air (which they either bought or had donated), and cake at each other. Not me (thought I did get caked while on the phone with my grandparents). The extent of my celebrating consisted of me picking up my bike, walking to the water, contemplating my next move, then tossing it in. And again, for a photo, I hurled it in, much like I had done the day prior (though not in frustration). I was the only one to actually fully submerge my bike, probably a stupid idea, but the thing is screwed up enough already. A little salt water won't hurt...
Now, many of us have spent a couple days in the city. Our accomodations are simple, even meager, but I've been comfortable here. The Salvation Army had us for lunch yesterday at an amazing facility called Belkin House, a shelter, counseling, training and rehabilitation center for people "at risk due to homelessness". I refrain from calling it a homeless shelter, and refrain from calling any of the residents homeless, because it was clear to me that they were there to try to turn their lives around. And the facility was absolutely incredible. Probably something we'd never see in the states, at least it wouldn't be so well-funded by the government (partly due to our lacking universal health care).
So Belkin House functions in many capacities: as an emergency shelter for those off the streets, as a refugee shelter for those fleeing other countries (those rooms were NICE), as a shelter for displaced/battered women and children, as a rehabilitation center for convicted criminals (they have a separate detox center), and it even has leasable rooms for those looking to get back on their feet. There are 44 male and 26 female shelter beds (yes beds...with $700 mattresses...no joke), 30 beds for male federal offenders (called CRF), as well as 92 male and 16 female (+ children) supported housing. The supported housing is really nice, probably nicer than most dorm rooms, with in-room bathrooms, microwaves, mini-fridges, and storage. All CRF and supported housing residents are assigned a "counselor", are required to take various life/work skills classes, and have access to the internet and resources to make positive steps toward greater independence. There is even a work out facility, ping-pong and pool tables, a library, and lots and lots of puzzles. Oh, and they get fed too. The Salvation Army is a Christian mission, but none of the residents are required to participate in the spiritual aspects of Belkin House.
This visit was definitely one of the highlights of the trip, and a perfect experience to close everything out. It made me feel really great about having just a mat, sleeping bag and pillow to sleep on the floor, and incredibly grateful to all the amazing people who have taken us in along the way. Not only could we not have completed this trip without them, but I really don't think, at least from my perspective, we could have come to understand the need to pay it forward, so to speak. And not just during the trip, but hopefully for a long time ahead. Sometimes I think we took our hosts for granted, like we came to expect consistent hospitality, but going to Belkin House yesterday really reaffirmed my appreciation for all the people working hard to make good in their lives, and all the people working hard to help them out.
As for the rest of my time in Vancouver, I'll probably just grab some lunch, write some postcards, and head to the post office. Maybe I'll walk around a little bit, but I really just think my exploration of this city will have to wait until another time (I'll be back here, right?). My impressions of it have been mixed (I'm kind of equating it with Boston right now), and a more in-depth visit may change my mind. I don't know, its a very residential city, and a seemingly new one. Not that there isn't history here, I'm just not sure I'm finding a certain character that makes this place stand out. Aesthetically and culturally it seems the city is following a grossly capitalist model...rapid architecture for the homogeneous masses. Though it is evident that Vancouver is an extremely diverse city, I can't seem to find those ethnic roots anywhere...the Chinatown seems amazing, but everything else seems to be a watered-down version of something else. I mean, I'm sure its a perfectly fitting place to live, but is Vancouver just another generic city? Am I only looking at the surface? Somebody, feel free to change my mind.
One thing I've found absolutely haunting about this city is the way it glows at night. I've grown so used to high-voltage urbanism, other cities in a near panic of light, that I was really amazed at the simultaneously eerie and relaxing glow created by the predominantly residential skyline. The absolutely garish glass and concrete towers disappear at night, revealing rather thousands of candles floating in air, sometimes in a sea of mist. It's both fantastic and disorienting.
As for Bike and Build, our numbers are dwindling. Some left yesterday, some are probably leaving as I speak, and I will be leaving in about three hours. At long last, we all must get on with our lives (well, most of us). Seeing everyone depart is sad for sure, however I think we all need it. I have a few days in Seattle, where I will sleep in a real bed and take a real shower, then it's back to Ann Arbor. Oh jeez.
I'll be back in a day or two to wrap up the trip, and the blog. Don't touch that dial.
It's been a few days since the ceremonial end to the ride, but I'm still in Vancouver with many of the remaining Bike and Build-ers. We're staying at a Salvation Army church and emergency homeless shelter. The shelter is closed for the summer, so no homeless are staying with us, however they do still open the building up for church and food services. And there are several homeless shelters neighboring the building, so it is an interesting experience. Nobody really bothers us, and the people who run the facility are really nice, so I've felt pretty comfortable there for the past two nights. More about that later.
So, on being done. What a relief. I don't know, I haven't felt the excitement of having just completed a whirlwind bike ride across the US, and BC. I'm happy to be off the road, especially after two final days of dodging insane Richmond/Vancouver traffic, although it does feel a bit strange. It's been two days since our final ride, and I'm feeling a bit sluggish, like I need to get back on my bike to feel better. My body is telling me to get up, put my jersey and chamois on, and get on the road. But I can't, my bike's already in a box, ready to head back to Ann Arbor. I think, probably as soon as I get back to Ann Arbor, I'll probably hit the road for more riding. Its like a drug, those exercise endorphines....I think my body is going through withdrawal or something.
So not too much emotion for me...at least not yet. We all ended our ride at a beach in Stanley Park, beside downtown Vancouver. Most were elated, throwing their bodies into the water, champagne into the air (which they either bought or had donated), and cake at each other. Not me (thought I did get caked while on the phone with my grandparents). The extent of my celebrating consisted of me picking up my bike, walking to the water, contemplating my next move, then tossing it in. And again, for a photo, I hurled it in, much like I had done the day prior (though not in frustration). I was the only one to actually fully submerge my bike, probably a stupid idea, but the thing is screwed up enough already. A little salt water won't hurt...
Now, many of us have spent a couple days in the city. Our accomodations are simple, even meager, but I've been comfortable here. The Salvation Army had us for lunch yesterday at an amazing facility called Belkin House, a shelter, counseling, training and rehabilitation center for people "at risk due to homelessness". I refrain from calling it a homeless shelter, and refrain from calling any of the residents homeless, because it was clear to me that they were there to try to turn their lives around. And the facility was absolutely incredible. Probably something we'd never see in the states, at least it wouldn't be so well-funded by the government (partly due to our lacking universal health care).
So Belkin House functions in many capacities: as an emergency shelter for those off the streets, as a refugee shelter for those fleeing other countries (those rooms were NICE), as a shelter for displaced/battered women and children, as a rehabilitation center for convicted criminals (they have a separate detox center), and it even has leasable rooms for those looking to get back on their feet. There are 44 male and 26 female shelter beds (yes beds...with $700 mattresses...no joke), 30 beds for male federal offenders (called CRF), as well as 92 male and 16 female (+ children) supported housing. The supported housing is really nice, probably nicer than most dorm rooms, with in-room bathrooms, microwaves, mini-fridges, and storage. All CRF and supported housing residents are assigned a "counselor", are required to take various life/work skills classes, and have access to the internet and resources to make positive steps toward greater independence. There is even a work out facility, ping-pong and pool tables, a library, and lots and lots of puzzles. Oh, and they get fed too. The Salvation Army is a Christian mission, but none of the residents are required to participate in the spiritual aspects of Belkin House.
This visit was definitely one of the highlights of the trip, and a perfect experience to close everything out. It made me feel really great about having just a mat, sleeping bag and pillow to sleep on the floor, and incredibly grateful to all the amazing people who have taken us in along the way. Not only could we not have completed this trip without them, but I really don't think, at least from my perspective, we could have come to understand the need to pay it forward, so to speak. And not just during the trip, but hopefully for a long time ahead. Sometimes I think we took our hosts for granted, like we came to expect consistent hospitality, but going to Belkin House yesterday really reaffirmed my appreciation for all the people working hard to make good in their lives, and all the people working hard to help them out.
As for the rest of my time in Vancouver, I'll probably just grab some lunch, write some postcards, and head to the post office. Maybe I'll walk around a little bit, but I really just think my exploration of this city will have to wait until another time (I'll be back here, right?). My impressions of it have been mixed (I'm kind of equating it with Boston right now), and a more in-depth visit may change my mind. I don't know, its a very residential city, and a seemingly new one. Not that there isn't history here, I'm just not sure I'm finding a certain character that makes this place stand out. Aesthetically and culturally it seems the city is following a grossly capitalist model...rapid architecture for the homogeneous masses. Though it is evident that Vancouver is an extremely diverse city, I can't seem to find those ethnic roots anywhere...the Chinatown seems amazing, but everything else seems to be a watered-down version of something else. I mean, I'm sure its a perfectly fitting place to live, but is Vancouver just another generic city? Am I only looking at the surface? Somebody, feel free to change my mind.
One thing I've found absolutely haunting about this city is the way it glows at night. I've grown so used to high-voltage urbanism, other cities in a near panic of light, that I was really amazed at the simultaneously eerie and relaxing glow created by the predominantly residential skyline. The absolutely garish glass and concrete towers disappear at night, revealing rather thousands of candles floating in air, sometimes in a sea of mist. It's both fantastic and disorienting.
As for Bike and Build, our numbers are dwindling. Some left yesterday, some are probably leaving as I speak, and I will be leaving in about three hours. At long last, we all must get on with our lives (well, most of us). Seeing everyone depart is sad for sure, however I think we all need it. I have a few days in Seattle, where I will sleep in a real bed and take a real shower, then it's back to Ann Arbor. Oh jeez.
I'll be back in a day or two to wrap up the trip, and the blog. Don't touch that dial.
25 August 2008
here we go...
It's the morning of our final day, at long last, and I have some good news.
Joy made the cue sheet for today, and was able to knock our mileage down to only 13!!! Which means we aren't getting on the road until 11:30, haha. Some people are still sleeping. I'm going to sit around trying not to go insane thinking about the inevitable.
Joy made the cue sheet for today, and was able to knock our mileage down to only 13!!! Which means we aren't getting on the road until 11:30, haha. Some people are still sleeping. I'm going to sit around trying not to go insane thinking about the inevitable.
24 August 2008
morale, don't fail me now!
I woke up this morning to various sounds of jubilance...that we would be crossing into Canada, that our trip would soon be over...so much, it made me want to vomit...or at least not get too far ahead of myself (well, yes, vomit). If my reaction wasn't omen enough, the jubilance quickly faded into misery as the rain clouds, confusing roads, and dangerous/insane traffic persisted. And in the end, the ride turned out far more miserable, and far more frightening, than any of us anticipated.
By miserable, I mean I actually picked up my bike and hurled it into a ditch...not once, but twice. (Damages from the second hurl have yet to be assessed.)
So let's start from the beginning, eh? Well, in the beginning there was rain. Not a deluge, just a drizzle. Always a perfect way to start the morning on a bad note. Leaving Washington was not too bad, as we all were still relatively rested and excited for the new country to come. There was some traffic heading to the border, and through the morning I remained pretty uptight, as everyone else around me seemed prematurely relaxed, as if the ride was in the bag.
The rain stopped as we hit the border; false hope for the optimists of the group. The crossing was smooth, and there was a great sign on the other side for a nice photo op (apparently British Columbia is "The Best Place on Earth"...haven't sold me yet). So I guess, from the morning, I was feeling a bit better. However, I had not eaten much for breakfast (a bowl of cereal), and was hoping there'd be a cafe within reach. Unfortunately, we left Lynden on a Sunday, when absolutely nothing is open (Dutch tradition, apparently), and entered the farmland of BC.
For the next 15 miles, the rain picked up, the road became progressively more hilly, and my stomach started to grumble. At one point I hit a pothole and almost crashed, surely setting the tone, and my temperament, for the rest of the ride. From thereon, everything was uncertain, everything was unsafe, every muscle in my body was tense, and every word from my mouth was, if not openly hostile, then implicitly so.
At mile 25 we finally reached a Starbucks, where I thought I might be able to shelter myself from the cool rain. Inside, the air was colder than out, and my feathers were ruffled. I still got a hot chocolate and some baked goods, but sat outside, where the air was only slightly less uncomfortable. At this point, my clothes were already drenched, and I still had 30 miles to go. Without the rain, the ride would have been much more manageable
At mile 28, the route became confusing. Routes 99 and 99A seem very much the same on a traffic sign, with only one letter difference. Some opted for 99, and realized it went directly onto a highway, but 99A was the correct route (still a highway, but not divided), with an occasionally wide bike lane and persistent traffic.
At mile 28.5, on an off-ramp to 99A (yes, it was that busy), a car was trying to exit as I was passing, and almost veered directly into me. After giving him an angry look and gesture (nothing obscene), he proceeded to call me an asshole from out his window as he sped past me on the right, off the ramp. I had the right of way, buddy.
And at mile 29, I got a flat. Already completely frustrated, I lost it, picked up my bike and, like I said before, literally hurled it into a ditch. It probably spun a full 360 in the air before crashing to the ground. After a moment to scream a bit (well, a lot), and calm down a bit, I changed the tube and got on my way. It was still raining, and I did not want to have to stop again, for the sake of warmth.
At mile 36, the pseudo-bike lane (of the many we had today...just glorified shoulders) shifted to the opposite side of the street, and I followed it to a narrow 4-lane bridge with an insane amount of traffic. We had about 4 feet elevated on which to ride our bikes (a sidewalk, basically), directly to the right of which were cars careening in the opposite direction, spraying water up into my already soiled face.
At mile 39, the bike lane disappeared, and I was left to my own devices on a busy 4-lane road, yet again. The road led directly into a mess of a highway interchange, where I feared for my life with every car that zoomed past me.
At mile 40, I missed an exit (yes, an EXIT...we were at an interchange) and continued 4 miles on a road (yet another busy one) that I was not supposed to be on. I crossed the city limits of Vancouver (where I should have STAYED...) and decided I probably was not going to find the turn I was looking for, turned around, and went back to look for it. With some help, I managed my way back to that insane interchange, and found a bike route that led me to the road I needed. At this point, I had gone more than 8 miles out of my way.
The rest of the route was pretty straightforward, but the rain and traffic persisted, and I was still frustrated to say the least. By mile 60 (of what was supposed to be only 55), I was ready to be finished, but knew the church was within reach. I had calmed down a lot, and when I saw Joy and Sharon, felt good that the day was almost over. Of course I got a bit ahead of myself....
At mile 63, I noticed I was passing and had just missed the turn into the church. I pulled off into a driveway on the right, hit a lip in the curb, and crashed to the ground, scraping up my ankle, knee, hip and shoulder. The tempers flared again, and I became so fed up with the day that I picked up my bike and hurled it again onto the sidewalk. Like clockwork, I've managed a crash every five weeks, all onto my already screwed-up right shoulder. Joy and Sharon came over to make sure I was okay, and I just screamed at them. I let all my anger from the day (and possibly from the entire trip) go, then stomped across the street to the church, where I greeted church members with restrained hostility, and threw my bike down again before going inside to lick my wounds.
I continued to shiver until the van came with dry clothes and to take us to showers.I don't think I have ever been that angry on this trip. And I don't know what damage my bike sustained from the crash, and the second and third smashes. Will deal with it tomorrow.
Now we're at a really great church, The Tapestry Church, and after having a warm shower, a great meal, and wireless internet, I'm ready to crash...onto my thermarest, that is. Of course it's after 11 now, and everyone just got back from a bar...celebrating prematurely...and making it rather loud. I cannot wait for peace and quiet. After today, I've never been more ready to be rid of this group, and to be rid of the potential horrors of cycling, once and for all. They're good people, some of whom I really respect, but it's been far too much for far too long. I don't fare well in an environment like this.
We have about 25 miles to Stanley Park in Vancouver tomorrow, even though we basically made it to the coast two days ago. The city limits are only a couple miles from here, but we have to make it all the way to the other side as safely as possible, I guess. Whatever. I just want to be done. No jubilance from this guy...not yet.
By miserable, I mean I actually picked up my bike and hurled it into a ditch...not once, but twice. (Damages from the second hurl have yet to be assessed.)
So let's start from the beginning, eh? Well, in the beginning there was rain. Not a deluge, just a drizzle. Always a perfect way to start the morning on a bad note. Leaving Washington was not too bad, as we all were still relatively rested and excited for the new country to come. There was some traffic heading to the border, and through the morning I remained pretty uptight, as everyone else around me seemed prematurely relaxed, as if the ride was in the bag.
The rain stopped as we hit the border; false hope for the optimists of the group. The crossing was smooth, and there was a great sign on the other side for a nice photo op (apparently British Columbia is "The Best Place on Earth"...haven't sold me yet). So I guess, from the morning, I was feeling a bit better. However, I had not eaten much for breakfast (a bowl of cereal), and was hoping there'd be a cafe within reach. Unfortunately, we left Lynden on a Sunday, when absolutely nothing is open (Dutch tradition, apparently), and entered the farmland of BC.
For the next 15 miles, the rain picked up, the road became progressively more hilly, and my stomach started to grumble. At one point I hit a pothole and almost crashed, surely setting the tone, and my temperament, for the rest of the ride. From thereon, everything was uncertain, everything was unsafe, every muscle in my body was tense, and every word from my mouth was, if not openly hostile, then implicitly so.
At mile 25 we finally reached a Starbucks, where I thought I might be able to shelter myself from the cool rain. Inside, the air was colder than out, and my feathers were ruffled. I still got a hot chocolate and some baked goods, but sat outside, where the air was only slightly less uncomfortable. At this point, my clothes were already drenched, and I still had 30 miles to go. Without the rain, the ride would have been much more manageable
At mile 28, the route became confusing. Routes 99 and 99A seem very much the same on a traffic sign, with only one letter difference. Some opted for 99, and realized it went directly onto a highway, but 99A was the correct route (still a highway, but not divided), with an occasionally wide bike lane and persistent traffic.
At mile 28.5, on an off-ramp to 99A (yes, it was that busy), a car was trying to exit as I was passing, and almost veered directly into me. After giving him an angry look and gesture (nothing obscene), he proceeded to call me an asshole from out his window as he sped past me on the right, off the ramp. I had the right of way, buddy.
And at mile 29, I got a flat. Already completely frustrated, I lost it, picked up my bike and, like I said before, literally hurled it into a ditch. It probably spun a full 360 in the air before crashing to the ground. After a moment to scream a bit (well, a lot), and calm down a bit, I changed the tube and got on my way. It was still raining, and I did not want to have to stop again, for the sake of warmth.
At mile 36, the pseudo-bike lane (of the many we had today...just glorified shoulders) shifted to the opposite side of the street, and I followed it to a narrow 4-lane bridge with an insane amount of traffic. We had about 4 feet elevated on which to ride our bikes (a sidewalk, basically), directly to the right of which were cars careening in the opposite direction, spraying water up into my already soiled face.
At mile 39, the bike lane disappeared, and I was left to my own devices on a busy 4-lane road, yet again. The road led directly into a mess of a highway interchange, where I feared for my life with every car that zoomed past me.
At mile 40, I missed an exit (yes, an EXIT...we were at an interchange) and continued 4 miles on a road (yet another busy one) that I was not supposed to be on. I crossed the city limits of Vancouver (where I should have STAYED...) and decided I probably was not going to find the turn I was looking for, turned around, and went back to look for it. With some help, I managed my way back to that insane interchange, and found a bike route that led me to the road I needed. At this point, I had gone more than 8 miles out of my way.
The rest of the route was pretty straightforward, but the rain and traffic persisted, and I was still frustrated to say the least. By mile 60 (of what was supposed to be only 55), I was ready to be finished, but knew the church was within reach. I had calmed down a lot, and when I saw Joy and Sharon, felt good that the day was almost over. Of course I got a bit ahead of myself....
At mile 63, I noticed I was passing and had just missed the turn into the church. I pulled off into a driveway on the right, hit a lip in the curb, and crashed to the ground, scraping up my ankle, knee, hip and shoulder. The tempers flared again, and I became so fed up with the day that I picked up my bike and hurled it again onto the sidewalk. Like clockwork, I've managed a crash every five weeks, all onto my already screwed-up right shoulder. Joy and Sharon came over to make sure I was okay, and I just screamed at them. I let all my anger from the day (and possibly from the entire trip) go, then stomped across the street to the church, where I greeted church members with restrained hostility, and threw my bike down again before going inside to lick my wounds.
I continued to shiver until the van came with dry clothes and to take us to showers.I don't think I have ever been that angry on this trip. And I don't know what damage my bike sustained from the crash, and the second and third smashes. Will deal with it tomorrow.
Now we're at a really great church, The Tapestry Church, and after having a warm shower, a great meal, and wireless internet, I'm ready to crash...onto my thermarest, that is. Of course it's after 11 now, and everyone just got back from a bar...celebrating prematurely...and making it rather loud. I cannot wait for peace and quiet. After today, I've never been more ready to be rid of this group, and to be rid of the potential horrors of cycling, once and for all. They're good people, some of whom I really respect, but it's been far too much for far too long. I don't fare well in an environment like this.
We have about 25 miles to Stanley Park in Vancouver tomorrow, even though we basically made it to the coast two days ago. The city limits are only a couple miles from here, but we have to make it all the way to the other side as safely as possible, I guess. Whatever. I just want to be done. No jubilance from this guy...not yet.
23 August 2008
denial...
This is nonsense. I am not suddenly on the other side of the country, am I? No, I refuse to believe it.
Don't tell me that I just rode 3,900 miles. Don't tell me that, in the past five days, we climbed over 15,000 feet to cross six mountain passes. Don't tell me that I braved extreme heat and extreme cold; extreme rain and extreme wind, thunder, and lightning; extreme traffic and extreme wildlife. Don't tell me about all that has crossed my eyes, from the flattest flatlands to the highest mountaintops. Don't tell me about the time I nearly died in a thunderstorm (more than once), or the time I never felt more alive crossing the Rockies.
As far as I'm concerned, this did not happen.
You see, I have been living day-to-day for the past two-and-a-half months. I've put all the good and the bad behind me to focus on the stretch of road yet to come, every goal very precisely laid out, so as not to get too far ahead of, or too far behind, myself. And for me, the only way to make it to Vancouver by Monday is to first make it through mile one on our ride to Richmond tomorrow.
It is a coping mechanism of sorts, structuring my entire mode of being around a very specific goal, a goal that culminates in a much grander accomplishment. And for me, that micro-structure blinds me from the hyper-ambition of a "bigger picture", keeping me grounded, keeping me modest, and keeping me sane. For the past two-and-a-half months, I know the rest of my life exists somewhere in time, but it does not matter for the present moment in my life. I have all the tools and skills and knowledge and strength and motivation to make it from mile one to mile two. At least that is the hope.
Greg LeMond once said, "It never gets easier, you just go faster." Of course I'm not about to ride in the Tour de France (despite all the mention from passers-by that France is in the opposite direction...thanks for the redundant geography lesson), much less win it, but I do know that every day presents an almost overwhelming challenge. To think solely of the challenge of biking from Portsmouth, NH to Vancouver, BC would be to think like a defeatist. Because, somewhere in the middle, you do get stronger, you do go faster, and you are able to realize your ability to cover more, and more, and more ground. Then suddenly, you're rich...rich in ability, and rich in experience.
But for now, I'd like to remain meek.
We have about 55 miles into Richmond tomorrow. From Lynden, Richmond is only about an hour by car (plus customs), but it will take us probably as much as six. The ride is pretty flat, with views of the Coast Mountains to the north (the subrange just north of Vancouver, for which the postcards display well, is called the North Shore Mountains) and Cascades to the east. It will start relatively rural, but become urban (and densely so) very quickly. Our trip leader Joy and Bike and Build Director Brendan Newman drove the route today, and said it was tough even in the van. Which scares me. We will have lots of turns, we will have lots of traffic (including a six lane highway over a bridge, which is the only way into Richmond from the south.
But I hope our view of the mountains will keep us sane. From Lynden, Mt. Baker is amazingly clear, and will be all the way to Vancouver. I'm sure it's not as spectacular as Mt. Rainier, but still is pretty great to look at, especially knowing that it is, at long last, to our east. Hopefully, for the next 80 miles, I won't look back too much. After all, there is so much to anticipate, and so much we're still unable to account for.
We haven't accomplished anything, yet.
Don't tell me that I just rode 3,900 miles. Don't tell me that, in the past five days, we climbed over 15,000 feet to cross six mountain passes. Don't tell me that I braved extreme heat and extreme cold; extreme rain and extreme wind, thunder, and lightning; extreme traffic and extreme wildlife. Don't tell me about all that has crossed my eyes, from the flattest flatlands to the highest mountaintops. Don't tell me about the time I nearly died in a thunderstorm (more than once), or the time I never felt more alive crossing the Rockies.
As far as I'm concerned, this did not happen.
You see, I have been living day-to-day for the past two-and-a-half months. I've put all the good and the bad behind me to focus on the stretch of road yet to come, every goal very precisely laid out, so as not to get too far ahead of, or too far behind, myself. And for me, the only way to make it to Vancouver by Monday is to first make it through mile one on our ride to Richmond tomorrow.
It is a coping mechanism of sorts, structuring my entire mode of being around a very specific goal, a goal that culminates in a much grander accomplishment. And for me, that micro-structure blinds me from the hyper-ambition of a "bigger picture", keeping me grounded, keeping me modest, and keeping me sane. For the past two-and-a-half months, I know the rest of my life exists somewhere in time, but it does not matter for the present moment in my life. I have all the tools and skills and knowledge and strength and motivation to make it from mile one to mile two. At least that is the hope.
Greg LeMond once said, "It never gets easier, you just go faster." Of course I'm not about to ride in the Tour de France (despite all the mention from passers-by that France is in the opposite direction...thanks for the redundant geography lesson), much less win it, but I do know that every day presents an almost overwhelming challenge. To think solely of the challenge of biking from Portsmouth, NH to Vancouver, BC would be to think like a defeatist. Because, somewhere in the middle, you do get stronger, you do go faster, and you are able to realize your ability to cover more, and more, and more ground. Then suddenly, you're rich...rich in ability, and rich in experience.
But for now, I'd like to remain meek.
We have about 55 miles into Richmond tomorrow. From Lynden, Richmond is only about an hour by car (plus customs), but it will take us probably as much as six. The ride is pretty flat, with views of the Coast Mountains to the north (the subrange just north of Vancouver, for which the postcards display well, is called the North Shore Mountains) and Cascades to the east. It will start relatively rural, but become urban (and densely so) very quickly. Our trip leader Joy and Bike and Build Director Brendan Newman drove the route today, and said it was tough even in the van. Which scares me. We will have lots of turns, we will have lots of traffic (including a six lane highway over a bridge, which is the only way into Richmond from the south.
But I hope our view of the mountains will keep us sane. From Lynden, Mt. Baker is amazingly clear, and will be all the way to Vancouver. I'm sure it's not as spectacular as Mt. Rainier, but still is pretty great to look at, especially knowing that it is, at long last, to our east. Hopefully, for the next 80 miles, I won't look back too much. After all, there is so much to anticipate, and so much we're still unable to account for.
We haven't accomplished anything, yet.
22 August 2008
The Passes of Washington State
For the sake of my archive, this is what we've climbed over the past five days:
8/17 - Flowery Trail Pass - 4,046 ft - 2,000' up, 2,500' down
8/18 - Sherman Pass - 5,575 ft - 4,300' up, 2,000' down
8/19 - Wauconda Pass - 4,310 ft - 1,800' up, 3,500' down
8/20 - Loup Loup Pass - 4,020 ft - 3,200' up, 2,400' down
8/21 - Washington Pass - 5,477 ft - 3,300' up...
8/21 - Rainy Pass - 4,875 ft - 6 miles from Washington Pass - 4,600' down
**NOTE: Anson observed it was 41 degrees at the top of Washington Pass, and 43 degrees at the top of Rainy Pass at the time we arrived. We rode through light drizzle, and were thus wet, but later riders found themselves riding through light snow. My toes became numb on the ascent of both, and for the three miles of downhill before climbing to Rainy, my hands became cold and numb almost to the point of not being able to grip my brakes. Other riders were cold to the point of barely being able to speak. Many of us (Anson, Bobby, Isaiah, Ian, and myself) flagged down a passing truck carrying an RV, who let us warm up inside the RV. Though many riders decided to brave another 17 miles of potentially debilitating downhill cold, Sharon, Ian, Isaiah, and I accepted their offer of a ride down the hill to our van. Our bikes were left at the top, and Ian and Isaiah eventually returned to the top (via our van, as it drove to warm up other riders), but I did not want to risk my safety to go down that hill, so I did not complete 17 miles of the ride that day. In fact just the thought of completing that hill was enough to push me to tears. It was not worth it, and others agreed with me. Besides, the climb was what REALLY counted, and I've probably done more than enough extra miles earlier in the trip to make up for what was lost.
8/17 - Flowery Trail Pass - 4,046 ft - 2,000' up, 2,500' down
8/18 - Sherman Pass - 5,575 ft - 4,300' up, 2,000' down
8/19 - Wauconda Pass - 4,310 ft - 1,800' up, 3,500' down
8/20 - Loup Loup Pass - 4,020 ft - 3,200' up, 2,400' down
8/21 - Washington Pass - 5,477 ft - 3,300' up...
8/21 - Rainy Pass - 4,875 ft - 6 miles from Washington Pass - 4,600' down
**NOTE: Anson observed it was 41 degrees at the top of Washington Pass, and 43 degrees at the top of Rainy Pass at the time we arrived. We rode through light drizzle, and were thus wet, but later riders found themselves riding through light snow. My toes became numb on the ascent of both, and for the three miles of downhill before climbing to Rainy, my hands became cold and numb almost to the point of not being able to grip my brakes. Other riders were cold to the point of barely being able to speak. Many of us (Anson, Bobby, Isaiah, Ian, and myself) flagged down a passing truck carrying an RV, who let us warm up inside the RV. Though many riders decided to brave another 17 miles of potentially debilitating downhill cold, Sharon, Ian, Isaiah, and I accepted their offer of a ride down the hill to our van. Our bikes were left at the top, and Ian and Isaiah eventually returned to the top (via our van, as it drove to warm up other riders), but I did not want to risk my safety to go down that hill, so I did not complete 17 miles of the ride that day. In fact just the thought of completing that hill was enough to push me to tears. It was not worth it, and others agreed with me. Besides, the climb was what REALLY counted, and I've probably done more than enough extra miles earlier in the trip to make up for what was lost.
20 August 2008
wild, wild...pacific northwest?
When I think of cowpokes in spurs, gun slings at their hips, staring each other down on dusty, windblown streets, I don't normally think of Washington state.
But here it is, Winthrop, Washington. An old wild west town, this place is everything you'd expect from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.
But I don't have much time, actually only about 5 minutes until I'm kicked off. I'm at the library in Winthrop, after poking around a bit, and still have 15 miles left in my ride. We're on our way up to the middle of nowhere, just outside North Cascades National Park, where we're expecting pretty primitive camping conditions. By that I mean the only running water around will be the river we're pitching our tents next to. It's been raining on and off today, so lets hope things will stay dry overnight. We have to camp again tomorrow, and I'd really like to not have a soaked sleeping bag.
Gotta give my goodbyes. The past couple passes have been manageable, and we've ridden literally into the desert of Washington. Like seriously, I saw tumbleweed. Things have cooled down a lot now. We only have two more passes, Washington and Rainy tomorrow, then its pretty much downhill to Rockport, where we're supposed to have a bit more civilized camping arrangements. From there, the coast!
Thirty seconds left, must give my goodbyes.
But here it is, Winthrop, Washington. An old wild west town, this place is everything you'd expect from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.
But I don't have much time, actually only about 5 minutes until I'm kicked off. I'm at the library in Winthrop, after poking around a bit, and still have 15 miles left in my ride. We're on our way up to the middle of nowhere, just outside North Cascades National Park, where we're expecting pretty primitive camping conditions. By that I mean the only running water around will be the river we're pitching our tents next to. It's been raining on and off today, so lets hope things will stay dry overnight. We have to camp again tomorrow, and I'd really like to not have a soaked sleeping bag.
Gotta give my goodbyes. The past couple passes have been manageable, and we've ridden literally into the desert of Washington. Like seriously, I saw tumbleweed. Things have cooled down a lot now. We only have two more passes, Washington and Rainy tomorrow, then its pretty much downhill to Rockport, where we're supposed to have a bit more civilized camping arrangements. From there, the coast!
Thirty seconds left, must give my goodbyes.
18 August 2008
get your @$$ over the pass
Hey all, so sorry to not be in touch for a few days, as we have not had easy access to internet.
We'll, we're out of the great state of Idaho, it was a quick one, but Sandpoint was a good stop. We got to do siding at our build on Saturday, and basically got the entire house done by midday. Woooo.
But we're in Washington now, and so far I LOVE it. Seriously. Well, kinda. If it weren't so damn hot, I'd say it's pretty great. Its been over 100 the past three days, so we've been getting up early to try to beat the heat...it's not really working.
Why is it great, you ask? Well, actually, I don't really know. They have...shoulders. And lots of mountains...like a lot. The past two days we've climbed a total of about 7,000 feet and crossed both Flowery Trail Pass (4,046 ft) yesterday and Sherman Pass (5,575 ft), the highest continuously maintained road/pass in the state, today. So, needless to repeat, we've done a lot of climbing recently. For Flowery Trail, we climbed about 2,000 feet over six miles, and for Sherman, we climbed 4,500 over 22 miles, so Flowery Trail was definitely steeper. But with those climbs came a lot of sweet downhills. The one into Chewelah was 8 miles straight shot, but the one to Republic today was a little more of a tease. We went down for about 10 miles, shallower than out of Flowery Trail, no brakes needed, then came the headwind, and I had to pedal, then came another uphill, and I refused to pedal hard at all. Let's just say I was a little angry at that point, and after the previous over 20 mile climb in intense heat, just wanted to get done.
Okay, I'm rambling...lets ramble some more. Fortunately we're staying right in town, there's an organic food mart across the street, where I can buy my final round of Clif Bars, and an ice cream shop right next door with wireless internet, which is where I am right now. Its a pretty sweet deal. After my fourth flat tire in four riding days (I wanted to get all the way to Vancouver without having to change my tires, but they already have over 4,000 miles on them, and it'll have to happen tonight), and being in a pissy mood until Sherman Pass, and then again right before Republic, this town really knew how to calm my mood (completely with food).
Yesterday was better. The climb was tough, and it was hot, but the roads were really good and I was in a pretty good mood the entire day. It's amazing what a good attitude will do to make the day more manageable. When we got into Chewelah after a really nice 8 mile downhill, we were very warmly greeted by the amazing people at St. Paul's Lutheran Church. They had a potluck around 12, which I didn't really make it in for, arranged to have the city pool open for us at 2, cooked hot dogs for us at 3, and had a big dinner at 6. AND they displayed all the t-shirts they'd received from Bike and Build over the previous six years they hosted us, as well as some photos from previous years. There was a nice cool creek, and a cool air-conditioned basement to sleep in. So all in all it was just a great day in general
Damn, its hot.
I gotta go, but we're riding into Omak tomorrow, apparently in the desert of Washington. It has already been really dry here, but I guess it gets drier. We have another hill to climb tomorrow, up to Wauconda Pass (4,310 ft). We're at 2,600 ft now, Omak is at 870 feet, and the climb is early, so I imagine a difficult, but still less challenging day tomorrow. It's also supposed to cool down, finally, into the 80's. Maybe (inevitably) some rain. Oh, and we're in the Cascades now, apparently. I don't know where they started, maybe at that huge river we crossed today (the Columbia)
Looking further ahead, we only have 6 riding days left, but they aren't going to be easy. Through some more mountains and parks, where we're camping, after Omak. We still have the rest of the Cascades, where we're going over two passes in one day (Washington and Rainy...sounds wet), among the daily others, as you may have already taken note of. They're only 4 miles from each other, so I imagine the climb between them won't be too bad. Apparently this side of the pass is not so bad, and the other side is basically all downhill until we get to the coast. Maybe we'll be able to see Mount Rainier on the way??
Alright, sorry for all the blabber. Gotta go.
We'll, we're out of the great state of Idaho, it was a quick one, but Sandpoint was a good stop. We got to do siding at our build on Saturday, and basically got the entire house done by midday. Woooo.
But we're in Washington now, and so far I LOVE it. Seriously. Well, kinda. If it weren't so damn hot, I'd say it's pretty great. Its been over 100 the past three days, so we've been getting up early to try to beat the heat...it's not really working.
Why is it great, you ask? Well, actually, I don't really know. They have...shoulders. And lots of mountains...like a lot. The past two days we've climbed a total of about 7,000 feet and crossed both Flowery Trail Pass (4,046 ft) yesterday and Sherman Pass (5,575 ft), the highest continuously maintained road/pass in the state, today. So, needless to repeat, we've done a lot of climbing recently. For Flowery Trail, we climbed about 2,000 feet over six miles, and for Sherman, we climbed 4,500 over 22 miles, so Flowery Trail was definitely steeper. But with those climbs came a lot of sweet downhills. The one into Chewelah was 8 miles straight shot, but the one to Republic today was a little more of a tease. We went down for about 10 miles, shallower than out of Flowery Trail, no brakes needed, then came the headwind, and I had to pedal, then came another uphill, and I refused to pedal hard at all. Let's just say I was a little angry at that point, and after the previous over 20 mile climb in intense heat, just wanted to get done.
Okay, I'm rambling...lets ramble some more. Fortunately we're staying right in town, there's an organic food mart across the street, where I can buy my final round of Clif Bars, and an ice cream shop right next door with wireless internet, which is where I am right now. Its a pretty sweet deal. After my fourth flat tire in four riding days (I wanted to get all the way to Vancouver without having to change my tires, but they already have over 4,000 miles on them, and it'll have to happen tonight), and being in a pissy mood until Sherman Pass, and then again right before Republic, this town really knew how to calm my mood (completely with food).
Yesterday was better. The climb was tough, and it was hot, but the roads were really good and I was in a pretty good mood the entire day. It's amazing what a good attitude will do to make the day more manageable. When we got into Chewelah after a really nice 8 mile downhill, we were very warmly greeted by the amazing people at St. Paul's Lutheran Church. They had a potluck around 12, which I didn't really make it in for, arranged to have the city pool open for us at 2, cooked hot dogs for us at 3, and had a big dinner at 6. AND they displayed all the t-shirts they'd received from Bike and Build over the previous six years they hosted us, as well as some photos from previous years. There was a nice cool creek, and a cool air-conditioned basement to sleep in. So all in all it was just a great day in general
Damn, its hot.
I gotta go, but we're riding into Omak tomorrow, apparently in the desert of Washington. It has already been really dry here, but I guess it gets drier. We have another hill to climb tomorrow, up to Wauconda Pass (4,310 ft). We're at 2,600 ft now, Omak is at 870 feet, and the climb is early, so I imagine a difficult, but still less challenging day tomorrow. It's also supposed to cool down, finally, into the 80's. Maybe (inevitably) some rain. Oh, and we're in the Cascades now, apparently. I don't know where they started, maybe at that huge river we crossed today (the Columbia)
Looking further ahead, we only have 6 riding days left, but they aren't going to be easy. Through some more mountains and parks, where we're camping, after Omak. We still have the rest of the Cascades, where we're going over two passes in one day (Washington and Rainy...sounds wet), among the daily others, as you may have already taken note of. They're only 4 miles from each other, so I imagine the climb between them won't be too bad. Apparently this side of the pass is not so bad, and the other side is basically all downhill until we get to the coast. Maybe we'll be able to see Mount Rainier on the way??
Alright, sorry for all the blabber. Gotta go.
15 August 2008
my favorite things
We've escaped...from Montana. After being held in purgatory for what seemed like an eternity, and more recently being pushed to our physical and mental breaking points, we've finally found our way out...
...into Idaho. Here, egomaniacal drivers in pickups tote rifles on their dashboards, and fans of Ziggy Marley come in droves to worship their [proxy?] idol. Of course, these are only my extreme initial impressions. Otherwise, Sandpoint seems like a well-equipped outdoors town (FUN FACT: Sandpoint is the headquarters of Coldwater Creek, a big women's outdoor apparel company).
We've also crossed our final time zone...Pacific Time...which means the current time (8:28) is inconsistent with my not so sudden urge to sleep.
But tonight's feature: my favorite things! To say the least, Bike & Build has taught us to work with often limited resources. In this light, I have listed eleven things, in no particular order, that I have come to appreciate more than anything else in my daily routine.
- GRASS: anything soft enough to sit on will do, however soft, plump, cushy, deep green grass is really what I crave. Give me a good patch of grass, and an amazingly relaxing rest will most certainly ensue.
- PEANUT BUTTER: Nearly 3,500 miles and about 70 peanut butter sandwiches later, I must admit I still look forward to that creamy, sometimes crunchy, peanutty goodness at every lunch stop.
- SHOULDERS: This is a two-part fav. First, my own shoulders. One may be slightly messed-up, but they keep me firmly supported on my bike and even protect my head in a fall (three times so far). Lets just say I am grateful they still function, especially after my first fall. Second, road shoulders...WIIIIIDE road shoulders. Three words: peace of mind.
- ICE: adds a bit of refreshment to a long, hot ride.
- 50 CENT "DESIGNER" SUNGLASSES: because it's not about the UV protection.
- PLUSH CARPET: it’s the Bike & Build equivalent of sleeping on a cloud.
- A FRESH COAT OF CHAMOIS CREAM: especially in cooling “eurostyle”, this stuff has the power to make any chaffing, rubbing, or pulling discomfort disappear.
- GAS STATIONS: For a quick snack, cold Gatorade, or pee emergency, these things are lifesavers. Forget the hyper-sapping of precious natural resources.
- HILLS: The odd one of the bunch, you might be thinking. But they make the ride interesting (and often absolutely gorgeous), help the time pass much faster, and there’s always a sweet downhill or two. It only took until after crossing into the Rockies for me to realize this.
- ICE CREAM: My main indulgence/vice, of many on this trip. Every night is a search for the nearest Dairy Queen or local spot. The local spots are always the best (Huckleberry and Mint Chocolate Chip mix surprisingly well), but a large M&M Blizzard with chocolate soft serve hits the spot every night…sometimes twice.
- PEOPLE: They’re not so bad…specifically the non B&B types…because without them, we’d be camping, eating pasta, and talking to the same 29 others every night.
Ten days left!
...into Idaho. Here, egomaniacal drivers in pickups tote rifles on their dashboards, and fans of Ziggy Marley come in droves to worship their [proxy?] idol. Of course, these are only my extreme initial impressions. Otherwise, Sandpoint seems like a well-equipped outdoors town (FUN FACT: Sandpoint is the headquarters of Coldwater Creek, a big women's outdoor apparel company).
We've also crossed our final time zone...Pacific Time...which means the current time (8:28) is inconsistent with my not so sudden urge to sleep.
But tonight's feature: my favorite things! To say the least, Bike & Build has taught us to work with often limited resources. In this light, I have listed eleven things, in no particular order, that I have come to appreciate more than anything else in my daily routine.
- GRASS: anything soft enough to sit on will do, however soft, plump, cushy, deep green grass is really what I crave. Give me a good patch of grass, and an amazingly relaxing rest will most certainly ensue.
- PEANUT BUTTER: Nearly 3,500 miles and about 70 peanut butter sandwiches later, I must admit I still look forward to that creamy, sometimes crunchy, peanutty goodness at every lunch stop.
- SHOULDERS: This is a two-part fav. First, my own shoulders. One may be slightly messed-up, but they keep me firmly supported on my bike and even protect my head in a fall (three times so far). Lets just say I am grateful they still function, especially after my first fall. Second, road shoulders...WIIIIIDE road shoulders. Three words: peace of mind.
- ICE: adds a bit of refreshment to a long, hot ride.
- 50 CENT "DESIGNER" SUNGLASSES: because it's not about the UV protection.
- PLUSH CARPET: it’s the Bike & Build equivalent of sleeping on a cloud.
- A FRESH COAT OF CHAMOIS CREAM: especially in cooling “eurostyle”, this stuff has the power to make any chaffing, rubbing, or pulling discomfort disappear.
- GAS STATIONS: For a quick snack, cold Gatorade, or pee emergency, these things are lifesavers. Forget the hyper-sapping of precious natural resources.
- HILLS: The odd one of the bunch, you might be thinking. But they make the ride interesting (and often absolutely gorgeous), help the time pass much faster, and there’s always a sweet downhill or two. It only took until after crossing into the Rockies for me to realize this.
- ICE CREAM: My main indulgence/vice, of many on this trip. Every night is a search for the nearest Dairy Queen or local spot. The local spots are always the best (Huckleberry and Mint Chocolate Chip mix surprisingly well), but a large M&M Blizzard with chocolate soft serve hits the spot every night…sometimes twice.
- PEOPLE: They’re not so bad…specifically the non B&B types…because without them, we’d be camping, eating pasta, and talking to the same 29 others every night.
Ten days left!
14 August 2008
heat wave
I don't actually like to make conversation about the weather, unless prompted by someone or absolutely overwhelmed by it. In the case of this entry, it's safe to say that in the next few days, we will experience the latter.
We've been pretty luck thus far. Other Bike and Build tours (Southern US, among others) have certainly experienced worse heat than us. And last year, NUS rode into a heat wave going through the North Dakota and Montana plains. That must have sucked. But up until today, there have been few other days on our trip where the heat has become unbearable. It happened on the 120 mile day to Gays Mills, and on the 97 mile day to Bowling Green. As today's 70 mile ride began cool, riding along the shores of beautiful Lake Koocanusa, it warmed up quickly, and ended a blistering 93 in Libby.
Apparently the Northwest, of all places, is in the middle of a record-breaking heat wave, and we are riding right into it. Today Seattle reached the 90s, Portland hit 100, and still other areas climbed to over 100, and it's expected to get hotter. These are places that are used to seeing 70's in the summer, even 60's in some of the coastal and higher inland areas.
Tomorrow we ride to Sandpoint, Idaho under more 90-degree weather, and for our build day on Saturday, the tempurature could rise to near 100. The following rides on Sunday and Monday, to Chewelah and Republic (both in Washington state), we're probably going to experience temps somewhere around 100. And it's dry. No clouds, much less any rain.
In other non weather-related news, we had another fantastic ride today. It was hot, and I was exhausted from too little sleep the past two nights (had some internet and Olympics to catch up on), however the scenery was pretty freaking amazing. Lake Koocanusa (catchy name...figure it out) is actually a huge reservoir created by the damming of the Kootenay River. It stretches for 90 miles through a massive valley, from British Columbia to Montana, and is filled with some really, really fresh water. And no development, as we were in a national forest, so little traffic (except for all the damned logging trucks) Carved into the steep mountain edges, the road weaved in and down, up and out, and left many a photo opportunity. The shoulder was wide, and we made many stops, including one to climb the side of a cliff for a better view (like the views weren't good enough already). It was probably one of my favorite days of the trip, a good day to be tired.
Riding into Libby, the trees became more and more sparse on the hills. It's a logging town, of course, some mining too. Lots of poverty. One of the riders (Jessie) met a woman working at the gas station, who is trying to raise children on a minimum-wage job, with little help from the government. She loved what we were doing, but lamented that the local Habitat affiliate was not doing enough for the reason. Actually, I think she specifically said that it was a total joke. I'm sure it was a difficult position for Jessie, who knew that the organization she was representing had the capacity to help people like this woman, but realized the limitiations of an organization trying to tackle an overwhelming problem. There are just too many people in need.
One final news flash: we're still in the Rockies. Not sure why I thought we'd go through Glacier and be done with them, but we're not. We're just not climbing any more passes through them. For the past two days, we've had mountains on both sides. Today we're in Libby, which is set under peaks that are still partly snow-capped. Tomorrow we'll see even more snow-caps riding into Sandpoint. I'm not actually sure when the Rockies end and the Cascades begin, or when we'll just be amongst rolling hills. All I know is that, from here on out, we're probably not going to hit any flat land.
A longish ride tomorrow, 85 miles. We're getting up at 5:30 to beat some of the heat, so I better get to bed. Perhaps I'll keep a little water on me.
We've been pretty luck thus far. Other Bike and Build tours (Southern US, among others) have certainly experienced worse heat than us. And last year, NUS rode into a heat wave going through the North Dakota and Montana plains. That must have sucked. But up until today, there have been few other days on our trip where the heat has become unbearable. It happened on the 120 mile day to Gays Mills, and on the 97 mile day to Bowling Green. As today's 70 mile ride began cool, riding along the shores of beautiful Lake Koocanusa, it warmed up quickly, and ended a blistering 93 in Libby.
Apparently the Northwest, of all places, is in the middle of a record-breaking heat wave, and we are riding right into it. Today Seattle reached the 90s, Portland hit 100, and still other areas climbed to over 100, and it's expected to get hotter. These are places that are used to seeing 70's in the summer, even 60's in some of the coastal and higher inland areas.
Tomorrow we ride to Sandpoint, Idaho under more 90-degree weather, and for our build day on Saturday, the tempurature could rise to near 100. The following rides on Sunday and Monday, to Chewelah and Republic (both in Washington state), we're probably going to experience temps somewhere around 100. And it's dry. No clouds, much less any rain.
In other non weather-related news, we had another fantastic ride today. It was hot, and I was exhausted from too little sleep the past two nights (had some internet and Olympics to catch up on), however the scenery was pretty freaking amazing. Lake Koocanusa (catchy name...figure it out) is actually a huge reservoir created by the damming of the Kootenay River. It stretches for 90 miles through a massive valley, from British Columbia to Montana, and is filled with some really, really fresh water. And no development, as we were in a national forest, so little traffic (except for all the damned logging trucks) Carved into the steep mountain edges, the road weaved in and down, up and out, and left many a photo opportunity. The shoulder was wide, and we made many stops, including one to climb the side of a cliff for a better view (like the views weren't good enough already). It was probably one of my favorite days of the trip, a good day to be tired.
Riding into Libby, the trees became more and more sparse on the hills. It's a logging town, of course, some mining too. Lots of poverty. One of the riders (Jessie) met a woman working at the gas station, who is trying to raise children on a minimum-wage job, with little help from the government. She loved what we were doing, but lamented that the local Habitat affiliate was not doing enough for the reason. Actually, I think she specifically said that it was a total joke. I'm sure it was a difficult position for Jessie, who knew that the organization she was representing had the capacity to help people like this woman, but realized the limitiations of an organization trying to tackle an overwhelming problem. There are just too many people in need.
One final news flash: we're still in the Rockies. Not sure why I thought we'd go through Glacier and be done with them, but we're not. We're just not climbing any more passes through them. For the past two days, we've had mountains on both sides. Today we're in Libby, which is set under peaks that are still partly snow-capped. Tomorrow we'll see even more snow-caps riding into Sandpoint. I'm not actually sure when the Rockies end and the Cascades begin, or when we'll just be amongst rolling hills. All I know is that, from here on out, we're probably not going to hit any flat land.
A longish ride tomorrow, 85 miles. We're getting up at 5:30 to beat some of the heat, so I better get to bed. Perhaps I'll keep a little water on me.
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