Day 30, No Miles! Rest Day, St. Joes, MO

This will be brief because I'm supposed to be resting. (That's why they call it a rest day). I slept until 8:30, had breakfast, and then joined the bike wash party. In the close up photo you can note that I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty as I clean every link on my chain. A clean link makes for a happy chain. A happy chain makes for a smooth bike. A smooth bike makes for a happy cyclist. If you double click on the picture, you can also see the equisite pattern of the carbon fiber that comprises the frame stay. The Beach Boys music, towel snapping game, and "accidental" overspray make Bike Wash Party a blast.

My good friend Rosanne was out this way for a family wedding, and has dropped down to visit. As much as I enjoy the corps de riders, it's really nice to spend time with a friend from back home. Rosanne lives in New Hampshire and is in charge of festive arrangements for day 52 (the end of the ride.)

We went to see the home where Jesse James was "assassinated" (as his devotees like to say). It was his home and nicely preserved. You could see the bullet hole from the bullet that supposedly went through his head. Many, many, portraits of Jesse were displayed in the house. He was quite dapper and liked to have his picture taken. His rattlesnake ties was also exhibited.

Next to Jesse's house is the Patee Museum, collection remarkable for both its quality and quantity. I'm too tired to write about it, so follow the link.

Day 29 "Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore." St. Joe's MO (90 miles)

We rolled out of Topeka through the State Capital area. It looked pretty much like any well groomed down-town state capital, even perhaps like Trenton if the decaying brownstones magically disappeared in a storm of urban gentrification. But I digress. The town as we continued out was full of larger two-storied houses with porches and rockers sitting up on manicured lawns. Not unlike the town of Somerville in NJ where I grew up, or most of small town America in the 50s. Small town America in 2009 is in trouble, half closed, half boarded up, half in bad need of paint. (Yes, I know that that is more than 1, but give me some poetic license.) As we continued out into the country, we smelled honey suckles for several miles, but couldn't find the flowers. At least, we stopped and smelled them. : - ) There were also orange day lilies. They grow profusely in NJ, along River Road and along Canal Road. They reminded me of home, and how I'm starting to miss it.

Many houses were decorated with red white and blue bunting, had their flags out, and were otherwise decorated for the upcoming 4th of July Holiday. They take these things much more seriously than we do. The "tent sales" also testify to this. There are *lots* of big tents along the highways, and smaller ones in back yards and next to farm stands. All dedicated to the evil forbidden to us in the more populous eastern states- FIREWORKS!! (Kaboom) Every ER doc, plastic surgeon, and burn specialist between the Rockies and Mississippi is scheduled to work on July 4/5 with the hope of reconnecting blown off fingers, restoring sight to fireworked eyes, and sewing up M-80 lacerations with the minimum of scarring. (I've noticed some spandex clad guys on bicycles sneaking out from these tents.)

The Missouri River is still fast and swollen with debris from the floods where we crossed it. It would have been nice to stop and enjoy the view, but the river crossed in an industrial area where there were lots of trucks and hasty cars trying to use one of the few open bridges in the area. The bridge was a two-lane patch work of concrete and metal grid with no shoulder that screamed "crash, crash." We had no choice but to ride in the lane, and the cars had no choice but to ride behind us. It was one of the few times on the ride when people yelled nasties at us.

The topography changed as we entered Missouri. There were beautiful green rollers... and a very strong head wind. Not what you want to pick up at the 50 mile mark of a 90 mile day. If you double click on the road picture, you'll get a better idea of why I have rollers. When I added all the "ups" together, they equal 4,000 feet of climb today. Now Chris once told me that since rollers have an equal amount of downs, it should cancel out. It doesn't. The downs are free, the ups you have to pay for.

The ride into St. Joes was through the very pleasant Southwest Parkway, a well paved, lightly trafficked road that traversed the park. We were surprised by Steve and Hazel, cycling enthusiasts who set up a refreshment stand in their yard for us. They'll also be running a shuttle service tomorrow to take us to bike shops and such.

Day 28, Topeka, KS, 108 miles

"Anticipating your every need." is one of those meaningless slogans that can really aggravate a traveler, but oh the Holiday Inn Topeka- they got it right. I knew this hotel would be good before going through the front door. The hotel put a hose and a big pile of bike washing rags right outside their main entrance. What a welcome sign! We could take care of our bikes. Inside, it was clear that they wanted to take care of us, too. They put out a pile of towels and a refrigerated case of water and fresh fruit.

We had three accidents today when cyclists slipped on railroad tracks that where sharply angled across the road. Fortunately, only first aid was required. The "priceless" moment of the day came when Forest's wife and son walked through the door of a little restaurant he was resting in. They flow from Baltimore, through Atlanta, to KS City airport, drove to our hotel, and then back-tracked our route to take him completely by surprise.

Eastern KS remains pastoral and emerald green befitting of OZ (or Ozian, as I like to say) ; - ) . We've evaded (not outran) several thunderstorms and remain amazingly lucky with the weather. I mentioned a few days ago the debate concerning what to do with the bike in the event of a tornado. There are two options: 1. Put your bike on top of you to afford some extra protection. 2. Put your bike under you to afford it some extra protection. The group was evenly split as it which was better, but all agreed that no one can outrun a tornado.

Tomorrow we leave Kansas and enter Missouri. You can expect the obvious quote.

Oh yes, in addition to being Day 29, tomorrow is Sunday. It's more than a month since I've been to church and miss it; especially my friends at Emanuel Evangelical Lutheran Church in New Brunswick. I'm hoping, that by some act of grace, my route will take me past a church at service time. If it's a Lutheran Church, it will undoubtedly be Missouri Synod, but that would be ok.

Good night from Kansas. Thanks for following the journey.

Day 27, Abilene, KS, 69 miles Half Way Home

Today I reached another milestone. I passed the half-way "in miles" mark. That put a big smile on my face. Gary, a retired accountant has been gathering data and doing calculations for days. He's determined that, as a group, we've:

• ridden 70,400 miles
• made 2,100,000 pedal strokes
• spend 4,500 hours riding,
• climbed 61,000 feet
• expended 4,900,000 Calories
• had 117 flats
• worn out 17 tires
• and 30% of the riders were hit by the stomach virus

A few miles out of McPherson, we made a left, rode through Canton, and the world exploded from the tans and browns of the last few days into an Ozian brust of emerald- just like the movie when it turns from black and white to color. Grass ran up to the shoulder of the road. There were groups of trees, small forest of trees on rolling hills that reminded me of rural PA. Best of all, we had a tail wind that blew us all the way into Abilene.

Abilene is the boyhood home and now site of the Eisenhower Center. Next to his crypt is engraved this section of his speech, "A Chance for Peace."

Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies, in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed. This world in arms in not spending money alone. It is spending the sweat of its laborers, the genius of its
scientists, the hopes of its children.
Dwight Eisenhower

Technical problems are screwing up the font, but you get the idea

Day 26, 26 Days to Go, McPherson, KS, 62 miles

Kansas is starting to green up a little, trees are a regular part of the landscape, and there is enough humidity to produce a faint glistening on my arm. The oil rigs (see picture) dot the landscape every mile or so. There are usually one or two 50 gallon drums next to the rig, so they can’t be pumping much oil. But at $100/barrel, it has to be worth it for the farmer.

A day in the life: In the absence of anything exciting today, here’s a small glimpse into my daily routine - and it has become pretty much of a routine. The early morning can go either way, breakfast than load, or load and than breakfast. I like breakfast first because it gives me more of a chance to remember anything I need from my luggage. If we load first and I remember something I need, I’m s.o.l. Breakfast varies. Holiday Inn Express puts out a pretty nice spread of scrambled eggs, bacon, biscuits with gravy, pastry, cold cereal, hot oatmeal, juices and fresh fruit. On the other end, some generic budget hotels (which remain nameless to avoid litigation) put out a carton of milk, a box of cereal, some day old bread, and a toaster. In this case, ABB provides other options like Denny’s, Perkins, or Patio Pancake Palace (referred to earlier). Take out the bike first, or take out the luggage first? That’s another variable. I always take out the bike first, again because it give me one last chance to take something from the luggage. “Load.” That’s why we call it “load.” We load the luggage into the trailer, sign in on the roster (so no one gets lost behind), pump up our tires to 110 or 120 psi, and ride away. Note that we pack and unpack 47 times during the trip. I’ve gotten pretty good at it.

Riders sort themselves out in the first few miles, by ability, by friendship, by complimentary jersey colors, or whatever. We ride. Recently the navigation has been so simple that not even I can get lost. Cue sheet:” turn out of hotel onto US 50E, ride XX miles, get off US 50E and turn into hotel”. Little towns that have food or facilities, warnings to cross rail road tracks, and the location of SAG stops are noted.

SAG stops occur once or twice a day, depending on the length of the ride. The big ABB van is at a state rest stop, a gas station “with facilities” or just pulled off on the side of the road where there are a few bushes. We sign in on the roster, take off our gloves, sanitize our hands, fill our water bottles and nosh on bananas, oranges, peanut butter cracker sandwiches, granola bars, fig newtons, salty snacks like chips of cheetos, or sometime special treats like rice crispy treats, cookies from home, or fresh shrimp cocktail (just kidding). There’s also a chance camaraderie and discuss how really strong we’re riding (when the wind is at our back) or how the ________ (fill in the blank: wind, hills, bad roads, heat) are horrible and make me wonder why I paid good money to do this. Then it’s more riding.

The next big question is “To lunch or not too lunch?” Early in the trip we’d find some nice local café and chow down on a mega-burger, jumbo mocha late shake, and a brownie. It takes lots of fuel to run this engine! It didn’t take me long to figure out that such a meal diverts blood away from my legs and to my stomach. I cut back to a shake or a sandwich, but our resident triathelete ultra cyclist convinced us that we should stick to food from the SAG wagon during the ride and pig out later. Now a coke or a slushie whose sugar is rapidly adsorbed is my ride meal of choice.

Once I get to the hotel, I either sign in the roster, s my luggage, and find my room, or if the room isn’t ready, ride on to get lunch (a mega-burger, jumbo mocha late shake, and a brownie). That’s the ride part of the day.

Post- ride usually consist of a shower and a rest. If I’m smart, a long rest. If I’m not, it’s off to find the laundry, clean and lube the bike, go shopping at WalMart, etc. Most of the time, it’s best to rest, even if it means washing the shorts and jersey in the sink and wearing them the third day in a row. (Many people do this, as shown by our laundry line in the picture.)

Dinner is always fun. I love to walk up to the wait staff and say, “Table for 40, separate checks please.” In the good restaurants, the managers have told the wait staff, there is a table for forty waiting and every thing runs smoothly. Good management (dare I say leadership) can have a profound effect. At our first Sizzler, we were treated like real customers. Each of us went to the counter, placed our order, asked for our drink, and ring up one very large tab. We were tired and hungry, the regular customers were not amused, and it took the waitress forever to take our orders. At the second Sizzler, the Manager came out, and had everyone follow him. Show of hands, chicken, steak, fist, or pasta? Show of hands, ice tea, lemon aid, coke, diet coke? He accomplished in 5 minutes what Sizzler 1 took 45 minutes to do. Similar things have happened in Golden Corrals. Then there are the managers who simply never bother telling the staff what they know is coming. Do you know a boss like that? Buffets seem to work best. The first casino one in Nevada was memorable. Some local Mexican and Chinese places have been good. Pizza Huts never seen to have their act together, but that seems to be true in NJ too. Is poor service part of their mission statement? The last two nights have been at Montana Mikes; you’d think they’d do a better job with steaks. There have also been some “catered” meals in hotel function rooms or in the hotel restaurant itself. All and all, ABA has done a magnificent job of lining up all theses restaurants in advance and making sure that the food is good and plentiful. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, America by Bicycle does a great job in all aspects of producing this ride.

After dinner, I retire to my room, lay out my clothes for tomorrow (so that I can get up and out in 15 minutes), blog and go to sleep. I usually go to bed between 9 and 10, but sometimes as early as 8:00.

Day 25, Grand Bend, 90 Miles

Grand Bend, which has a WalMart, a, Sonic, a Burger King and a McDonalds, a Perkins, a Pizza Hut, and a bike shop that I never could seem to find, has it all over Dodge City which has two Chinese Restaurants, a Madas Muffler, , and the lamest museum of the trip.

If you want to know what Kansas looks like, read yesterday's post, it hasn't changed. Fortunately, there are some little historical sites that break up the landscape and give me a reason to stop beside, "Good Lord, I need a butt break" Today's petite pleasures was a tiny little church. Senator (and later president) Grover Cleveland gave the town a bell, but the town fathers had nowhere to put it, thought it should go in a church, so built the biggest church they could afford. It was the last thing Grover ever gave to the town. There are some crude parallels to Henry Rutgers' gift of a bell and $5,000 to what was then Queens College. The bell was hung in Old Queens, the college renamed "Rutgers" and that was the last thing Henry ever gave Rutgers (the college, not himself.) This is a somewhat sensitive topic with those who keep the official history of the University. My version is a better story than their version.

There was also in interesting museum of life on the Kansas prairie at the half way point between San Francisco and New York City. Unfortunately, we did not have the good sense to finish in NYC, so our half way point will come tomorrow. The museum is built around an actual sod house. They put a cement floor under it, and a new roof on it, but other than that, it's all original sod.

I haven't mentioned it before, but one of the intellectually interesting aspects of the trip is all the stuff I learned in grades 3-6 that I thought were totally useless, but now are not. For example, why the vegetation and climates on two sides of the mountain are completely different; how rivers change their course and why they are so curvey; the difference between immigration and emmigration; why some flowers always face the sun (they are heliotrophic), why smart farmers rotate their crops between corn and soy; and why anyone would ever build their house out of sod.

Today's mini-contest: What is the strange little building in the picture? It is made out of tin or sheet metal, and was about 15 ft back from the rail road track. You'll get some sort of prize if you're right, and I'll make you famous by posting the answer on the Blog.

Technical Note: Keep those comments coming. I haven't figured out how to respond by e-mail, but try to add a comment about the comments in the comment using the comment command in the comment section. (With apologies to Expos 101)

Day 24, Dodge City, KS, 52 miles

It's Kansas. Looking out to the horizon as far as the eye can see is..... nothing. And when I see beyond that, there is more nothing. Well, maybe not nothing, nothing. Some things do show up again and again- perhaps they form the visual white noise that is nothing in Kansas. There are those insect irrigators crawling across the cornfields turning the brown to green. The brown is spotted with oil pumping rigs, suggesting that there is something of value under the grand, if not on it. There is cattle on the range, lots of cattle, even some long horns. Their lives then move to the stock yards where they are brought in off the range to be fattened up. The stock yards are amazingly large, running for miles along the road. They extend far beyond the distance we can hold our breath. This is very unfortunate since stockyards stink. They stink really bad. Really, really bad. It's hard to imagine how that stink turns into steak. So I guess if one pays attention, there is more than nothing in Kansas.

Today's ride was a delightful 52 miles, which gave us time to stop and read historic makers and see other sights. (Except Bill, who is very fast. On short days, he eats breakfast at our departure hotel and bullets to the next hotel to have a second breakfast before they stop serving at 10.) Grain silos towered over Cimarron, the last town before Dodge City. Cimarron is the home of Clark Drug and Ice Cream Parlor. "The real thing," it had an old fashioned soda fountain counter which we sat around and drank "Oprah Shakes." Seems she had been there and that was what she ordered. But Jeff wants to know why "Oprah Shakes"? Why not "Jeff Shakes"? She'd come in a car, big deal. He'd ridden a bike from San Francisco to get a shake! So the owner changed the name on the big board behind the counter to "Jeff Shake."

Dodge City itself is not a place you would plan your vacation around. imho, it is not even a place that a family in a car with broken air conditioning, three kids screaming in the back, and a carsick gerbil would detour 5 miles for a cool drink. But US 50 cuts right through Dodge City, our hotel is on US 50, and I can tell people that I ate at the Applebees in Dodge City and really liked it. (The trick being the ambiguous modifier. It was the Applebees that I really liked.) There are two pseudo-western main streets. The "free one" is mostly deserted, has a lot of empty stores (like "Jimmy's Acoustic Coupler Repair" and "Eight Tracks to Go"), but provides no place to eat or drink. The "main street" that is part of the museum and costs $7 is pretty similar, except that the defunct stores used to cell buggy whips or the wheelright shop. We are going on an excursion to "Miss Kitty's Saloon" (remember Gunsmoke?) which is supposed to be a little hokey, but much fun.

Good news: Bob, our fallen rider is ok. He posted on his blog to let us know that he had a fractured skull, but aside from that was doing well. Thank God for helmets. He'll be going home in a few days and visit us when he ride through his town in a few days.

The ride is starting to grind through riders. There have been visits to doctors, Medimerge, or even the ER for saddle sores, stomach issues, dehydration, minor cuts and abrasions. Fortunately, I haven't been there yet.

Day 23, 104 miles, Garden City, KS. Matt’s Birthday!

Today my youngest child, Matt, is no longer a teenager. Congratulations, Matt for making it to 20. Matt is working this summer as an EMT for a transport company and in his first paid capacity as a Stage Manager.

The ride in brief: Everyone found today to be very difficult. The wind was behind us for the first 70 miles and then got ugly in our face as the day got hotter. We crossed into Eastern Kansas, which not surprisingly, looks a lot like Western Colorado. I crossed the little piss stream that is the Arkansas River. She looked spent, but I noticed that the levies were about 100 yards apart. She must get seasonal furry. The historical marker says that there have been battles over the water for hundreds of years, with at least five Indian tribes claiming Arkansas water as their own. We were on US-50 yesterday, and were on it all day today. It parallels the Santa Fe trail, and in parts, runs the exact same route. Off to the side of the road, there is a section where the rut marks from the wagons are still visible.

We went to the Golden Corral for dinner and will have breakfast there tomorrow. Then I went to the Target across the parking lot. Not that I really needed anything, I just wanted to be a normal person doing a normal thing. I bought a new pair of cargo shorts, a wicking tea shirt, and another pair of sun glasses, all if which, if not needed, were at least things that I could use.

Tomorrow we’re riding to Dodge City. At route rap, Andy told us about all the fun things we can do there. He also went over the procedure to follow if a tornado hits. Everyone had the same question, “But what do we do with out bikes?” (no joke)

Statistics: 103 miles @ 14.3 mph. 7,000 calories expended, 673 feet of climb : - ) current elevation = 2,690.

Day 22, 120 miles, Lemar, CO - An Anniversary

Today is my Mom and Dad’s 62^nd wedding anniversary. I admire their constancy. Congratulations, Mom and Dad.

Water. I thought alot about water today. When we crossed the Arkansas River today, the frolicking flirting high energy maiden that cut through the canyon a few days ago had become slow, matronly, and swollen with silt. It would be dropped on a flood plain to birth the next season’s harvest. Water and the lack of it lie in stunning contrast; one side of the road lush, the other a barren dust bowl. The green/brown edge is sharp, the width of a hoe. You can see this in the picture where a circular arm irrigator (a sprinkler pipe fed with water from the middle that rotates slowly over the crop) delineates the circle of life (double click on the picture at right and you'll see the irrigation pipe parallel to the horizon. Outside its reach, nothing grows. Next time you fly over the country, look for big green circles in the dessert. That’s what I’m talking about. Land without water is worthless in Colorado. When you buy land, you have to buy water rights, or you have nothing but dust. I crossed the Arkansas River a third time. Half the former width and speed, she’d been bled for irrigation.

This is perverse, but I love the salt lines that form on my shorts and gloves. The salt is left as the perspiration evaporates to re-enter the water cycle. Lots of salt = a hard ride. The salt appears “magically” in Colorado; the air is so dry that sweat never appears, it is dried as fast as I can make it. This makes dehydration a real danger, since sweat is the usual clue to drink. So I drink by distance. Every 5 miles, I take a swig. The water in my bottles, though warm as temperature-abused food in a cheap buffet, goes rapidly. There are extra sag stops so that we can keep them filled. Arriving at the hotel, I plopped directly into the pool. The water was good.

I also thought about what makes for a “difficult ride.” In spite of the distance (120 miles) or the time (I started at 6 a.m. and hit the hotel at 3 p.m.) today was not a particularly difficult day. If it hadn’t been for the heat, it wouldn’t have been difficult at all. At first approximation, Ride Difficulty (RD) can be see as:

RD = x(distance) + y(wind) + z (grade*length of climb) + a(temperature) +

b(precipitation) + c(RD of previous day)

where the letters are weighting factors which remain to be determined. This is the crudest of models since there are significant interactions (wind) (grade*length of climb). It would take a real modeler like my collaborator, Prof. Schaffner, to figure this out, but we can’t publish it or use it as preliminary data for a grant application, so it won’t get done. I do have full data for several rides in my Garmand cycle computer. Perhaps we could have Silvia work it up as part of her PhD qualifying exam….

The longest single day ride I’ve ever done is 130 miles. The 120 I rode today is within striking distance. I thought of riding extra miles to break the record, but once I got to the hotel, I decided to let the record stand.

I've just discovered that I can specify fonts and have changed from Courier to Arial, my favorite font. Does anybody care? Use the comment function.

Very bad news: A few miles before sag stop #2, one of our riders, for no apparent reason, fell over and hit his head on the pavement. He was rushed back to Pueblo by ambulance and is now in ICU. Please say a little prayer for him.

Day 21 We Rest, Chris Visits

Caption: This is the route down from Monarch Pass, note the winding road we rode.

Today (Saturday) It was really good to sleep in. 7:30 seemed so late. I ate at the hotel breakfast bar, which was pretty minimal, but after breakfast out for so many days, a bowl of hot oatmeal and cup of coffee was more than ok. Then it was time to wash my bike, clean the drive train, and lubricate. The woman at the desk was perplexed when I asked her if there was a spigot somewhere outside the hotel that we could use to set up a bike wash station. She had no idea and went off to find the maintenance man. Jeff was washing his bike and told me there was something on the tire that he couldn't scrub off. It was the cords! He'd worn through the rubber.

Around 11:30, Chris came rolling in on his motorcycle. My cycle friends were all happy to meet him and commented on the familial resemblance. Chris suggested that, to get around, I bicycle and he follow behind on the motorcycle, but I had a better idea. I just wore my bicycle helmet. Him in front with long pants, a protective jacket, leather gloves, and full face mask helmet. Me in back in shorts, a windbreaker, and a bicycle helmet. Sorry, no photos were taken. Chris and I went to a steel foundry museum, which was very interesting and made me glad that I didn't live back then. (Unless I could have been John Rockefeller who owned a majority share. Living back then would be ok if i were Rockefeller.) Then we went to see the Indiana Jones movie, which was, well, amusing. Harrison Ford is a bit too old for the role, many of the scenes were obviously on a set, and all of the left over special effects from the first two Indiana Jones movies were taken out of the box to use in this one. Nonetheless, it was a pleasant way to spend a Saturday afternoon. Then we had dinner, and Chris sped off to Denver. It was really great just to have some time with Chris, and even more so when I'd been away from home for so long.

Important note: I may not post every day. We have a lot of long rides coming up and if the choice is between an hour of blogging and an hour of sleep, Sleep will win out.

Tomorrow we load at 5 a.m. Up at 4:30, eat after loading, hopefully on the road by 6:30.

Additional Image - Salida

Day 20, 100 miles to Pueblo Co- Royal Gorge

The day had it’s up and downs, as most do. Load time was posted as 5:30, so we were up at 5:00, but for the first time on our trip, Andy, Michelle, Chirstine and Gerard were not cheery and peppy. There were trying to get a handle on the norovirus situation. A quick count of bicycles on top of the sag wagon told the story. Ten. Ten of us were too sick to ride. They’d be shuttled directly to Pueblo, we’d go to breakfast at the Patio Pancake Palace. It didn’t open until 6. There was some talk about just going to McD’s but Michelle insisted that PPP was worth the wait. PPP had its act together. They’ set up another one of those “table for 30” and one waitress worked the table better than Bill Clinton worked the rope line. Erica got all our drink orders right, kept the cafs and the decaf straight when she refilled, and brought every order to the right rider as it came out of the kitchen. ABB picks up the 15% tip on all our meals, but we each kicked in an extra dollar to give her and extra $30. And a big round of applause. It’s always a pleasure to watch people who are good at what they do. I had scrambled eggs and coconut buckwheat pancakes. They were so good.

There’s a special quality to riding out early in the morning. Wispy clouds scampered above the snow on the verdant mountain and cast clouds that dropped ground temperature by ten degrees. It’s been so long that I’d been that in touch; to feel clouds chill my glistening brow. On the left, the sky was cloudless, and the rising sun turned the snow on the mountain tops turned pink. We dropped into the Arkansas River Canyon and rode along its rushing waters and shear cliffs for more than an hour. The river was never more than 40 feet away. Even at the headwaters, this was clearly a mighty river. They say it takes the river one hundred years to cut through one inch of rock. The canyon was 200-300 feet deep at this point. It took a long time for the river to do its work. But when water hits rock, water always wins. There was a chunk of mountain (it’s too big to call it a rock) in the middle of the river. My first thought was, “I’m glad that I wasn’t around when that happened.” My second thought was that the rock cliff was more than 50 yards away, it must have been quite a fall. But maybe the cliff had been closer, and maybe that piece of mountain fell millions of years ago. Maybe there was no human to marvel at the fall. A humbling thought.

Gerard “strongly urged” us to go off route to see Royal Gorge, saying that there were but a few short hills on the way. We hiss sat Gerard now (good naturedly). It was four miles of uphill 11-16% grade, too high a price for what would have been a nice excursion if we’d driven. The Gorge had a 1950’s amusement park air to it. There was a little animal safari with deer, antelope, and a bored buffalo. There were merry go rounds, and vomit inducing rides for the more adventurous. Hot dogs, cotton candy, and ice cream. Oh yes, and the worlds highest wooden plank suspension bridge. It had been built as a tourist attraction and has remained such to this day. Between the planks, I could see 1.000 feet to the now oh so small Arkansas River.. Looking down over the side made my head spin, so I just kept my eyes front and waited until I was back on real ground to take a look.

The climb to Royal Gorge just took it our of me. There were 50 more miles to go. It was slow and hard, head winds and hills. I didn’t even stop for the prison museum. I finally got the hotel at 5:30 p.m.- twelve hours after load time. We had dinner at the Golden Corral. It was a good place to refuel.

Chris is coming up from Denver to see me tomorrow. I’m looking forward to that.

We’ve now ridden 20 days and over 1400 mile, we’re more than a third of the way there.

(Tomorrow is a rest day, there will probably not be a post.) Sunday will be the longest ride of the trip; 127 miles.

Panorama from Monarch Pass

This sweep was pretty fast to reduce memory requirements. You can hit the pause button ll to stop it at any point. The scratchy sound is the wind howling around the camera.

Day 19, 67 miles, the Monarch Pass

To summit the Monarch Pass at 11,332 feet is to be filled with emotion. Deep swallows, big breaths, what is this all about? Relief that the pain has ended? Pride that the mountain has been conquered? A bit of regret that the hardest part of the ride is over? That a big part of the ride in now in the past? The ten mile climb that starts at 7,500 feet is both painful, and picturesque. I’m not sure why the assent was so hard, but all the riders agreed it was. The 7 and 8% grade was no worse than Donner Pass, but the Monarch climb is long, and the air is thin. **The switchbacks are like the lines at Disney World, just when you think you’re reached the end, you go around the bend and see more, and more, and more. When the speed drops to 5 mph and there is 10 miles to go, it’s easy to despair. Two more hours of climbing. But what I bought with that pain. Going that slow allows you to be part of the mountain. Stands of tall aspens cling to the side of the mountain. They must have deep roots. Their scent fills the lungs that are straining for air. Look down on the tops of the trees. Look down at the patches of snow as it feeds that stream that tumbles toward the Pacific. Rock falls from above and rocks falling to the valley below remind you that the mountain is a living thing.** A guided tells us that the water erodes the mountain and transforms it at a rate of 1/25 th of an inch per year. This has been going on for a long time…

I’d gotten a slow start, so was one of the last riders to reach the summit. Other riders cheer us in. Food was very important at this point, so I went into the tacky shop where most of the other rides were already eating. (Jeff just said, “Give me one of everything.”) It was good to sit and refuel. The view from the summit cannot be described, hopefully, the pictures will help. There is snow on the mountains, green forests below them, lesser hills stretching out to the horizon. There is the look backward at the long winding road we cycled up (did I really ride up that?) Picture the long winding road floating down the other side of the mountain. No time for tree gazing and smelling the roses on the downhill. It’s too fast to do anything but watch the road and hang on. But that gets ahead of the game. There was another “life first” at the top of Monarch Pass. A gondola takes the rider to the very top of the mountain, another 700 feet, to an altitude of 12,000 feet. The gent selling the tickets asked me how old I was. It qualified me for my first ever “senior discount.” ; _ ( On the top, there was a big yellow line labeled “The Continental Divide” with “Atlantic” on one side and “Pacific” on the other. I straddled the line.

The day finished pretty fast. Riding down covers a lot more ground, much faster than the ride up. Our hotel in Salida was nondescript, but a few of us rode our bikes into “downtown” Sailda, a very chic on the rebound Western town. We found a nice bar with a porch hanging out over another raging river, but this one was heading toward the Atlantic! The beer was soooo good. Hopping on our bikes to check out the local bike shop, my tire went flat. Sitting on their steps, with the wheel in my hand, I couldn’t find the puncture site. Then I realized that, even though I could fix it, there was no reason that I should fix it at the end of this day. Such is the beginning of wisdom. The folks in the bike shop were happy to fix the flat for me. They did it for the price of the tube.

New blog feature- “The Whine.” I usually write the blog in chronological order, starting in the morning and than working through the day. However, as many of you know, I’m not exactly a morning person. In fact, I can be downright grumpy for the first few hours, and that’s how the blog often starts. I’ve realized that this may be a turnoff for those of you who want to read about my joyous romp across the continent and not my mishaps and misgivings. So, from now on, there will be a section, “The Whine” at the end of the post. If you don’t want to hear me whine, don’t read it.

“The Whine” The day started badly and rapidly got worse. We were supposed to ride out at 6:30, my alarm clock should have gone off at 5:30, but didn’t. I woke up at 6, time to scramble. Tire check- the rear went flat during the night! (Slow leaks do this.) The zipper of my windjacket broke as I tried to hustle my luggage outside. I got the tire off my bike, but couldn’t find what had punctured it. Running out of time, I put on a new tire but got chain grease on my new shorts. These were the least of the ride’s problem, there’s been an outbreak of norovirus (whoops, I’m sorry, that’s a stomach bug to you) among our group. At least 6 rides were sagging, two more were picked up on the mountain, too sick to keep on riding. Gerard put their bikes on the roof of the sag wagon.

Statistics: 68 miles at 12.1 mph. 3,124 feet of climb using 5,790 calories.

Note: have video from the summit that I'll try too upload tomorrow or on day 21.

Day 18, 65 miles, Gunnison, CO- Brutal butt, another unique day.

No, I didn’t misplace the comma, my butt has been brutally abused. It made me understand “the Princess and the Pea” on a deep existential level. Was my butt going to terminate my traverse of the Rockies? Undaunted, I decided to swap saddles and put on my comfy seat. It screams “old man” but given the choice of looking silly (I was the butt of many jokes) or sagging over the Rockies, I went for the comfy seat. More problems, my “multi-tool” ( a cycling essential that has a bunch of hex wrenches, screw-drives, and a chain link breaker) broke! There were pieces all over the floor. Fortunately I found the piece I needed and got the new saddle on the seat. Then it was hills. Hills with headwinds. In the first thirty miles, we climbed from 5,700 feet to 8,700 feet to summit at Cerro Peak. The climb was very draining, not what I needed first thing in the morning. But then things got better, a lot better. The scenery was again, incredible. The Gunnison River roared by next to the road. I don’t know the categories of white water rafting, but this was all white. I wouldn’t want to go tubing in it. There was snow by the side of the road and a vista that extended into the horizon. It was really fun to infiltrate “Ride the Rockies,” which is Colorado’s version of RAGBRAI (yea, didn’t that help? Typical professor ploy, explain one thing by reference to a second thing that the person doesn't know). There were 2,500 other riders and an excellent rider to toilet ratio. I took advantage of one of their rest stops and bought a nice braut and diet pepsi (see picture). I mentioned before that riders talk to each other, especially on hills. There were very impressed that while they were riding the Rockies, we were riding the whole country. Oh, yes, the second 30 miles were almost all down hill. That was nice.

Once I checked into the hotel, I rode off to check out town and see if I could find a WalMart. Now I admit that at home, I avoid WalMart like the plague, but on the road, there’s no better place to find everything you need. I bought more sunscreen, a Colorado souvenir, a Starbucks Capaccicino, and compressed gas cartridges for inflating flats. Here’s the cost saving secret; at bike shops, the cartridges cost $2 each. However, they’re the same cartridges that are used in paintball guns. You can get 15 of them for $9 at WalMart! Then I came back to the hotel, washed me, washed my shorts, and watched two episodes of Star Trek with Gerald.

Statistics for the day: 65 miles with 3,900 feet of total climb. My average speed was 11.2 mph, and our elevation is now 7,712 feet.

Day 17: Pseudo-easy day, 72 miles

They told us today would be easy. But with the temperature in the high nineties and 1,800 feet of climb, it was not. The heat is very dry, so you don't really sweat, but if you're a mouth breather (as I usually am), it's like riding with a blow drier aimed at your throat. "Parched, " that's the word I'm looking for.

Enough griping. I may have forgotten to mention Sue. Sue lives in Grand Junction, has made several trips with ABB, and met us at the first under pass (needed shady spot) past the Colorado state line to give us ice pops. Today Sue road us out to a scenic bike path that ran along the Colorado River. The Colorado is not as I imagined it. It's about as wide as the Raritan River (say in Raritan or Somerville) but runs very fast and looks very deep. Last week, it flooded over the bike path. The rest of the ride was on I-50 and was just about getting there. After the rest stop at mile 30, most of us struggled, but an self-initiated stop at mile 45 helped a lot.

"Ride the Rockies" a ride with 2500 riders starts here tomorrow and follows the same route we do. So the town is full of cyclists. There are two bike shops in town. I visited both of them, had a brake job, and got some gas canisters to blow up by tires.

Once at the hotel, we went on an excrusion to the Black Canyon. It was breath taking, with a 2000 foot drop down to the canyon floor.

That's it from Colorado.
Peace out.
Tom

Day 15, Grand Junction, 96+4 miles

Our total official mileage (excluding extra miles when lost, etc.) is now 1,135 miles. Clearly, this is the farthest and longest I’ve every ridden. This is starting to get serious. The route mileage for today was 96 miles, but I couldn’t go that far without adding 4 more miles to make it a century. I thought a lot of people would be doing that, but was wrong. It must have been the heat, 107 F on the road. Andy told us we’d been using 2.5 of those big orange Gatorade tubs every day. Today we used 5 of them. ABB is very serious about keeping us hydrated. The sag wagon pulls over periodically so that we can refill our water bottles between sag stops. Dehydration can sneak up on you, since with the dryness of the air, you never really sweat. The highlight of the day was crossing into Colorado. We followed the Colorado River (picture) for the final part of today’s ride. The last picture is of the winding road as we look back. Don't forget to double click on it.

Tomorrow will be an easy day, about 70 miles into Montrose. We won’t be the only ones there. Two thousand five hundred cyclists will be in Montrose to start “Ride the Rockies.” It will be nice to follow their route since they have porta-potties and we don’t. The following two days will be among the hardest of the ride. The day after tomorrow, we’ll be climbing into the Rockies for 94 miles, going over two summits. The day after that, we climb to, and cross, the Continental Divide. After that, there will be no big climbs until we come East.

Day 15, 67 miles today, >1,000 total

Sunday, June 15, 2008. “If you have a father, don’t forget to call him. It’s Father’s Day,” reminded Michelle as we went through the breakfast line. Michelle is the ride’s Mother Figure. She also tells us to put on sunscreen, drink lots of fluids, and to hop in the van if we’re not comfortable riding in the 60 mile an hour truck line down- hill wind-buffeting construction zone with no shoulder that’s coming up in a few miles. A few riders take her up on it. (It really wasn’t that bad, but I wouldn’t have known that if I hadn’t ridden it.) I went to bed at 7:30 last night, go up at 5:30 a.m. and am still tired. Breakfast was at 6 and we rode out at 6:30. We were in by 11:30 a.m. before the weather got hot and, knowing that the hotel rooms wouldn’t be ready yet, stopped at the Green River Coffee Company and Café (and Indian craft shop). The women who ran it were very nice and we enjoyed the eclectic décor and yummy food. I had French toast and a root beer float.

We were, as on every day, treated to new vistas that explode before us as we rode out of the canyon. ** We were out on the mesas where the hill’s striations ran horizontal, red, orange, brown, green at the bottom like a piece of spumoni laying on the plate that was the prairie floor.** A few hours after hitting the hotel, we took a (van) excursion to Arches National Park, about an hour from here. Arches is named “Arches” due to the huge land masses that have been eroded in the middle, but not on the arches. There are hundreds of such arches in the park as well as a variety of landforms I’ve never seen before. The park construction started about 150 million years ago when it was all under water on a salt flat. Sediment and erosion piled on top of the salt flats and as the water evaporated, a multi-layered land mass, much like a 14 layered mocha chocolate cake which gets eaten from the bottom by a picky kid until the layers collapse. It’s something like that. The salt lake can’t support the weight of the sediment, so it collapses too. Once the layers are exposed, they erode. There are other unique formations, some look like those sand castles made by dribbling sandy water over the mound. Other are very phallic, subjected to a poorly-executed circumcision. These land forms extend off into the horizon, where the (yes, snow capped) Rockies loom in the foreboding distance. We’ll be riding them soon. Tomorrow will be a long (97) mile day.

The Holiday Inn Expresses we’ve been staying in are quite nice. The rooms are large enough to accommodate two riders, their gear, and their bikes. They serve a decent hot breakfast, have a pool and whirlpool, and a laundry- an important piece of cycling support service. I never wear dirty shorts.

If you can't get the video to work, it's blogspot, not you.

Day 14, Running Against the Wind

After 75 miles of uphill against headwinds, I’m too exhausted to blog.

The highlights: 3,100 feet of climb, 13.3 mph, 5800 calories.

The headwinds started almost immediately and reduced us to crawling up the very lush and very green mountains. Ironically, the wind turbines (windmills) in the adjacent field were turned off, so the wind was entirely malevolent. Our pit stop for the day was in a rec area bisected by a stream that was so cold, it had to be snow on the mountain only minutes before. It was the color sea foam as it rushed by. There were goats frolicking on the mountains yelling, “Matt, Matt.” We stopped at a general store where the proprietor pulled out his picture album and showed up his grandfather with Butch Cassidy (see above, Butch on left, grandpop on right). The waterfall was right next to the highway. Going off route, I had lunch in the little town of Helper. It sat beneath large rock outcrops that were crumbling a few feet from people’s back yard. The population is ~1,000 and the kids at the restaurant couldn’t believe I was from New Jersey, that it was so populous, or that I was riding my bike to New Hampshire. They were awestruck.

Day 13, Provo, Chris' Birthday

The formalities: 67 miles, 12.4 mph, 5,990 calories, into Provo, Utah.

The good stuff: Chris is 30 years old today! Chris is our first born, so we made all our learning mistakes with him, but he turned out most excellent anyway. Born in Boston, Chris was a Boy Scout and played the cello, taking lessons from a doctoral candidate at Rutgers. What I remember best about his time at Rutgers was our Wednesday lunches when he was a senior. Chris also got “buffed up” and in great looking shape in his junior and senior year. When I inquired about it he told me that there was a fitness center in his dorm, so it was either that or go to class… After Rutgers, Chris worked as an IT guy and then sold his condo, left NY, and went to Duke Law School. Chris used his IT savy strategically at Duke, where he was Editor of the Law Review and graduated with high honors. Chris is now clerking with a Judge in Denver and will be staying there to work with a Denver law firm. Chris is a fearless mountain biker, an aggressive skier, and set up this blog. I know that fatherly pride oozes from this entry, but I can’t help it. I love him dearly and couldn’t ask for a better son.

It’s also the birthday of Karen Montville, the saintly wife of my ,Bob. In response to the “how did they meet?” question, I used to tell people that Karen was a go- go dancer at a bar that Bob frequented. Once go-go dancers went out of style, I’d tell people that she was a nun who Bob met on a retreat. More people believed the go-go dancer story. Karen kept me alive in college with periodic donations of food from the school lunch program that the kids wouldn’t eat. The canned chicken was so tough and stringy, that we had to put it through a meat grinder before we could turn it into “chicken slop,” “fried chicken slop,” or “re-fried chicken slop.” Karen’s and Chris’ birthdays were usually co-celebrated with a big back yard bbq that often included Father’s Day as well. Those were the days.

Happy Birthday Karen!

Today’s ride report: Most of today’s ride was, well, pretty dull. We rode out of Salt Lake City through office parks, then industrial parks, and then ** through residential areas that were totally nondescript, except for those mountainous mountains with their opaque reflective granular crystals (how many ways can one say, “snow capped mountains”?) that rose up in the distance like ant hills on steroids.** We passed the Olympic Skating Oval, but it was not picture-worthy. The cue sheet was long, the mileage was off, and the names of many of the streets had been changed. This led, imho, to some dangerous riding. It went like that for about 40 miles. Things became more interesting as we neared Provo. We created the lunch hour rush at a gourmet sandwich and salad place. It lived up to its name (the gourmet part). My Philly Cheese Steak has way better than any I’d ever had in Philadelphia. First of all, it was made of real meat, half inch squares, perhaps ¼ “ thick. They’d been grilled. The meat was lovingly embraced by a carefully seasoned cheese sauce that didn’t drip off the roll or run down your hand. All this was on a freshly baked crisp hot hoagie roll. Now Bob would probably say that this isn’t a Philly cheese steak, which should have “minute steak” meat analogs, a piece of processed American Cheese, on a three day old bun leaking of grease. I don’t care, it was good.

**The snow on the mountains rising over Provo were like fingers of French vanilla sauce running down a huge scoop of Chunky Monkey ice cream with cherries at the bottom. The cherries could only be Brigham Young University.** We detoured (or "went off-route" in cycle lingo) to cycle around the campus. As the pedaling professor, how could I not? The BYU campus had the well-groomed look of an Ivy League College, and exuded money the way a soft peach exudes juice on your new kakis.

I though that my real wheel was the tiniest bit out of true and brought it to Gerard during mechanic’s hour. He agreed, fixed it, and then as I walked away, hollered out, “come back, your water bottle cage is missing a bolt.” He has a really good eye.

There is a condition called “bike brain.” It usually strikes at the end of day’s ride and essentially robs one of the ability to have any thoughts that have to cross more than two synapses. I have it bad. The $^***@# electronic room key wouldn’t work. Jay (today’s roomie) tried and it wouldn’t work for him either. I took the card to the desk to complain, and they kindly pointed out that I was using a card from the Comfort Inn (where we were last night) and that my Fairfield Inn card (where I am now) might work better. They were very gracious. That key allowed entrance to my room where I proceeded to search for my dirty laundry bag. Couldn’t find it. Forgot it at the last hotel? Hmm, let’s see if I can find yesterday’ clothes. What did I wear yesterday? Nothing! No, I didn’t cycle nude, yesterday was a rest day. A rest day when I’d done laundry. Hence, there was no dirty laundry bad.

Wow, this is a long entry for a day when not much happened and I was in a low energy mood. Maybe tomorrow it will be short and sweet.

On the 12th Day, We Rested

Yes, after 11 days and 835 miles, we get to rest, recharge, clean our bikes and do a little site seeing. The hotel set up a small bike cleaning station near the pool with a hose and old towels. The regular guests were puzzled.

A group of us took a van to Temple Square and got a great tour of the Tabernacle, where we heard the world's 12th largest organ. Ironically, the world's largest organ is in a department store in Philadelphia. I've heard that too. It doesn't seem right that it should be in a store. The pictures are of the Temple and of Jesus with the two sisters who were our guided. The Mormons, or more formally, the Church of the Later Day Saints of Jesus Christ, are Christians with a little bit extra stuff. I'm tired, so that's probably it for now. Tomorrow will be a short (65 mile) day.

Photos from day 9

The Salt Lakes

Today’s 117 miles were ridden with the wind at our backs and smiles on our faces. Contrary to the weather reports, the winds never swung around to sting us in the face. We left the Rainbow Casino at 6:45 a.m. and arrived at the outskirts of Salt Lake City by 3:00 p.m. Not a bad time with breaks and lunch. We’ve covered more than 835 miles since leaving San Francisco 11 days ago. And tomorrow is a rest day- we don’t ride!

The scenic highlights of the day were the salt flats. **If you didn’t know where you were and what you were doing, you would have sworn that it was the white of a frozen lake sliding out to the horizon, punctuated by brown islands reaching toward the cloud speckled sky.** It was quite unlike anything I’ve ever scene. The Great Salt Lake, for which Salt Lake City is named is even more majestic. On the horizon, the wave flecked water meets the sky. Closer up, a dry salt bed meets the shore. People walked a few hundred yards on the salt beds to reach the shore of the lake. But we were warned to resist the temptation to ride our bikes or even walk on the salt beds. The slat is so corrosive it would wreck a bike or rot out the cleats of a cycling shoe.

The Comfort Inn, Salt Lake City Airport is quite nice. There was a manager’s reception (a cold beer tasted especially good today), and they’ve set out a hose and a box of old towels by the pool so that we can wash our bikes. My laundry is done, so tomorrow I can just rest (after I wash my bike) and maybe do some sight seeing in Salt Lake City.

Day 10- blazing saddles, 107 miles

Day 10 - Blazing Saddles - 107 miles

Note: I recently read Cold Comfort Farm, where the author set off what she thought were particularly good sections of writing between sets of ***. I’ll try this literary technique for a while.

Well, there was no post on day 10. Not because I’m exhausted, but because the Rainbow Hotel and Casino has no wireless service. This is the third “hotel and casino” we’ve stayed at. It will be our third buffet. They probably lose money on 40 cyclists who’ve been riding all day; we eat a lot. **To step into our room at the Rainbow is to step back in time. A black velour “chair rail” (or perhaps extended headboard) wraps around the room. The furniture could be described as “retro” or as very well maintained “old.” It’s probably the later. Every surface is covered in jade metallic formica, accented with black plastic trim and 1957 Chevy chrome handles. The ceiling to floor mirrored-wall is wasted on Jay and me.** (Jay normally bunks in a triple. When there is a triple, Gerard bunks with me. When the hotel doesn’t have a triple, Jay gets bumped to me and Gerard sleeps in the van.) The Bonneville salt flats can be seen from my window and extend as far as the eye can see, which, considering the flatness of the terrain is very far. Gerard offered to lead a tour ride to the flats, 10 miles out, 10 back. There were no takers…**The hotel’s casino was mirrored (on the ceilings) reflecting wildly-colored neon lights in an artificial rain forest-themed disorienting cavern with no clear access to light or the outside world. The casinos in Las Vegas and Atlantic City are the epitome of understated elegance by comparison.**

Today’s ride was incredible. Where to start? First there was the navigation. Remember the first day in San Francisco where the cue sheet had 63 turns and was four pages long? Today’s cue sheet boiled down to: Go out of the hotel, turn right, get on I-80E. Ride 100 miles. Get off I-80. Ride to the hotel. Not even I could get lost. Then there was the riding. You know the song, “Ride like the wind”? We rode with the wind! My average speed for 107 miles was a blazing 17.8 mph. The actual riding time for the 100 miles was 5.5 hours. (This broke my previous best of 16.4 mph and 6 h riding time.) With stops to eat and pee, the total ride time was six hours and forty five minutes (from 6:45 a.m. to 1:30 p.m.) It was another day of stunning scenery. **In the morning, there were dark clouds punctuated by fingers of light that splashed onto the mountains in a hundred colors of green.** It looked like one of the inspirational posters they have at the Hallmark Store. Then it was onto I-80 and **the same desert-lined mountains guarding the stark barrenness of the dried up range. Then up over a pass and it was like that moment in the Wizard of Oz when every thing turns from black and white to color. Everything was green. The mountains were multicolor green, depending on how the sun penetrated the clouds. The prairie was green, with brush that would tickle a steer’s belly.** Instead of lines of mountains, we were surrounded by mountains, albeit at a distance. Off in the far distance to the left and in the far distance to the right were more mountains. We were in a green bowl that was at least 50 miles in diameter. After riding another forty five minutes or so, we crested another mountain, and were back in black-and-white.

Random stuff: Our highest elevation today was 7,000 feet. You can feel the temperature drop by 10 - 15 degrees as you ascend the mountain. We are in the Pequop Mountians, just short of Utah, but into mountain time. There was another DIW beside the side of the road, sleeping with his arms wrapped around a Winchester 435. I did not stop to wake him.

There are some pretty long stretches of riding two abreast (not in a rotating double pace line.) There are long conversations about religion, spirituality, kids, spouses, divorces, careers, hopes for the future, failures and successes. You get to know people pretty well on a ride like this. Surprisingly, the conversation is never about bikes, previous rides, or riding technique.

The folks at McDonalds found it odd to be selling so many lunch sandwiches at 9:22 a.m. on a “to go” basis to people who put them in rear pockets of funny shirts. It was the only real food available on the 107 mile stretch. We bought it there and ate it in a rest area a few hours later.

There is such a thing as “too much wind.” On our final descent to the Rainbow, the wind swept down off the mountain and almost blew us off our bikes. I leaned into the wind at a 20 degree angle. Then a truck would roar by, block the wind, and I had to pull up very fast. The riding is what we would call “squarely”. Ketti (the woman from Holland) was blown over and required a few stitches but is otherwise ok.

I was just kidding about the DIW.