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.

The High Nevada Desert

Day 9, 77 more miles of the High Nevada Desert.

Today we continued to ride through the high Nevada Desert, a place that National Geographic called one of the most remote places in America (excluding Alaska). By now, the group has formed three riding groups: fast, moderate, and “stop and smell the flowers.” I ride in the middle group. We do stop to take pictures at vistas and biobreaks are tolerated. There are long and deep conversations as we ride two abreast. I think that we (the larger group) have bonded and have become pretty close over the last 9 days. We’ve come to like riding on I-80; the shoulder is wide and the grade is never more than 8%. There was another long grade to the top of Emigrant Pass (elevation 6,114 ft) where a whole new world lay on the other side. There was green on the mountains, there were cattle on the horizon, and the mountains in the distance were snow-covered, not snow capped. A local told us they had 12” of snow up there last week. Also on the other side of Emigrant Pass was a 5 mile downhill, one that was smooth with no hairpin turns. According to my cyclo-computer, I hit 44.7 mph. If I’d realized how close I was to my personal record of 46.7, I would have pushed and broken it. Gerard broke 50 mph.

We’re staying in Elko, NV, a town that was once hub of stagecoach traffic, locomotive traffic, as a center of the high range cattle industry, and is now sustained by casinos -lots of them. They range from seedy to pretty nice. We’re staying at a “pretty nice.” The local ranchers, and those of much of the region are descendents of the Basque people (Google it yourself, I’m too tired to put links into the blog). So many of the towns we pass through are having their Basque Festival, much akin to North Brunswick’s Italian Festival. There’s a cultural museum in town (I rode there on my bike) that had lots of interesting information of what it was like, and what it is like to be a rancher. Everything depends on the Spring rain and the runoff from the mountain snow.

All in all, it was a good day. The breakfast room at the hotel was a disaster, they’d never had a group so large as to use all four slices of the toaster, the microwave, the juice dispenser, and the waffle machine. So it was pretty slim pickings of sugar cereals, doughnuts, and fruit. But hey, a carb is a carb. The ABB folks offered to pick up the tab for anyone who wanted to eat in the diner next door, I don’t think anyone took them up on it. “Ride out” was at 7:30 a.m., on 20 miles of bumpy back roads. It was then back to our friend I-80 until at Exit 280 we got off for a check point and lunch at a Burger King/Truck Stop/Kwikie Mart. On the way to the rest rooms, they had a display of high quality colorful do-rags. We all bought at least one. Mine has flames streeching from the front at blazing speed. I figured that it was just what I needed since speed is really a mental thing. And, I have arm warmers in the same design. Then it was back on I-80 and through a scenic alternate route that allowed us to avoid the tunnels that ran under the mountain. The only challenge was that the scenic route ended at a concrete barrier on the Westbound side of I-80. So we carried our bikes over the barrier, and then ran across I-80 W and I-80 E to get to the eastbound shoulder. It was our own triathlon; ride, lift, run. I got into Elko at 1:30 p.m. so there was some time to bicycle around town and blog.

There will probably be no blog entries on day 10 or 11. We are doing back to back centuries on those days. As I’ve previously mentioned, a century ride is 100 miles and is to cyclists pretty much what a marathon is to a runner. It’s no small thing. I’ll be too tired to blog. BUT! Day 11 is our first (non-riding) rest day. We should he ready for it.

By request: How to post comments

Posting comments is a simple five-step process:

(1) Click the green "0 comments" link at the end of the post you wish to comment on.
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(3) Now type the word that appears in the squiggly graphic -- this is prove that you're not a computer posting spam.
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And that's it!

Day 8, Sunday June 8, 57 miles, DIW

Toothless drifters are people too. That’s the lesson that “Lucky” taught me, that like any other group, toothless drifters shouldn’t be stereotyped. I met Lucky when he came up to me wanting to bum a Powerbar as I sat by the edge of the road fixing my third flat of the day. Lucky had a lot to say. I suspect that he didn’t have a lot of people to listen. First, he volunteered that the term “homeless drifter” was offensive. It conjured up an image of a homicidal lunatic with fire in his eyes. Lucky preferred “dentally impaired wanderer (DIW).” He also suggested, having researched the matter in the library on the internet, that the portion of murderers in the DIW population was the same as in the general population. Lucky followed politics and was saddened that Hillary lost. He’d pinned his hopes of getting dental care on Hillary’s plan for national healthcare. Lucky thought that he might get his life back on track if domestic housing policy made some accommodations for single males. He’d vote for any Democrat who had a plan for housing and health care. George W had never made it a priority.

Lucky considers himself lucky; says he’s always been lucky. Borne breech without the aid of a doctor he was happy to be born alive. A rabid dog attacked Lucky in elementary school. Luckily, the dog was on a short lease and broke its own neck as it lunged at him. On finishing high school, Lucky got a good job at 8omatic, a local company that made eight track tapes. When 8 tracks went out of style, 8omatic converted to VHS. It was basically the same technology. Vomatic retooled, stayed open, and Lucky kept his job. Lucky lived the all American Dream; a double wide trailer, a Ford 350 with a gun rack, a dog named “Sorrow” and Sueanne, the love of his live. Sueanne worked in a regional call center. Then everything went south. VHS went obsolete, Vomatic couldn’t retool to CDs or DVDs, the technology was too different. Lucky lost his job, and with it, his health and dental benefits. Sueanne’s call center was being moved to New Delhi. Since she was a supervisor, she took the relocation offer and left. With no wife and no income, Lucky couldn’t meet the payments on the trailer, went into foreclosure, and became a homeless wanderer. That’s what I heard sitting by the side of the road changing a flat. I gave Lucky the Powerbar and bottle of Gatorade as we parted ways.

The rest of the day was not so interesting. It was an easy 57 mile ride up I-80 to Battle Mountain, NV. We’re all used to riding on I-80 now and have come to like it. The climbs were slight, the weather perfect, and we had plenty of time to hang out at the rest stops. There are still a lot of those brown mountains, many of them snow-capped.

We’re staying at another Comfort Inn. Along with Holiday Inn Express, it’s the mainstay of our travels. Both chains seem unfazed by all the bicycles moving through the hallways. I’m not sure what their regular guests think.

This is a little like summer camp for cyclists. Andy is the head counselor. He has a wonderful calm voice and contagious kind karma that is infectious for all of us. “Wasn’t that 8,000 foot climb great? Did you ever think that you could be such a strong cyclist? Wasn’t the view form the summit magnificent? Michelle is the mother figure, reminding everyone to wash their hands before eating their enroute snacks, to look through the lost and found box and reclaim our goods, telling us to sign in at least three times a day, and so on. Christine is the utility outfielder. She rides the route, helps load the vans, and mans the rest stops. Last but not least is Gerard, our bike mechanic and my roommate. You can’t appreciate how cool it is having a bike mechanic on the tour. Gerard keeps a good eye on our bikes, sometimes running up to adjust something before we even know something is wrong. Mechanics in bike shops tend to treat you like you are stupid and they are the guardians of all bicycle mysteries. Gerard is more generous and teaches us how to do the repairs ourselves (if we want). Tonight we had a dérailleur (the mechanism that changes the gears) clinic before dinner. Gerard is also a very strong rider; he was the coach on yesterday’s double pace line. Andy, Christine, Michelle or Gerard are out on their bikes with us every day. That’s very nice. Summer camp is great!

Oh yes, today marks a personal best. The longest tour I've ever ridden before was 7 days. Now it's 8! Tomorrow I break my tour distance record (580 miles).

Day 7, 70 miles, somewhere in Nevada

This will be short because I'm tired. Just look at the picture, that tired. We rode 70 miles against 15 mile headwinds. In keeping with the be positive theme, here is the top ten list of good things about headwinds.

10
9
8
7
6
5
4
3
2
1

Do you get the picture? There is nothing good about headwinds. Except perhaps that I learned to ride in a double pace line. A double pace line works like this: Imagine a long rectangle formation of cyclists with the wind coming from the left. The riders on the left break the wind for the riders on the right. Thus, the riders on the right side move faster, the ones on the left fall back. When a rider reaches the front of the right side, he switches left, and drops back. When the last rider on the left side sees that the last spot on the right side has moved up, that rider moves to the right. If that's too complicated, just think of it as cyclists moving in a counter clockwise rotating rectangle. It does, as you might imagine, require lots of concentration on the part of all the riders, but the payoff is high. If rider fought that headwind alone, she'd go maybe 10 mph. If she was in a single pace line, it would be 12 mph. In a double pace line, it gets above 15 mph. I was one of 16 cyclists in a double pace line. It was very cool. I learned a new cylcing skill.

After riding all day, there was work to me done. I took my laundry over to the truck stop. Somehow, I didn't seem to fit in, but when I started to whine about needing clean clothes to continue riding my bicycle to New Hampshire, they let me use the washing machines in the "professional drivers" area. while the clothes were in the washer,I rode to the local bike store to get some supplies. They thought that I (a x country rider) was the most exciting thing that happened in their shop all week. (but it didn't get me a discount). When I got back, everything went into the drier (screw that "line dry" instructions on my shorts). Everything went in on "delicate" (a rarely used setting in the truck stop) and every ten minutes, items that were dry got pulled. Fortunately there were no truckers to make fun of my spandex shorts or flashy jerseys. Then the laundry had to be folded, resorted, and packed. Thanks what life on the road is like. (I only have to pack and unpack 45 more times.)

The scenery is 7.5 on a scale of ten. The brown foothills go on for miles, with some variation when the clouds change their color or when snow caps the tall ones. All in all, it's brown and dry. Much different from the lush green and babbling brooks of a few days ago.

Today isn't Chris' birthday, nor Karen's. ; - )

Day 6, 91 mile day, 15.4 mph average, 5,695 Calories.

More than 80 of these miles were on interstate I-80. Now I could bitch and moan about riding on the shoulder of an interstate, but that would violate the “be positive” theme of the ride. So there are my top ten good things about riding on I-80.

10. It makes you appreciate the routes you usually ride at home.
9. You learn what a mirage in the distance is like. (When the sun catches salt flats at the right angle, it reflects back and looks like water. Once you get there, the angle changes and it just looks like land.)
8. There is plenty of time to soak in the same endless unchanging scenery.
7. When you catch a tail wind, it goes and goes and goes.
6. You don’t have to worry about oncoming traffic making a left turn.
5. It’s safer than cycling a windy downhill at 40 mph.
4. When a truck swooshes by, it’s like someone put their hand on your butt and gave you a big push forward. This increases speed by 5 mph. When it’s a triple trailer, the slip stream can add 15 mph to your speed. (no joke)
3. There are rumble strips between the cyclist and the road to jolt the cyclist back to awareness should he start to drift into the lane. I suppose this would also work if the trucker started to drift into the bike lane, but one a truck going 80 hits the rumble strip, it’s too late to do me much good.
2. There are no pesky joggers, kids on tikes, or bird watchers on “the bike path.”
1. It’s straight for 80 miles, you can’t get lost!

We’re starting to rack up miles. The official cumulative total as of today is 409 miles.
The pictures show the salt flats, the typical mountains in the distance, and how we spend our time once we check into the Bates Motel and Casino.

Day 5, Lake Tahoe, into Nevada

Once again, it was quite a day. I woke up tired and in my "Tom isn't very nice in the morning” mood. Perhaps today would be the day the bubble pops. Seeing the guy in the parking lot scraping the frost off his window didn’t make me feel any better. But then we got out on the road. The sun rose over the mountains in the East (as it usually does), and we were riding in a line of 20 cyclists going north. So the macadam held a string of cycling shadows. If only I could have taken out my camera and captured it in one of those one hand shots. But that's not a smart thing to do in a line of 20 cyclists.

It's been a little disappointing that it's been hard to stop and take pictures or just stand and look; the cycling groups just didn’t stop. If you did, you were dropped. Today was different, perhaps because yesterday was so hard. I was fortunate enough to ride with Sue, an ER nurse from Denver (who has climbed Mount Kilimanjaro), and the oldest member of our group, John, who is 69 and will be getting married in the Spring. Charlie is retired military and led us to a microbrewery for lunch. It was a real “stop and smell the roses” (or stop and go to the bathroom) group.

At any rate, after the shadow pace line, we passed Squaw Valley and slipped onto that black ribbon that cut through the green velvet forest alongside Spring run off cascading down from the Sierras. (Not a bad sentence, eh?). We then hugged the shore of Lake Tahoe. The sun flicked off the wind whipped waves of Tahoe reflecting a thousand diamonds in a setting of green forest and platinum capped mountains. Then there was the inevitable climb. The grade was 8%, eight miles long, we traveled at the blinding speed of 4 mph. How long did that take? Do the math. It got colder and colder as we went higher and higher. The tour company van carried our extra clothes and met us half way up so we could add more layers. The snow wasn’t up on those distant mountains, we were! And the snow was there with us. Pretty cool for June. (Can you find the bad pun?) The reward for that 8 mile climb was a !! 16 !! mile down hill. That was, if you’ll excuse the expression, “kick ass.” Exhilarating. Brake scorching. I kept it below that 35 mph speed limit.

We’re in Nevada. There are lots of casinos in Nevada. We had dinner at the buffet. It was really good.

Now, a kind request for my friends. The idea of a blog is to get some two way conversation going. There hasn’t been much activity in the comments section. I feel like I’m throwing that bottle out into the ocean. Clicking on that “comment” link or sending me e-mail (t.montville@yahoo.com) every couple or three days would help keep my seat on the saddle. (Thanks for those messages, Bob.)

Day 4, The Donner Pass, 8,000+ feet high

I’m tired. But very happy. Today was one of my most challenging days of cycling- strike that, THE most challenging day. We rode 75 miles and had an elevation gain (i.e. we peddled up a hill that high) of 8,590 feet- that’s a mile and a half upward! Typically the grade was 9-12 %. Remember, the teacher in the Zendo and the stick? It was like that. The highest grade I ever cycle at home is 6 or 7%, and to be frank, I try to avoid those hills. Today, there was no avoiding it. Most of the day was just plain hard work, 8,900 calories of expended work (remember, a calorie is a unit of energy). Our route wove in and out of the path of I-80. It was mostly through pine forest with babbling brooks and magnificent rock falls in the middle of the gushing waters. It reminded me of a place near his boy hood home that my dad used to take us to skinny dip. The environment helped keep my mind off the climb. At one point, however, there was no way around it, we had to climb on I-80. The shoulders were wide and in good repair, and the grade was only 7-8%, but cars really wiz by the entrance and exit ramps. ABB is very safety conscious, they pulled us off I-80 for half a mile where there was construction and absolutely no shoulder. We had to walk on the grass beyond where the shoulder should have been. We passed the Sugar Bowl ski area, where there was still snow on the ground. The ski runs where still etched in white. But there was nataural snow beyond some parts of our riding shoulder. We had to add clothes as our height increased. ABB had a van ten miles from the top with out bags of heavier clothes. In the morning it was just cycling tights and a jersey. At the top I’d added a skull cap, a fleece vest, and a wind jacket.

The top of Donner Pass was spectacular. The view of the mountains and the lake made me mist up to realize the beauty of the country. (It’s corny, but it’s true). We stopped and took lots of group pictures. I’ll have to figure out how to put more than one on the blog. The ride down was kick-ass. But we’d been admonished that it was a very technical down hill (steep drops into hair-pin turns) and this was not the place to go for a new personal best speed record. I heeded that advice. A few miles past the bottom, there was a state park with a museum chronicling the travels of the immigrants from the east to California,

Imagine the year 1846, when 89 people in the Donner Party (named after their leader), coming from St. Joseph, MO (where we’ll be going) set out for a new life in California. They made the mistake of trying to take a short cut through what is now the Donner Pass. (It may have been shorter, but it was 8,000 feet up. Guess that didn’t register.) The Donner Party had to disassemble their wagons and drag them over the mountain. They got caught in the pass during a historically bad snow storm. Some starved, there was talk of cannibalism, ultimately 49 people made it. We get to do it on paved roads on bicycles!

Day 3

On big rides, calender day and date, fade into another universe. It's just Day X (of the ride). Today is day 3. The first half of the ride was 35 miles (almost as long as the whole Delaware & Raritan)on the American River Parkway. The parkway is a half a mile wide multi use (hiking, jogging, cycling, birding) park with a paved path and full facilities. It lies on a Sacramento River flood plain and is constructed to withstand the occasional flood. (For example, the toilets are those stainless steel indestructible prison toilets and the toilet paper holders are four feet off the ground so that the paper doesn't get soggy.) It is, I have to admit, even nicer than the Capital crescent Trail. After a bit of highway riding, we had a 9% grade hill for 1.4 miles. That should have been the big hill for the day, bring our total climb to ~1500 feet. The operative word is "should." I made a wrong turn and found my self going up and down the side of the mountain. It was one of those deals where you know pretty quick that it was a wrong turn, but don't want to go back up the hill you just came down. (Note that two different people told me that I could get to my destination this way. Operative word, "could." I should have asked them if I "should" go that way. To make a long story short (I know, too late for that), I added an extra 9 miles and 1600 feet of climb to my day. It was a beautiful route looking over the valley to the mountains on the other side of the valley and gave me another chance to work on my hill climbing skills. (How's that for a positive attitude? Average speed, 13.2. 4,732 calories burned- think I'll have desert.

All that having been said, I got to the hotel by 1:00. Our room wasn't ready, but the desk person gave me a towel and the key to the pool. So I swam and laid in the sun for an hour. Bonus- since I swam, I didn't need to wash my cycling shorts and I don't need to shower. (Bob will understand this- when we were kids, if we went swimming, even in the Mud-hole (a real place), we'd argue that we didn't need to shower.) Now the pool was chlorinated, and so was the hot tub, so that really should be enough. Am I kidding? Only Bob knows.

b/t/w, I'm in Auburn, CA

Two Days Down, Fifty to Go

Day 1 San Francisco to Fairmont, CA (84 miles)

Where to start? We saw so much and traveled so far today. The Pacific wheel dip (the trip starts with the back tire in the Pacific and ends with the front tire in the Atlantic) was about 17 miles from our hotel. (That's me in the picture. Sorry it's so small, but sometimes there are technical glitches.) To get to the Pacific, we had our first big climb of the trip, 600 ft only two miles into the ride. Not warmed up or limber yet.

We passed the California AIDS ride (SF to LA) South as we went North. I was a little wistful for having ridden with them in 06, but realize that that ride was, in a sense, preparation for this one. There was a lot of good natured “You’re going the wrong way!” between the two groups. That got old pretty fast, so when we were all at stop lights, we’d yell, “We’ve been to LA, it sucks, turn back!” The Pacific was beautiful, but had a pretty chilly wind blowing off it. We stopped and walked across the beach to put our rear wheel in the Pacific. Then we had a big group picture.

The ride to the Golden Gate Bridge was extraordinary. We rode through the streets of San Francisco proper, a city known for its hills. We rode up the Presidio a former military base that sits about the town. A triathlon was also passing through, so there was some pretty fancy traffic control. Wouldn’t want to get hit by one of them going down hill at 45 mph! The Golden Grate Bridge is a gorgeous piece of civil engineering and a cultural icon. On the weekends, its recreational use is so heavy that it has to be segregated; walkers on joggers on the East side, cyclists to the West.

It was a big day for prisons, we saw Alcatraz and San Quinton. The later is huge, a campus about the size of Montclair University. Then it was in and out a variety of pathways. We rode on bike paths, wooded trails, suburban streets, busy city streets and major highways with 55 (ha) mph traffic. There were some artsy towns; the group we were riding with stopped in a very hip brunch/lunch place and refilled. I was going to go with the breakfast burrito until I saw that they were the size of a new born baby. Too much to eat and ride. I had two big ass pancakes topped with a couple of eggs instead.

After that, I hung back with a slower rider. Those of you who know me know that riding slow is not my thing, but I can remember my first ride when I was far behind and all alone. It’s not a good feeling. Plus, navigating those 63 turns was pretty intimidating. So it was good to be with someone. We only got lost a few times. The worst was when we ended up on RT37 West when we were supposed to be on 37East. We did not try to run across 4 lanes of traffic…

That was pretty much the day. After we washed up, the van took us to Applebee’s where we had a giant table that held all forty of us. It was good to eat. (Bad usage, the table wasn’t good to eat; it was good for us to eat dinner.) They gave us all ice cream after dinner. : - ) Back at the hotel, Gerard (our bike mechanic and my sometime roommate) put a new chain on my bike. Should have had it done before I left. 2,000 miles is about all you can expect out of a chain. So I might need another before the trip is over.


Day 2, Fairmont to Sacramento, 60 miles

Today’s ride was pretty uneventful. It was flat through a lot of agricultural lands which had very dark fertile soil. I hoped on the tail of a fast group, which is a good way to get to be a better rider. Ride with people who are a little faster than you. That’s a good life lesson. My average speed was 16.4 mph, really good for 60 miles, and including tooling around the University of California-Davis. I tried to drop in on a few of my food science colleagues, but they were out. UCD is an incredible place of bikes. There are literally thousands on campus, with hundreds on bike racks outside the lecture halls. The core of campus is closed to vehicles, so it’s pretty cool. I had a very nice, but too expensive, lunch in Davis’ yuppie district.

Today is Elijah’s Promise’s “Chef’s Night,” a major fund raiser. If anyone from EP is reading this, please convey the message” the Cross Country Challenge is a one time only event. Next year, I’ll be at Chef’s Night, sitting and eating. Speaking of eating, we’re eating at places like Denny’s, Applebees, etc.

That’s it for now. Got to do laundry, or maybe swim in the river, or maybe go to “Old Sacramento.” That’s a recreated old west town.” Or I may take a nap…. (later) Didn't do the nap, but was reduced to comparison shopping of the food at the Shell and Valerno gas station. I needed salty food (Fritos!) tonight and carbs (licorice sticks) for tomorrow.

b/t/w, if I don't post on a given day, don't worry; some of the hotels don't have internet.