It really is true, it's all about timing. Whether it means meeting up with some rad cyclists on completely different trips, getting harassed by some bogus ranger, or getting dumped on by snow; timing is paramount. I should stop talking about how bad I've had it, or how I've seen some of the worst weather, because I'm sure it can, and just might be, worse. I feel salty from the road now. I've experienced so many different types of weather: rain, cold, heat, snow, crosswinds, hail, headwinds, etc.
When I get into towns for "rest days", it's almost like a routine that repeats itself now. Understand that a "rest day", is not really a rest day. Sure I'm not biking long distances, but I'm still biking around town, taking care of other things. I always have to go to the grocery store and resupply, bike maintenance, and the big thing is uploading pictures and working on the blog. I recently had a rest day, and it was marvelous.
After some great time off in Bozeman at my new friend's Todd and Amy, I was back on the road. I left Bozeman in great sunshine, and was slapped with a stiff headwind. I decided to take a shortcut, per Todd's recommendation, that would be shorter and slower, but there would be less traffic and possibly less headwind. Just off the freeway, the road winded slowly uphill through brilliant patches of colored trees. I don't know if I've ever seen leaves "turn" in the fall, but it is an incredible sight to see leaves of that color. The road soon went from paved to dirt (Todd had informed me of this), and as I navigated the washboard road at a slow pace, I heard a car slow up behind me.
I figured the car was waiting for a decent place to pass me, but after a few moments, I turned and looked to see a black van creeping past with the side-door open. There was a gorgeous blond girl with sunglasses on, that said with a big smile, "You're doing a great job. This is for you when you get to the top of the hill." Then she hands me a cold beer. I had barely enough time to say thanks, stopping to put the bottle of deliciousness away, as they sped off leaving a cloud of dust.
Stopping at a gas station in Gardiner, just before entering the park, I briefly spoke to a woman that was interested in my trip. She gave me $20, and told me her sister had done a long bike trip too (thanks Karin!). From there, I biked up a windy hill after entering the park, and paying the fee. After dealing with yet another headwind all day, I was on a mission to get to the "boiling river" that several people had told me about. I found it, and in no time was soaking in fresh water, mixed with scalding, spring water. I had never been to a natural hot spring before, and it felt so good! I made conversation with some people, including Marty and Frank. They ended up walking back with me to the parking lot and gave me a bag of food (thanks!).
It was about dark, and figured I would just go tuck in behind some bushes and trees down the river away from the parking lot. I pitched my tent in the dark, and ate a can of beans with some bread, as I saw and heard another car pull into the parking lot (everyone else had left at this point). I didn't have my headlamp on, and wasn't visible, but was nervous if it might be a ranger. I soon caught a scent of the wind, that brought the sweet aroma of marijuana, and I knew right away - they weren't park employees. I figured they must be doing a night jaunt to the hot springs, and I couldn't believe I didn't think of that.
I grabbed some dry clothes, and took off on the ~0.25mile walk to the spring. Sure enough, they were there and enjoying the warm, cloudless, night. They were two local guys from Bozeman, trying to beat the crowds and enjoy the spring. After they left, I sat in the warm, moving river, staring up at the stars and saw several meteors and a couple satellites. I slept so soundly that night.
In the morning, I awoke early as usual (with my alarm of course). I made the mistake of cooking, then eating breakfast, before breaking down my tent. Before I could finish packing my stuff inside of my tent, I heard the chilling words, "good morning, park ranger". I emerged from the tent and spoke to ranger "Dick". He said I was in 'food violation', and that I was 'camping out of a designated area'. I was already kicking myself inside at how stupid I was for not having broken down my tent at first light, I was even in view of the road. I had become lazy and careless from the ease of camping in the north in Alaska, Yukon, and B.C.
Instead of trying to come up with an elaborate lie, I tried the honest approach, and pleaded with him that I was a struggling, traveling, cyclist. I told him how I arrived when it was nearly dark, and that I might have had some altitude sickness (this was stretching it a bit). He didn't care, and slapped me with a fine and a ticket saying, "you should have planned better". Even though the nearest campground is 40 miles away, and over the massive pass I would have to climb later that day of at least another 2,000ft.
Getting that ticket just adds nitroglycerin to the raging bonfire of desire to get the hell out of the states as quickly as possible. Maybe subconsciously I wanted to get the ticket, I can't explain why else I was so stupid and careless about not disassembling my tent in a timely fashion.
Through the rest of Yellowstone, I found it difficult to shake my anger and disappointment, and it started taking away from the experience.
I almost didn't go to Norris geyser basin, but figured might as well, I paid the money to be in the park. There I would meet Wim from Holland, another Alaska to Argentina cyclist, who was busy entertaining a mother's two kids, giving them rides on the back of his bike when I met him. I was amazed (I still am, like other people) at his perpetual stoke, and just an all-around happy person. I ended up biking with him to camp where we met two other cyclists (this was the first time I stayed and paid at a campground), and the four of us stayed up late into the night enjoying good conversation and a blazing fire.
Through some more geyser basins, past Old Faithful, and over three passes, it was downhill out of the park. Wim had caught up with me on one of the passes, where we soon met Dan and Ross, the two other cyclists from the previous evening. The four of us rode for a while until we saw TWO MORE cyclists on the side of the road (all of us loaded). The two cyclists happen to be Aart and Heddit, two Dutch guys I had met just before leaving Canada and crossing back into the U.S. The six of us stopped for a few minutes and talked, all amazed and kind of stoked at how cool and spontaneous a trip like this can be.
Me, Dan, Ross, and Aart, ended up riding together to camp that night. We heard of a nice forest road just out of the park and before the Teton park, where we could camp. We ended up camping on the lawn of a boarded up visitor center building, with no one around. It was dark in no time as we cooked dinner, and sipped on hot toddies that Dan and Ross craftily made. I suddenly saw a ranger drive by down the road, and I slipped into worried mode. A short minute or so later, he had turned around and pulled a car over with his lights ablaze. Me, Dan, and Ross sat quietly with our headlamps off in the dark, nervous. Next the ranger came around the corner in his truck and saw Aart camped around the corner and down the building from us, shined his lights on him, and came out to question him.
At this point, I was in near panic mode, especially since my tent was nearly in view of the ranger as well (he hadn't seen us yet). I had already received one ticket and could not get another one. As the ranger questioned Aart, I silently dragged my tent behind the building in the dark, and began breaking it down in case the cop came over to question us. I made sure it was ok with Dan and Ross, and grabbed my bike (it's easier to explain a bunch of gear, but not three bikes and two people), ripped off my bright yellow rain jacket, and took off into the dark, quiet forest, weaving my way through many trees. There's a reason I wear black most of the time... I sat in the dark, waiting.
After probably 20 minutes, and what I thought to be the ranger's truck driving off, I cautiously emerged from the forest, and returned to our camp. The ranger hadn't given a ticket to Aart, and didn't ever see Dan and Ross, fortunately.
Biking through the Tetons, I was again impressed with the beauty of the fire-orange trees next to Jackson Lake, and had a magnificent view of the mighty Teton range. I had such great, sunny weather again, as I fought a headwind all the way into Jackson, and south.
I had my fifth flat, and almost the moment I pulled my bike pump off the bike, a nice local fellow, Marlowe, stopped to see if I needed a hand. He even went home real quick, as I changed the tube, he returned with an electric air compressor... cool. Another friendly woman had stopped as I was putting things back on the bike, to see if I needed any parts or anything!
The day I rode to Bear Lake was a cold one, little did I know how cold it would get:
As I packed up, and loaded the bike, I had an eerie feeling as I saw the wind blowing the yellow leaves off of the trees, and looked at the cloudy sky. I rode through some cold stretches, and over two passes. Going down the second pass, it started raining harder and became soaked and even more cold. I heard a voice behind me that scared me, it was Wim! We rode to Montpelier, and warmed up with some coffee. I was planning on riding down the east lake, and over Monte Christo pass to get to Salt Lake - avoiding a lot of traffic, and possibly a much more scenic route, albeit brutal (the pass is at 9,000ft). Wim was trying to get to Logan soon, so he was going down the west side of the lake. We parted ways, and I biked through a town called Dingle (believe it or not) and arrived at the dirt road that was "2 or 3 miles long".
I found a nice, flat, pull-out above the dirt road, and tucked my tent around the corner behind some bushes. It rained softly in the dark, as I cooked some pasta and went to bed. It was kind of a noisy night with the wind occasionally rustling the tent, so I put my ear plugs in. I woke up in the morning, adjusted my eyes as I stared at the ceiling of the tent, and realized it was covered in snow.
I chuckled a bit at the thought of being snowed on, but then reality set in. I was on the east side of the lake, with no one around for miles. I had heard one truck drive by that morning, and that was it. It was still dumping snow, and when I punched the top of the tent from the inside, several inches of snow fell off. I stood outside of the tent to pee quickly, and went right back into the tent. I sat there, bent, since the weight of the snow had partly caved in my tent, trying to think logically and methodically at the best approach to the current situation. I thought that maybe I should just sit tight and wait for it to stop snowing, then pictured myself being snowed in. I resolved that the only option really was to pack everything up, and get to the nearest town. I remembered that there was a road that went across the lake, and ended directly at St. Charles. I couldn't recall passing a turnoff for the road, or a sign or anything, and deduced that it must still be south of where I was at.
I put on a bunch of clothes (rain gear of course), put plastic bags over my feet and over my shoes, then prepared to do what had to be done.
I emerged from the tent in a blizzard/white-out that was reminiscent of the powder days I've had over the years snowboarding. I scarfed a couple bananas as quickly as I could, knowing full well I'd need it to get through this. I had to dig around in the now inches of snow, to find my stove, cookware, bungies, etc. I packed up the tent, and everything else as quickly as I could. I had some trouble finding my pan under the snow, but finally did. I took my time strapping everything onto the bike like I normally do, I didn't want anything falling off once I got rolling.
Back on the dirt road, it was transformed into a brown slush road. It was dumping snow still, I was already feeling cold in my limbs, I still hadn't seen anyone else around...
but I had a tailwind.
I biked for a few miles and saw a truck. I flagged them down and verified the road across the lake to St. Charles. He said it was still a couple miles on the dirt road, then another 4 or so across the lake. Well it turned out to be about 3 more miles before the turnoff, then about 9 miles to get across the lake. As I biked across the lake, and turned 90 degrees, then wind was now at my right side and howling. The snow bit my face, and covered me. As I dealt with the wind, cold, and snow, I heard a "hon-hon-hooooonk-honk" behind me. I moved over to let the car pass, and saw an elderly woman with Idaho plates in a four-door car, drive past and give me a look like "what are you doing in the middle of the road" - incredible. No hesitation, or pause to see if I'm ok.
I stopped at the first place I saw that had someone inside, and it happened to be Ellen's. She took me in, gave me a dry towel, hot chocolate, and let me figure out what to do next. I remembered that Wim had said he was going to stay at the RV park in town, and Ellen offered to give me a ride over to see if we could find him. He was there alright, and just loading up at the laundry room to leave. I couldn't talk him out of riding, trying to get him to share the cost of a hotel room or cabin. The RV park owner, Kent, had even offered an incredible deal to him to try and get him to stay, but he still left. I don't know if he's ok or not, but I trust that he is, he does have the nice Goretex gear, that I do not.
I took Kent up on the insanely good deal of $20 for a cabin, that he described as charity. I spent the rest of the day doing nothing. I took a shower, ate food, and sat around watching TV as it dumped snow outside. It was the first, actual, rest day of my trip that I recall. I think I earned it.
The next day there was still some snow on the ground (it had snowed through the night too), and after thoroughly checking the forecast, I decided to ride. It had stopped snowing, but snow was still a possibility on the forecast. Still very cold out, but do-able, I thanked Kent, and left. Riding up the long hill from Bear Lake, the temperature dropped, and I creeped up to the snow-line and the clouds above. I took a "rest" at the "rest stop" near the top of the hill, only to put socks over my hands, and plastic grocery bags over them. Over the top of the pass, and I was blasted with wind and sleet.
As I started down the gradual hill towards Logan, the sleet stung my eyes every time I looked up to check the road and what direction I was heading. I kept on plugging, and knew I was committed at this point because there is nothing in the canyon between there and Logan. Fortunately, the road made a casual descent, almost the whole way to Logan. I was below the snow-line again a short while later, and into warmer temps.
I reached Max's dorm room at Utah State, and was gleeful as I warmed up in their hot dorm. He treated me to the buffet on campus (thanks Max!), after I took a shower and relaxed a bit. Walking around the cafeteria, I marveled at all the wonderful edible concoctions. I could't help but smile at how excited I was to eat all of the tasty food. They had everything: pizza, burgers, fries, mexican (burritos/tostadas), ice cream, pies, etc. It was a hungry cyclists dream come true...
I don't know if I've ever eaten that much food, but my stomach painfully hurt afterward.
I said goodbye to Max in the morning, and biked ~90 miles from Logan to Salt Lake (I had a soft tailwind for once, yay!), through a mess of towns, and congestion, arriving at Tanya and Michael's home. Like Max, they are warmshowers hosts, and were very welcoming. They immediately offered a shower, a beer, introduced me to their 4 wonderful dogs, and showed me around their spacious home. They took me out for dinner that night, and we had a great time.
I've taken the past couple days off here, one just recovering really haha. Picked up a new tire I'll have to throw on the front soon, the usual grocery store run, and few other errands. I'm leaving in the morning for Provo, where I've got another WS host lined up. Then it'll be back to camping until I reach Moab.
I'm really excited to see Moab. It is one of the places that every mountain biker has heard of. They have infamous sand-stone rock, that is supposed to be thrilling to ride on.
Moab is basically the same elevation as Salt Lake. I can only hope that since it is further south, there is still time before they get snow. In some sick way, I kind of hoped it might snow on me once on the trip just to see what it would be like. It did snow, and I had to ride through it, and I don't want to have to do that again.
From there I'll ride South through the high desert and mesas to Flagstaff, where I look forward to seeing Sedona, but ultimately dropping into the desert.
Some Thoughts While Riding:
After cleaning and lubing my drivetrain, my bike seems to pedal and shift smoother. There is less noise with fresh lubrication, and it even seems to pedal better. I was thinking the other day of Gomer Pyle from "Full Metal Jacket", when he's cleaning his gun, something like: "everything is clean and smooth, so it fires perfectly...".
When I get into towns for "rest days", it's almost like a routine that repeats itself now. Understand that a "rest day", is not really a rest day. Sure I'm not biking long distances, but I'm still biking around town, taking care of other things. I always have to go to the grocery store and resupply, bike maintenance, and the big thing is uploading pictures and working on the blog. I recently had a rest day, and it was marvelous.
After some great time off in Bozeman at my new friend's Todd and Amy, I was back on the road. I left Bozeman in great sunshine, and was slapped with a stiff headwind. I decided to take a shortcut, per Todd's recommendation, that would be shorter and slower, but there would be less traffic and possibly less headwind. Just off the freeway, the road winded slowly uphill through brilliant patches of colored trees. I don't know if I've ever seen leaves "turn" in the fall, but it is an incredible sight to see leaves of that color. The road soon went from paved to dirt (Todd had informed me of this), and as I navigated the washboard road at a slow pace, I heard a car slow up behind me.
I figured the car was waiting for a decent place to pass me, but after a few moments, I turned and looked to see a black van creeping past with the side-door open. There was a gorgeous blond girl with sunglasses on, that said with a big smile, "You're doing a great job. This is for you when you get to the top of the hill." Then she hands me a cold beer. I had barely enough time to say thanks, stopping to put the bottle of deliciousness away, as they sped off leaving a cloud of dust.
Stopping at a gas station in Gardiner, just before entering the park, I briefly spoke to a woman that was interested in my trip. She gave me $20, and told me her sister had done a long bike trip too (thanks Karin!). From there, I biked up a windy hill after entering the park, and paying the fee. After dealing with yet another headwind all day, I was on a mission to get to the "boiling river" that several people had told me about. I found it, and in no time was soaking in fresh water, mixed with scalding, spring water. I had never been to a natural hot spring before, and it felt so good! I made conversation with some people, including Marty and Frank. They ended up walking back with me to the parking lot and gave me a bag of food (thanks!).
It was about dark, and figured I would just go tuck in behind some bushes and trees down the river away from the parking lot. I pitched my tent in the dark, and ate a can of beans with some bread, as I saw and heard another car pull into the parking lot (everyone else had left at this point). I didn't have my headlamp on, and wasn't visible, but was nervous if it might be a ranger. I soon caught a scent of the wind, that brought the sweet aroma of marijuana, and I knew right away - they weren't park employees. I figured they must be doing a night jaunt to the hot springs, and I couldn't believe I didn't think of that.
I grabbed some dry clothes, and took off on the ~0.25mile walk to the spring. Sure enough, they were there and enjoying the warm, cloudless, night. They were two local guys from Bozeman, trying to beat the crowds and enjoy the spring. After they left, I sat in the warm, moving river, staring up at the stars and saw several meteors and a couple satellites. I slept so soundly that night.
In the morning, I awoke early as usual (with my alarm of course). I made the mistake of cooking, then eating breakfast, before breaking down my tent. Before I could finish packing my stuff inside of my tent, I heard the chilling words, "good morning, park ranger". I emerged from the tent and spoke to ranger "Dick". He said I was in 'food violation', and that I was 'camping out of a designated area'. I was already kicking myself inside at how stupid I was for not having broken down my tent at first light, I was even in view of the road. I had become lazy and careless from the ease of camping in the north in Alaska, Yukon, and B.C.
Instead of trying to come up with an elaborate lie, I tried the honest approach, and pleaded with him that I was a struggling, traveling, cyclist. I told him how I arrived when it was nearly dark, and that I might have had some altitude sickness (this was stretching it a bit). He didn't care, and slapped me with a fine and a ticket saying, "you should have planned better". Even though the nearest campground is 40 miles away, and over the massive pass I would have to climb later that day of at least another 2,000ft.
Getting that ticket just adds nitroglycerin to the raging bonfire of desire to get the hell out of the states as quickly as possible. Maybe subconsciously I wanted to get the ticket, I can't explain why else I was so stupid and careless about not disassembling my tent in a timely fashion.
Through the rest of Yellowstone, I found it difficult to shake my anger and disappointment, and it started taking away from the experience.
I almost didn't go to Norris geyser basin, but figured might as well, I paid the money to be in the park. There I would meet Wim from Holland, another Alaska to Argentina cyclist, who was busy entertaining a mother's two kids, giving them rides on the back of his bike when I met him. I was amazed (I still am, like other people) at his perpetual stoke, and just an all-around happy person. I ended up biking with him to camp where we met two other cyclists (this was the first time I stayed and paid at a campground), and the four of us stayed up late into the night enjoying good conversation and a blazing fire.
Through some more geyser basins, past Old Faithful, and over three passes, it was downhill out of the park. Wim had caught up with me on one of the passes, where we soon met Dan and Ross, the two other cyclists from the previous evening. The four of us rode for a while until we saw TWO MORE cyclists on the side of the road (all of us loaded). The two cyclists happen to be Aart and Heddit, two Dutch guys I had met just before leaving Canada and crossing back into the U.S. The six of us stopped for a few minutes and talked, all amazed and kind of stoked at how cool and spontaneous a trip like this can be.
Me, Dan, Ross, and Aart, ended up riding together to camp that night. We heard of a nice forest road just out of the park and before the Teton park, where we could camp. We ended up camping on the lawn of a boarded up visitor center building, with no one around. It was dark in no time as we cooked dinner, and sipped on hot toddies that Dan and Ross craftily made. I suddenly saw a ranger drive by down the road, and I slipped into worried mode. A short minute or so later, he had turned around and pulled a car over with his lights ablaze. Me, Dan, and Ross sat quietly with our headlamps off in the dark, nervous. Next the ranger came around the corner in his truck and saw Aart camped around the corner and down the building from us, shined his lights on him, and came out to question him.
At this point, I was in near panic mode, especially since my tent was nearly in view of the ranger as well (he hadn't seen us yet). I had already received one ticket and could not get another one. As the ranger questioned Aart, I silently dragged my tent behind the building in the dark, and began breaking it down in case the cop came over to question us. I made sure it was ok with Dan and Ross, and grabbed my bike (it's easier to explain a bunch of gear, but not three bikes and two people), ripped off my bright yellow rain jacket, and took off into the dark, quiet forest, weaving my way through many trees. There's a reason I wear black most of the time... I sat in the dark, waiting.
After probably 20 minutes, and what I thought to be the ranger's truck driving off, I cautiously emerged from the forest, and returned to our camp. The ranger hadn't given a ticket to Aart, and didn't ever see Dan and Ross, fortunately.
Biking through the Tetons, I was again impressed with the beauty of the fire-orange trees next to Jackson Lake, and had a magnificent view of the mighty Teton range. I had such great, sunny weather again, as I fought a headwind all the way into Jackson, and south.
I had my fifth flat, and almost the moment I pulled my bike pump off the bike, a nice local fellow, Marlowe, stopped to see if I needed a hand. He even went home real quick, as I changed the tube, he returned with an electric air compressor... cool. Another friendly woman had stopped as I was putting things back on the bike, to see if I needed any parts or anything!
The day I rode to Bear Lake was a cold one, little did I know how cold it would get:
As I packed up, and loaded the bike, I had an eerie feeling as I saw the wind blowing the yellow leaves off of the trees, and looked at the cloudy sky. I rode through some cold stretches, and over two passes. Going down the second pass, it started raining harder and became soaked and even more cold. I heard a voice behind me that scared me, it was Wim! We rode to Montpelier, and warmed up with some coffee. I was planning on riding down the east lake, and over Monte Christo pass to get to Salt Lake - avoiding a lot of traffic, and possibly a much more scenic route, albeit brutal (the pass is at 9,000ft). Wim was trying to get to Logan soon, so he was going down the west side of the lake. We parted ways, and I biked through a town called Dingle (believe it or not) and arrived at the dirt road that was "2 or 3 miles long".
I found a nice, flat, pull-out above the dirt road, and tucked my tent around the corner behind some bushes. It rained softly in the dark, as I cooked some pasta and went to bed. It was kind of a noisy night with the wind occasionally rustling the tent, so I put my ear plugs in. I woke up in the morning, adjusted my eyes as I stared at the ceiling of the tent, and realized it was covered in snow.
I chuckled a bit at the thought of being snowed on, but then reality set in. I was on the east side of the lake, with no one around for miles. I had heard one truck drive by that morning, and that was it. It was still dumping snow, and when I punched the top of the tent from the inside, several inches of snow fell off. I stood outside of the tent to pee quickly, and went right back into the tent. I sat there, bent, since the weight of the snow had partly caved in my tent, trying to think logically and methodically at the best approach to the current situation. I thought that maybe I should just sit tight and wait for it to stop snowing, then pictured myself being snowed in. I resolved that the only option really was to pack everything up, and get to the nearest town. I remembered that there was a road that went across the lake, and ended directly at St. Charles. I couldn't recall passing a turnoff for the road, or a sign or anything, and deduced that it must still be south of where I was at.
I put on a bunch of clothes (rain gear of course), put plastic bags over my feet and over my shoes, then prepared to do what had to be done.
I emerged from the tent in a blizzard/white-out that was reminiscent of the powder days I've had over the years snowboarding. I scarfed a couple bananas as quickly as I could, knowing full well I'd need it to get through this. I had to dig around in the now inches of snow, to find my stove, cookware, bungies, etc. I packed up the tent, and everything else as quickly as I could. I had some trouble finding my pan under the snow, but finally did. I took my time strapping everything onto the bike like I normally do, I didn't want anything falling off once I got rolling.
Back on the dirt road, it was transformed into a brown slush road. It was dumping snow still, I was already feeling cold in my limbs, I still hadn't seen anyone else around...
but I had a tailwind.
I biked for a few miles and saw a truck. I flagged them down and verified the road across the lake to St. Charles. He said it was still a couple miles on the dirt road, then another 4 or so across the lake. Well it turned out to be about 3 more miles before the turnoff, then about 9 miles to get across the lake. As I biked across the lake, and turned 90 degrees, then wind was now at my right side and howling. The snow bit my face, and covered me. As I dealt with the wind, cold, and snow, I heard a "hon-hon-hooooonk-honk" behind me. I moved over to let the car pass, and saw an elderly woman with Idaho plates in a four-door car, drive past and give me a look like "what are you doing in the middle of the road" - incredible. No hesitation, or pause to see if I'm ok.
I stopped at the first place I saw that had someone inside, and it happened to be Ellen's. She took me in, gave me a dry towel, hot chocolate, and let me figure out what to do next. I remembered that Wim had said he was going to stay at the RV park in town, and Ellen offered to give me a ride over to see if we could find him. He was there alright, and just loading up at the laundry room to leave. I couldn't talk him out of riding, trying to get him to share the cost of a hotel room or cabin. The RV park owner, Kent, had even offered an incredible deal to him to try and get him to stay, but he still left. I don't know if he's ok or not, but I trust that he is, he does have the nice Goretex gear, that I do not.
I took Kent up on the insanely good deal of $20 for a cabin, that he described as charity. I spent the rest of the day doing nothing. I took a shower, ate food, and sat around watching TV as it dumped snow outside. It was the first, actual, rest day of my trip that I recall. I think I earned it.
The next day there was still some snow on the ground (it had snowed through the night too), and after thoroughly checking the forecast, I decided to ride. It had stopped snowing, but snow was still a possibility on the forecast. Still very cold out, but do-able, I thanked Kent, and left. Riding up the long hill from Bear Lake, the temperature dropped, and I creeped up to the snow-line and the clouds above. I took a "rest" at the "rest stop" near the top of the hill, only to put socks over my hands, and plastic grocery bags over them. Over the top of the pass, and I was blasted with wind and sleet.
As I started down the gradual hill towards Logan, the sleet stung my eyes every time I looked up to check the road and what direction I was heading. I kept on plugging, and knew I was committed at this point because there is nothing in the canyon between there and Logan. Fortunately, the road made a casual descent, almost the whole way to Logan. I was below the snow-line again a short while later, and into warmer temps.
I reached Max's dorm room at Utah State, and was gleeful as I warmed up in their hot dorm. He treated me to the buffet on campus (thanks Max!), after I took a shower and relaxed a bit. Walking around the cafeteria, I marveled at all the wonderful edible concoctions. I could't help but smile at how excited I was to eat all of the tasty food. They had everything: pizza, burgers, fries, mexican (burritos/tostadas), ice cream, pies, etc. It was a hungry cyclists dream come true...
I don't know if I've ever eaten that much food, but my stomach painfully hurt afterward.
I said goodbye to Max in the morning, and biked ~90 miles from Logan to Salt Lake (I had a soft tailwind for once, yay!), through a mess of towns, and congestion, arriving at Tanya and Michael's home. Like Max, they are warmshowers hosts, and were very welcoming. They immediately offered a shower, a beer, introduced me to their 4 wonderful dogs, and showed me around their spacious home. They took me out for dinner that night, and we had a great time.
I've taken the past couple days off here, one just recovering really haha. Picked up a new tire I'll have to throw on the front soon, the usual grocery store run, and few other errands. I'm leaving in the morning for Provo, where I've got another WS host lined up. Then it'll be back to camping until I reach Moab.
I'm really excited to see Moab. It is one of the places that every mountain biker has heard of. They have infamous sand-stone rock, that is supposed to be thrilling to ride on.
Moab is basically the same elevation as Salt Lake. I can only hope that since it is further south, there is still time before they get snow. In some sick way, I kind of hoped it might snow on me once on the trip just to see what it would be like. It did snow, and I had to ride through it, and I don't want to have to do that again.
From there I'll ride South through the high desert and mesas to Flagstaff, where I look forward to seeing Sedona, but ultimately dropping into the desert.
Some Thoughts While Riding:
After cleaning and lubing my drivetrain, my bike seems to pedal and shift smoother. There is less noise with fresh lubrication, and it even seems to pedal better. I was thinking the other day of Gomer Pyle from "Full Metal Jacket", when he's cleaning his gun, something like: "everything is clean and smooth, so it fires perfectly...".
I have thought about it a few times on this trip, but can definitely say now that when this trip is through, whenever that may be, this will BY FAR be the most difficult objective I have ever accomplished.
Talk of a river trip down the Grand Canyon, solidified into plans, and it looks like I'll be joining my uncle and father for the adventure. Instead of being in San Diego for a couple weeks, it looks like I'll be there for a couple months. I'm looking forward to the river trip, and catching up with things and people in SD, but not wasting my traveling money. Hopefully I can find some temporary work, to offset the loss.
I forgot to mention in the last post how I finally came up with a name for my bike. I hadn't even really considered it, until the day I rode past Swan Lake. I started brainstorming in the rain, and after just a few minutes came up with Charles. The craziest thing is that about 10 miles down the road, I saw a side road with the exact same title on the street sign. I haven't seen one since, nor did I see one before that.
It's an intimidating thought to bike through desolate areas. Maybe that's partly why it took me so long to get started out of Anchorage. I remember leaving Prince George, and looking at a map and seeing a great lack of towns and populated areas. The thing that I've come to realize is that just because a map doesn't show a town or homes, doesn't mean there isn't anyone living out there. It's surprising how many people get by just fine in the areas with limited access to major towns.
Seeing Yellowstone, was a lot like seeing Jasper/Banff - beautiful but not as thrilling as I expected it to be. Don't get me wrong, I saw some amazing stuff, and enjoyed both, but there is something about both of those places that doesn't seem right. To me, hidden treasures are more valuable. Both places are parks, loaded with tourists, regulations. Just off the road are some of the attractions, it's just too easy to see. Some of the things I have found most profound on the trip, are the ones I had to work for, and I appreciate them more because of it.
It's a strange thing when it happens, but it does: In the presence of remarkable beauty, I just feel down. The day I had lunch next to Jackson lake and the Tetons, I sat in the sun feeling lethargic, as I stared at the incredible beauty around me.
I can't believe how many cars pass other cars, when they are oncoming traffic towards me. I always wear my reflective vest, and offended that they would try to pass right in front of me - less than a meter away from instant death. It has happened too often recently, and I let them know how much it bothers me: flipping my middle finger.
Tally: 5 flats, 2 tires, 1 chain, 1 cassette
Miles ridden so far: 3,626.4
I forgot to mention in the last post how I finally came up with a name for my bike. I hadn't even really considered it, until the day I rode past Swan Lake. I started brainstorming in the rain, and after just a few minutes came up with Charles. The craziest thing is that about 10 miles down the road, I saw a side road with the exact same title on the street sign. I haven't seen one since, nor did I see one before that.
It's an intimidating thought to bike through desolate areas. Maybe that's partly why it took me so long to get started out of Anchorage. I remember leaving Prince George, and looking at a map and seeing a great lack of towns and populated areas. The thing that I've come to realize is that just because a map doesn't show a town or homes, doesn't mean there isn't anyone living out there. It's surprising how many people get by just fine in the areas with limited access to major towns.
Seeing Yellowstone, was a lot like seeing Jasper/Banff - beautiful but not as thrilling as I expected it to be. Don't get me wrong, I saw some amazing stuff, and enjoyed both, but there is something about both of those places that doesn't seem right. To me, hidden treasures are more valuable. Both places are parks, loaded with tourists, regulations. Just off the road are some of the attractions, it's just too easy to see. Some of the things I have found most profound on the trip, are the ones I had to work for, and I appreciate them more because of it.
It's a strange thing when it happens, but it does: In the presence of remarkable beauty, I just feel down. The day I had lunch next to Jackson lake and the Tetons, I sat in the sun feeling lethargic, as I stared at the incredible beauty around me.
I can't believe how many cars pass other cars, when they are oncoming traffic towards me. I always wear my reflective vest, and offended that they would try to pass right in front of me - less than a meter away from instant death. It has happened too often recently, and I let them know how much it bothers me: flipping my middle finger.
Tally: 5 flats, 2 tires, 1 chain, 1 cassette
Miles ridden so far: 3,626.4
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| I really like this picture. This was taken back in Jasper, climbing up Sunwapta pass by some travelers on the hill. Thanks Gary |
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