Day 10, Idaho
July 24, 2010: From Riggins to Grangeville. Miles pedaled: 60.
I packed my camp in the dark, and headed down the street carrying my make-shift tarp poles back to where I had found them, in an aluminum scrap bin in back of the library. The streets of town were quiet, except for a few relics of last night's party shouting meaningless expletives to no one in particular.
Out of town the highway led along the Salmon River at the bottom of an improbably deep canyon. There was no traffic, I had the road to myself. In fact I seemed to have the whole world to myself out here, which is one reason why I like to rise early. The world is fresh at the beginning of a new day.
The highway was gradually sloped down in my favor, so I made some miles. I reached the next town, where the sign read "17 miles to White Bird" which came as a surprise. I must pay better attention to my map.
Nearing White Bird I stopped at a gas station for a hot drink to ward off the chill of a cold ride through the Hells Gorge. Anyway the sun was about to work its malaise, and I could now see the next long and steep hill. I had my work cut out.
As I pedaled slowly at great effort, I thought whoever belongs to the flat-earth society, had not ridden a bike on this road.
Halfway up the hill I stopped for a rest in the shade of a small pavilion commemorating a war with the Nez Perse Indian tribe. Grim times. But back to the present, I met a friendly couple from California out for a vacation. Not much of a note except to say that I'm meeting lots of nice people. If anyone thinks this is a grim and hostile world we live in, from watching so much bad news on the tv, that person has not gone on a bike trip. It's a real eye opener to find out what people are really like. Not everyone, granted, but I am certainly enjoying the vast majority so far.
To make a long story short, I eventually reached the top of the hill, but not before another interesting thing happened. I was walking my bike to give my legs something else to do, when a big 18-wheeler passed me slowly on its way down, and the driver, a young guy, leaned far out his window and grinning ear to ear, hollered: Come on, pedal! That cracked me up.
The downside of this pass wasn't so fast due to the roughness of the road and the traffic.
A mile or so outside the town of Grangeville I passed the golf and country club of the same name. I have never seen big hay bales (rolls) festooning a golf course but there they were, as though they had just been harvested. Talk about your small town ambiance. There were golf carts driving around, and everything.
I reached town at noon and stopped on a park bench to collect my thoughts. The day was yet too early to stop, but my body said otherwise. I felt bushed, I needed to do laundry, and my bike needed an adjustment job on the front derailleur - a job that I had put off for too long.
So I checked in to a motel.
Clothes washed, body scoured, and stomach fed a nice, wholesome meal, makes a guy feel like new.
The derailleur job took 45 minutes and now those gears work like a charm. Oh, I couldn't help but notice a revolver sitting on the seat of a nice Harley parked outside my door. I called to a couple sitting close by, and asked if the bike was theirs. No, but they had been watching things. By and by, the owners came around and did they ever look chagrined to find their pistol sitting in plain view.
Speaking of which, I look like I have three bullet holes in my abdomen - for real. One hole is where they put the camera in, one is for the tools, and the third hole is where they took the bad boy out (emergency appendectomy). The holes are healing up nicely, and I no longer look like I have so much of a pot belly. Hats off to you surgeons and doctors out there. We're glad you're there when we need you.
Another good day.
Day 11, Idaho
July 25, 2010: Grangeville to a campground by the Lochsa River. Miles pedaled: 100.2.
This morning I started out from Grangeville at first light, dressed in only t-shirt and lycra shorts because the temperature was mild. The road kept going down, and down, and more down. And the more down into the sink, the colder. By the time I reached the bottom of the canyon I was shivering.
The road from there to Kooskia was so rough that I had to pedal at about 8 mph to keep from breaking a spoke.
In Kooskia (mile 26) I stopped in a café for breakfast and to warm up. Then I turned onto Highway 12 (and passed a hitchhiker, more on him later) and began a 99 mile plod along the Clearwater and Lochsa Rivers to Lolo Pass. This part of the trip was so beautiful, with the pristine river on one side and the pine and cedar forest on the other. In a few places the cedars were old-growth, and positively magnificent.
At mile 49 I reached Lowell, and saw the same hitchhiker standing beside the road, and this time we gave each other hearty waves, like old friends. The store in Lowell was not well stocked so I didn't buy much except for cold drinks, for by now the day had grown hot.
While sitting in the shade, a guy with a motorcycle came up to talk, and said that he usually rides his bicycle but that he also had put over 100,000 miles on his motorcycle. He was interested in my camping gear because my bag was so small.
As I pulled back into the road, the hitchhiker gave another wave, and I mention this only because traveling solo is a whole different world where you can find friendships in the most unlikely places, if you are so inclined. That hitchhiker was not evil; he just had no car and wanted to go somewhere. Not everybody is like that, but I've met many that are.
By afternoon I was starting to fade in the 100 degree temps, so made many stops in the shade. The river looked pretty good, so I drank my fill often.
When the odometer turned 100 miles, in the same place was a pretty campground called Colgate (subsequently renamed Wendover), so I pulled in and called it a day.
I'm the only one here, and the Lochsa River is just a stone's throw away. . skip. . .skip . . kaplunk. I have taken a bath and pitched my tarp and spitfire, and crawled in. The sun has gone down, and the day's triple digit temperatures are quickly subsiding. Life is grand.
A few "notes":
- 2-wheels: B sharp
- I'm writing these updates on a smart phone and sending them to my website.
- Jenny and I spend hours on the phone because we have free calls between us. As an aside, we have been asked many times whether we have separated, on the theory that she no longer accompanies me on most of my trips. In fact we are still very much together, and love each other more than ever. But I think she has come to her senses, and no longer feels obligated to follow me over every hill and dale. She is more interested in her running goals, her family and pets, and she works like a dog at Ray-Way Products. Me: I'm still chasing my dreams. And in the days of old I was a loner, so I feel quite comfortable out here.
Day 12, Montana
July 26, 2010: From campground by the Lochsa River to Hamilton, Montana. Miles pedaled: 96.
I got going half an hour after first light, and resumed pedaling up the road along the river.
15 miles later I reached the Lochsa lodge - a minute before its restaurant's opening time of 7:00 am, and was among the first ones through the door. The tables were all set, each with four chairs, and I had a table to myself. The dining room filled up, I got my order, then I noticed a scraggly, motorcycle-type in a black leather jacket, waiting to be seated for breakfast also. I got up and invited him to my table. He sat down across from me, and thanked me for the consideration. What ensued was one of those times when you meet someone that influences your life, in whatever way. We had a very pleasant conversation, then I finished my meal and went outside. What happened next blew me away. when the fellow came out, I asked which motorcycle was his. He pointed over there, and my jaw dropped.
Picture the scene back inside the restaurant, with the people eating and lots of empty seats at their tables, and no one offering to let the motorcyclist sit down. And picture the shaggy one to be the friendliest of all. Then picture him to be the modest of all, with a machine probably more powerful than any car or truck in the lot. Sometimes life is full of irony.
The eight miles to Lolo Pass were steep in places, but I did find a beautiful little spring of cold and pure water to slake my thirst.
Then at the summit I stopped at the ranger's visitor's center to have a look around. Then back outside, I saw a couple of cyclists posing at the "Welcome to Idaho" sign. With their camera I took pictures of them and their bikes, then they offered to do the same, with my camera and bike, across the street, in front of the Montana sign. They had come from Virginia, and were celebrating "only two more states to go." (in light of my experiences, I didn't think that they were almost there.)
The ride down to Lolo Hot Springs was a fast one, and I stopped for cold drinks at the resort. Then on down to the town of Lolo. Jenny had sent me a package containing maps, chain lube, and a treat: a bag of fresh figs from one of our trees back in Arizona. So I stopped at the Post Office to pick it up.
The afternoon storms began to develop, and to push strong headwinds my way (storm dump), so that next 4 hours were tough. Also the road was under construction, and not in my favor.
I arrived at Hamilton wet and tired, so pulled off at the first motel.
Day 13, Montana
July 27, 2010: From Hamilton to Big Hole Pass. Miles pedaled: 86.
I set off half an hour after dawn and pedaled through town, surprised at the size of it all. The night had been rainy, and the weather still wasn't too good, so I wore my shells over my lycra shorts and nylon t-shirt.
By and by, I came to Lost Horse Road, where Jenny and I had come out of the Bitterroot mountains on our IUA trip. We had gone into these mountains at the aforementioned Lochsa Lodge; and from Lost Horse Road we had walked the road to Chief Joseph Pass. I was pedaling the same road today, so it was a trip down memory lane. Along the way, I remembered all sorts of things from that journey.
17 miles into my day I reached Darby. I was sitting outside a small store, grabbing a bite to eat, when it started to rain.
The next 18 miles to Sulu were wet, but at least they were not hot. Once there, I stopped at the café for second breakfasts, this time my usual pancakes with two "sunny-side-up" eggs on top. I call this my "river breakfast." The term goes way back to when John L. and I were grubstaking for gems on the Yellowstone River.
The next section was a climb-and-a-half, up to Lost Trail Pass. I walked about a fourth of it, no sense busting my gut I figured, when I have such a long way to go in the next several weeks. After all, I was not racing.
But speaking of which, another cyclist came pedaling up the hill behind me (I was pedaling at the time). He said that he was taking a rest day, and I have no idea what he meant by that. He looked like a pro, and spoke with a thick UK accent, and had the most well-developed legs and calves that I have ever seen. In fact, he looked far too big for the bike, as if he were riding a child's bike - as he went zooming ahead, up the steep hill.
Next came the short climb up to Chief Joseph Pass, where the TransAmerica bike route crosses the Continental Divide Trail (CDT). Jenny and I had been here twice before, on the CDT, and on our IUA Hike & Bike. That made two times I have hiked my favorite stretch of wilderness, the 300 miles through the Beaverheads, from here to West Yellowstone. I had a strong inclination to stash my bike and hike that section again. Never mind that I didn't have the required 10-day supply of food or a backpack. But I did have just about everything else (tarp, Spitfire, rain parka).
(Geographical note: the Beaverheads are sandwiched between the Bitterroot Mountains and Big Hole Basin.)
Rolling on down the (wet) road to the Big Hole Basin, eventually I reached the small town of Wisdom and parked my bike outside the store, alongside another touring bike. The mosquitoes were fierce so I had to put on my shells. The other cyclist and I sat talking and eating lunch.
Ed was from Switzerland, and had cycled for a year in South America, from Ecuador to Punta Arenas, Chile. He was now heading east, same as me, but going from Seattle to New York. His bike was absolutely loaded with all manner of gear bags, and he carried a sizeable backpack as well. We enjoyed a nice conversation, then it was time for him to hit the road. But 15 seconds later he pushed his bike back, uttering the fateful word "flat".
Upon further examination, he found a pinch flat caused his hitting a big bump at speed. I made certain he had everything he needed to fix the flat, then I hit the road myself. But not to be outdone, I peddled the wrong way out of town, east instead of south, and had to come back and try again. It was too funny!
The next section was blessed with strong tailwinds, which should have been nice except they enabled the mosquitoes to keep up with me. No matter how fast I pedaled, I couldn't get rid of them. So back into my shells, on a hot day.
At the next settlement of Jackson I was sitting outside a bar/café drinking a soda when Ed arrived. He ordered a hamburger. I had ordered a cold sandwich because I wanted to camp on the next pass (Big Hole).
So thinking of eluding the mosquitoes, Ed decided to pedal up to the pass also. I wasn't in a hurry, so I slowed my pace while Ed kept out in front, pedaling like a banshee with all that gear. Ed was most congenial and I enjoyed pedaling with him.
The terrain was devoid of trees all the way up to the pass. Once there, I found two sticks for pitching my tarp. Ed said he had never seen a set-up like that (meaning my tarp and Spitfire). I told him that I developed my shelter for hiking, to be small and light.
We talked for a while, and agreed that it was nice to have some company. But he said that he usually sleeps in, so I realized that probably would not be seeing him again, tomorrow.
Day 14, Montana
July 28, 2010: From Big Hole Pass to stealth camp in the sagebrush. Miles pedaled: 94.
As usual, I got up at first light. The tarp was soaking wet on the outside from a heavy dew, so I gave it several hearty shakes, but I still carried a wet tarp all day. Ed had not yet stirred, so I set off down the hill alone. The air temperature was quite cold so I wore my shells, and the temps got even colder going 30 mph downhill. After awhile the slope eased, but it was still downhill. Along the way I had gorgeous views of the valley covered in fog. It looked like a lake. Then I got down there and went into the fog. It seemed bizarre to be cycling in dense fog in the middle of high sagebrush country. Regrettably it was too early to take pictures.
After 15 miles I finally got my first bit of sunshine. I thought of Ed, and how he prefers to camp on the east side of a hill, he said, for the morning's warmth. And here am I, pedaling 15 miles in the morning's chill. Different styles, for different folks. On such trips I enjoy making miles more than I would a comfortable morning's bed. I can have that at home (But never do. I'm a workaholic at home, and a hikeaholic outside. That's it. I'm a funaholic at work or play. (that is, I enjoy my work also).
I kept expecting to reach a town of Dillon, but it seemed like the road took forever to get there. I wondered: Did I miss it somehow? But then I came to the town and was surprised how large it was. It would have been hard to miss something like that.
Interestingly, this was first town on this trip where I did not feel entirely comfortable. I say this based on the behavior of the drivers going into town, and those driving around town itself. Behavior wise, the people seemed impatient and somewhat discourteous. (I would be running into much more of that in the eastern states.)
On the far side of Dillon were several motels and gas station/convenience stores (c-stores), and I stopped at three of them looking for insect repellent. But no, all three had sold out. "The mosquitoes are fierce," a clerk said.
I set off into the hills again and eventually reached Twin Bridges. Here I stopped for a good meal in a café. This town had a nicer feel to it. Next came Sheridan, then Alder, and by now the sky was darkened with rain clouds. I looked around for some kind of shelter to get under while the storm passed. I sat there for ten minutes, but still the sky hadn't cut loose quite yet, and the next town of Nevada City was only eight miles distant. So I decided to go for it. Sure enough, I got about half way there, and the cold rain hit. I pedaled another few miles soaking wet, thinking the storm would surely pass fairly soon. But no; so I hauled off the road and traipsed down the hill thirty feet, and made a quick stealth camp among the sagebrush. Crawling into the spitfire, under the tarp, sure felt good. I was soaking wet, but under my quilt I began to warm, and before long my clothes had dried.
I had stopped early, about 5:00 pm. I fell asleep listening to some sandhill cranes. They sounded like they were about forty feet away, but well hidden in the brush.
Day 15, Montana
July 29, 2010: From Sagebrush Camp to West Yellowstone. Miles pedaled: 89.
I broke camp at first light and continued up the steep road to Nevada City. This little town blew me away. I have never seen anything like it. All the buildings were old gold rush-era log cabins. They were all built very small, and they definitely had an original feel to them. Everything seemed real, nothing fake about it. Yet it wasn't a ghost town; people lived here.
The next town, Virginia City, was much the same: several old buildings lining the street. It was a trip back in time.
The next hill was so steep and long that I had to walk about half of it. It just went on and on - and on. I finally reached the top and zipped down the other side. In Ennis I stopped at a small store for coffee and donuts. The next town, Cornell, was a snack-bust - there were no stores still in business, except the post office.
The afternoon's journey was uphill, as I rode across more high, sagebrush country. The Madison River flowed nearby, but not right alongside the road. At one point I came to a roadside rest area, and stopped to get water. There I met and talked with two cyclists from Kansas City. I had met their lady sag driver back in Ennis. The three were just finishing lunch, and no, they did not offer something cold to drink. I had never met a sag like that before. Often the sag is just as busy helping the other self-supported-types as she is with her own crew.
Later I pulled into a small store, thinking I'd buy some food. But when I walked into the store I saw that it was a fly-fishing store. Nothing but fishing gear. But then I noticed a few cold sodas and candy bars tucked away in the side room. So sitting on a home-made bench on the porch, I enjoyed a nice snack
The road from there was all steep ups and downs. I pedaled past Avalanche Lake, where a huge landslide had created the lake.
I had passed one of the cyclists, who seemed quite out of shape, then I followed behind the other who was pedaling like blazes. And thus we went for about 35 miles. He pedaled like a racer, and was carrying only a bit of water, while I was carrying my full kit - camping gear and all that. So I got a great workout. Finally he stopped for a rest, and I went on by; then 5 miles later - just short of town - I stopped and he went flying by.
I pulled in to the extremely crowded and touristy town of West Yellowstone, and found the post office where I had a mail drop waiting - half an hour before they closed for the day. Then with Jenny's help (via phone and internet) we were lucky to find me a motel with a room available for the night.
While wincing through town, looking for somewhere not too crowded to have dinner, while trying to avoid or somehow ignore the throngs of tourists, I took the above photo without paying attention to the viewfinder. The photo was meant to show the gnarly crowds. Rather, I think it was meant to reflect my feelings of revulsion, unused to being around so many people, after having been alone in nature for much of the past weeks and months. But when I previewed the photo later, it taught me an important lesson. The photo was of a nice man smiling at my camera, obliviously enjoying his vacation with his wife. The exact opposite of what I had intended.
The sidewalk was crowded, to be sure, but not at the moment I snapped the picture. And the photo taught me that the feelings of revulsion were all in my head, and were not really reflecting the real situation. It taught me to look at the people, not the crowds. And to look at the people, not the tourists. Moreover, I realized that my frame of mind had been askew for some of the past two days; in Dillon for example.
This lesson was to have a profound effect on me the following days, as I toured through Yellowstone "crowded with tourists." With my attitude adjustment, I would meet many friendly folks like the man in the photo.
Day 16, Montana
July 30, 2010: Zero day in West Yellowstone.
I took a day off, to rest and work on my bike.
Day 17, Wyoming
2010-07-31: From West Yellowstone to stealth camp. Miles pedaled: 100.
I pedaled out of West Yellowstone in the dark, and was surprised to find the entrance station less than a mile out of town. It didn't appear to be manned, but the road wasn't blocked so I went on through.
The route follows the Madison River, very beautiful and quiet this time of morning with almost no traffic. Mt first wildlife sighting was a swan floating on the river nearby. Secondly, I passed a big cow elk standing thirty feet from the road. Awhile later I saw a bison wallowing in the dirt. He was on his back, legs thrashing in the air, and the dust was flying.
The early morning sky was black in the east, with the occasional bolt of lightning. I saw my first billows of steam out in an immense meadow, and with the dramatic light, it was magical. My first trip to Yellowstone Park was as a young boy with my family. I was enthralled by everything. Then as a high school graduate I spent a summer working here, and that was magical too: mainly because I spent my off hours hiking and getting to know the landscape and becoming familiar with the animals.
I'm certain a child-like wonder is still here for the taking, but after the rush of tourists began to flood the roads, I had to be extra careful. In as few words as possible, I don't recommend riding a bike on these Yellowstone thoroughfares. The congestion makes frustrated drivers, and frustrated drivers make bad company.
On the other hand, I met a lot of nice people today. And I have the feeling that if a person were to take the time, and show a bit of interest in the average tourist, and show a bit of friendliness, most everyone would reciprocate, to at least some degree.
And a few people will take interest in me, with my bicycle mode of travel, and all. There was one guy who will go home with a photo of his wife standing buddy-buddy with a cyclist, and he will tell everybody that this guy was actually riding across the country, can you believe it?
Here I was mobbed with about 50 tourists. I was not the main attraction, but rather a sign welcoming visitors to the Grand Teton National Park. I was using the large, stone platform underneath the sign as a bench to fix my first flat tire. No, mobbed, I say. A few swore at me under their breath, because I was in their way for taking photos; and a few expressed condolences. And when the melee was over one fine gentleman stepped up and presented me with a can of ale, and said, "This is from all of us, drink it while it is still cold."
Another highlight of my day was my nap in an overstuffed chair. I had just finished lunch in the Flaggstaff Resort, when the sky cut loose. Man did it rain. So I sat down in the lobby to wait it out, and the next thing I knew, the sun had reappeared. I must have been out for a good half an hour.
I passed out of Grand Teton Park and headed east, then with the next mini-storm threatening, at mile 100 I pulled off the road and carried my bike into the forest a ways and made a comfortable camp, with a hawk reading me the riot act. I fell to sleep to the patter of rain on my tarp.
Day 18, Wyoming
August 1, 2010: From Stealth Camp to Stealth Camp behind gravel pile. Miles pedaled: 101.
I got going just past dawn, and once again enjoyed an amazing sight of fog-cloaked terrain, but this time of colorful sky also hanging above it. In a half hour I stopped at a gas station. It was not open yet, but I only wanted to find an electrical outlet to charge my smart-phone. Writing last night's update had depleted the battery, meaning I could no longer take photos. In twenty minutes I had enough charge to last for awhile.
The road led steeply up toward the next pass, and I was in for a workout because Togwotee Pass is the second highest along the entire route.
Still several miles short of the pass I reached Togwotee Lodge, and stopped at the small c-store to buy coffee and donuts. I got to talking with the clerk who said his first love was his 500 horsepower drag racer. It's street legal, he said, and he wanted to drive it across the country. That's the thing about dreams. They are a precious commodity regardless of their nature. Show me someone without dreams and I'll show you somebody who's no longer living. The guy invited me to eat in the resort's lounge and gave me directions to find it. So I enjoyed a comfortable and quiet breakfast.
Back on the steep road, I was making good time, (slow but good) while enjoying the magnificent scenery, when I heard a loud, metallic "snap" and the bike ground to a halt. Something on my bike had broken. Fortunately I had been going only 5 mph, grinding up to the pass. Unfortunately, the bike would no longer move.
At first I thought that something had given way inside the rear axle, but then I realized that the whole back wheel was out of whack. I checked for a broken spoke, but did not find one.
I needed to get away from the road so that I could put on my thinking cap. So I carried the stricken bike up the hill and found a nice place hidden from view. At the moment I thought that I would have to abandon the bike, hitchhike to a bike shop for parts, and hitchhike back. But that would be a long hitch. Meanwhile I was being devoured by mosquitoes, so I dug out my repellent.
Examining the wheel further, I found the broken spoke. It was still in place, but the head had popped off. The problem was, I had no spare. To make a long story short, eventually I figured out how to true the wheel by adjusting the remaining spokes to compensate for the missing one. That done, I swapped tires, front and back, because the back one was far worse for the wear. And while putting things back together, I thought to myself, "You know, this might just work."
I set off again, with about 3 more miles to go to the pass, riding gingerly.
The road up to the pass was in pretty good shape, but after the pass, all the way down, for about 10 miles, it was so rough that I couldn't believe vehicles could drive it. Even though it was downhill, the best I could do was about 5 mph. But my back wheel survived and I gained a whole lot of confidence in the bike and my repair.
When I reached good road again I started cranking. I stopped at the Lava Mountain Lodge for a tasty lunch, and later, in Dubois for a short snack. Then I kept cranking throughout the rest of the afternoon.
The route turned onto highway 287 and climbed a steep hill, then leveled out on a high plateau, and that went on for miles. It was just about dark, and I was looking for a place to camp. Technically I could have camped about anywhere, but the land was so open that there was nowhere to make a camp hidden from the road. I don't consider it safe to camp somewhere visible from a road, and anyway I had been warned not to camp on reservation land because it's highly patrolled.
Finally I found a big pile of gravel next to the road, so I set up camp behind it. This camp had looked very unlikely, with gravel, sagebrush, cactus, trash and quite possibly snakes. And as I was pitching my tarp, the wind kicked up to about 40 mph. Moreover, the ground was so hard I had to drive my tarp stakes in to the ground using a rock for a hammer, which I rarely have to do.
Underneath the tarp it was really cramped with sagebrush. But once I got the Spitfire set up and crawled inside, I found it was quite comfortable. The storm passed after a couple hours, and I slept comfortably, feeling quite pleased to have done 101 miles today, despite the broken spoke.
Day 19, Wyoming
August 2, 2010: From camp behind the gravel pile, to Lander, and back to Lander. Miles pedaled: 45.
Up early to start the new day, I broke camp and began to pedal away the miles. But the gears were not working properly, so I stopped and tried to adjust them - but largely without success. What the problem was, this time, I would learn later.
I stopped at a gas station in the small Indian town of Fort Washakie to buy food and to charge my phone. While in the store I noticed a policeman (white) enter, and was expecting some kind of trouble. Everyone else in the store was Native American. But instead the cop started chatting with the women running the place as if they were good friends. What a different country (world) this would be, I thought, if only people on different sides of the fence got along that amicably.
A white guy pulled up in a nice car with a commercial sea-kayak tied on top. One look at the kayak, and I thought "What the heck?" I just sat there holding my thoughts, without saying to the guy something like "What kind of a dufus designed that boat?" With that much rocker, the kayak would tend to go in circles, and the paddler would spend much energy throughout the day trying to get it go straight. And in high winds the boat would lay beam-on, regardless of what direction the paddler wants to go. That kayak was intended to look good in a catalog or show room, and make money for the company. In boisterous seas it would seriously misbehave.
I mention this only to point out how I think the corporations tend to prey on people's ignorance and tell them they are making wise buying decisions. The person who knows nothing about sea-kayaks would not understand my analysis, and probably think I'm quite naive for not believing the hype.
I also think it's much the same in backpacking, where people have so much expensive gear sitting in closets or basements because it does not work all that well - even though it looked good in the stores, and was well spoken of by the so-called experts.
Speaking of something that does not work well, take my bicycle for another example. I didn't plan to take this bike on this trip - it's what I use around home - a cheap aluminum racing bike, and not meant for long trips. I'm putting it to the test, with all these long and steep hills, and it's breaking down.
Originally I intended to take my tandem, but two days before departure my pedaling partner for this trip (not Jenny) dropped out. No big deal, except that I hadn't shown much foresight. I should of had a better single bike on hand, just in case. Of course I had already shipped the tandem to Oregon, along with my helmet and favorite tire pump. So now going solo, I had to ship the tandem back to Arizona, where it subsequently arrived no worse for the wear.
Back to here, I plan to get a better bike at some point along the way.
I pedaled into the busy city of Lander, and found a bicycle shop on Main Street. I needed spokes and chain lube. The shop was not yet open, so I proceeded to a c-store, and found an electrical outlet on the outside, and a nice patch of shade. After enjoying refreshments I pulled out my tools and got to work on the bike. Amazingly, when I had taken off the pedals, I found the bottom bracket was falling out - again. So that is why I had not been able to adjust the gears this morning.
I reinstalled the bottom bracket (I'm learning more each time) and adjusted the gears. Then I visited the bike shop.
The mechanic was a friendly guy named Ed. He replaced the missing spoke and re-trued the back wheel. Also I bought a new set of tires.
Back on the road again, I resumed the journey.
But seven miles later, while climbing a steep hill, I heard another "Snap!" and the bike came to a stop. I had broken another spoke, and not the same one. I had 125 miles to pedal across the desert to the next town, and at this point it was clear to me that I needed a more reliable bike.
This bike is teaching me more than I feel I need to know about bikes, but this time I knew what to do to get the bike running again (retension the remaining spokes). And in 15 minutes I was back on the road - heading back to the shop in Lander to order a new bike.
Reaching town I pedaled down the sidewalk, and finding that the door of the bike store open, I pedaled right in, to the shop area in the back. I got some strange looks for that one. But I had called Ed, so he knew I was coming.
Ed spent the next two hours helping me choose the right bike, and planning how to modify it with some of the equipment off the old bike.
At that point, I had two or three days to kill, until the new bike arrives.
Miles pedaled today: 45
- Bicycling the TransAmerica Trail
- Map
- Oregon
- Idaho
- Montana
- Wyoming
- Colorado
- Kansas
- Missouri
- Kentucky
- Virginia