Final Message for 2006

Today was the first day to not ride the bike. We went to Yellowstone to see Old Faithful one more time. Old Faithful is not a quitter and can be relied on to do her job regularly.

We also went to a captive grizzly exhibit. In order to hunt Black Bears in Montana one must pass a test to differentiate grizzlies from black bears as the grizzlies are protected. Here's the system: either bear can be black or brown, grizzlies have ears on top of their heads like teddy bears, grizzlies have a hump between neck and back, and grizzlies have concave faces from nose to eyes (that's why they can hold beach balls in circuses!). Black bears have ears on the sides of their heads, flat faces, always brown fur around their noses, and mostly no hump unless gigantic. Grizzlies are 15% carnivorous, that is they eat about 15% meat and the rest vegetable material. Black bears are mostly vegetarian. Hikers often carry pepper spray and loud bells in grizzly territory. The Grizzly feces is the one that smells of pepper and has bells in it!

I'm already thinking of perhaps trying to finish the bike trip on a section basis. That is, over a several year period. The Trail Boss is going to try to be the oldest one year finisher of the 2168 mile Appalachain Trail next year if his arthritic hip holds up. If it doesn't he says he's driving the Van to Alaska, one of only three states he has not visited (Michigan and Wisconsin). He'll be 85 then!

Captive Grizzlies

Old Faithful, More Reliable Than Me

TB on the Big Sky Condo Patio & 11400' Lone Peak

The Final Day for 2006

9/11/2006: Day 23, 68.1 miles; Total 842.1 Miles

Well we did our record day on the last day. I am getting into shape now and have actually lost about 16 pounds.

At 7:38 AM I was at the Continental Drive starting point in Butte MT, and pedaled about 1.4 miles up the Continental Divide and then had to come to a walk. It is too bad that the low three gears on this bike have rarely worked on the whole trip in spite of 5 or 6 skilled mechanics adjusting them. It appears that I should have insisted on having both shifters changed at the bike shop in Washington on the first week of the trip. The changed left shifter for the front chain rings has worked superbly since it was changed with no missed or slipped shifts. However, the rear canister misses the shifts to the lowest three cogs and when I pedal against sudden “no” resistance I almost fall off the bike. The word from several mechanics is the shifters that were put on the bike to give me a more up right ride are not compatible with the derailleur system in that their cable pulling distance is not what the derailleur expects. This is one of those serious deficiencies that I should have better understood long before now.

In any event, I would not have been able to pedal this hill with any bike, so I walked 3 miles up to the 6800-foot elevation top in just over an hour. Once at the top I put on my windbreaker for the 6% grade 10-mile downhill and went down at over 22 mph. When the Stallion got up to 30, I was anxious so I reined him in and controlled the descent at 20-25 mph. We covered significant ground on that one.

The elevation of Bozeman is about 1500 feet less than Butte so I knew it would be a net downhill; however, I didn’t know there was another 5000-foot bump along the way. So again I walked for about an hour and 3 miles up this one. But again, each of the ups has a reward of a down, and the walks seemed to rejuvenate me. Soon the TB showed up and couldn’t believe I was 25 miles down the road. I was pretty pleased myself. I went into an Exxon and got Cappuccino and a Subway Deli Sandwich with turkey, lettuce, tomato, and hot mustard. It was delicious. About that time the TB came along and I had a couple of cold drinks, tried to adjust the gears myself, and started out again.

In about 20 miles we came to Three Forks, the beginning of the Missouri River that becomes the Mississippi. Of course, Lewis and Clark had been there ahead of me, again. But more importantly, at this location is the home of “Wheat Montana” a wheat farmer who has opened a very well know bread bakery and delicatessen. The service is great and the sandwiches are superb. There is a sign to pick one of 8 kinds of bread, then one of 4 types of meat, then one of 6 kinds of cheese and then one of 13 condiments (pick all you want). Mine turned out to be Sourdough, Turkey, Cheddar, lettuce, tomato, sprouts, cucumbers, pickles, and hot mustard: to go. We would eat these in celebration at the Big Sky condo as I now was going for the home stretch and the whole 70 miles in one day!

The TB wanted to check out the Lewis and Clark Headwaters Campground as I finished the final 12 miles to Bozeman. I told him not to be late as I was finally on my mission and going to sprint on over there and I was “out of there.”

The final 12 miles went quickly. As I rode I viewed smoke far to the East from The Big Tiber forest fire far east of Bozeman sending smoke thousands of feet into the atmosphere. Soon I pulled into exit 268 at Belgrade, the first Bozeman Exit and the one we use to get to the Big Sky Condo. I had ridden my bike from the Pacific Ocean at Astoria, Oregon, over 800 miles to Bozeman, Montana. I’m not disappointed in my effort.

Multiple circumstances necessitated the end of the trip. It’s not an easy task, although I’m rounding into shape and better able to pedal longer and more efficiently. I don’t like the cold mornings and the need for clothing changes during the day. It’s difficult to take in all the views; but just like hiking watching the trail is very important. To visit with all the wonderful people takes too much time out of the day; but to not visit takes much away from the trip. It’s also not an easy task on my Trail Boss who has done an exemplary job of hanging with me, trying to meet my many needs, studying maps, and predicting the unpredictable.

For both of us, enough is enough—for this year.

The Finish at Belgrade (Boazman) Yellowstone Exit

A Football Day Mostly in Bed

9/10/2006: Day 22, 8.4 miles; Total 774.0 Miles

Today on the first Sunday of NFL football we decided to watch all the games and lay in bed all day. But first I rode 8.4 miles from the west of Butte to the last exit east before the continental divide climb from about 5000 feet up to around 7000 feet. And we found the TB a church, which was just down the road from the stopping point on Continental Drive. So I took off on the bike from the Motel 6 at about 8 AM. Out front I found a woman who was riding her motorcycle to Cody, Wyoming, so I spent 15 minutes talking to her. Of interest they never have a flat tire and rarely any kind of breakdown. She feels comfortable at 65 mph! She doesn’t want to ride in the rain either, and it’s easy to cover 300 miles per day—that’s a week for me. This is a far cry from the bike ride. So now I was late, as I wanted to be picked up before the TB went to 9:30 Mass so I could go off to breakfast. He had his eggs while I was riding.

I-90 was torn up for repairs into Butte and it was the most dangerous 8 miles of the whole trip. I thought on Sunday Morning there would be little traffic and no trucks. I was wrong. The four lane was down to two for bridge repair and one bridge on a downhill when my speed was maximum (27 mph) had no shoulder. So I’m looking in the mirrors trying to judge the trucks coming on and the bridge approaching when I notice rumble strips between the shoulder and the road! The rumble strips can through me off the bike, the truck can flatten me, a fall over the bridge railing is about 30 feet, and there is no smooth section left for me to exit the disappearing shoulder to get back on the road. So the only out was an emergency stop which I executed with about 10 feet to spare before hitting the bridge! Then the trucker who I was avoiding laid on the horn and came as close as he could to put a further scare into me. This was the first time in the entire trip that a trucker tried to deliberately intimidate me; and it worked. I got back on the road and up to 30 mph hoping the jerk was getting off at the exit 1 mile ahead so I could sick the TB on him. He was lucky he didn’t.

As I rode I noticed several of hundreds of wide mouth bottles (mostly Gatorade bottles) that I have seen along the entire trip. They are half full of yellow looking fluid that I found out in Washington is urine. The signs at the road side rest had a picture and showed gallon milk bottles and Gatorade bottles and said, (in three languages) “this is not a urinal,” and asked the truckers not to discard this litter along the road. In my mind any jerk that would do such a thing could most likely have used a regular bottle and would not need the wide mouth!

I was about 15 minutes ahead of church and two miles from my exit when the church attendee went by. I knew I was in trouble for talking to the biker babe too long, so I pedaled hard and got to the exit to see the TB sitting waiting for me. He had not taken the time to find the church. The Stallion and I hopped in and he took off down what I was sure was the wrong road, but within half a mile we found the church with 5 minutes to spare. This was his first church service in three weeks. I went off to a breakfast of French toast at Denny’s.

Back at the room I did not get out of the bed much for the rest of the day and watched three football games, but must admit I don’t know who played or won except for the Manning Bowl. I thought it good that Peyton won the game and Eli won the statistics. It can sit well with them forever.

We decided we would ride over to Bozeman, another 70 miles, either in one record day or two days. That way we could go to our Condo at Big Sky, some 40 miles south of Bozeman for R & R, and then call it quits.

Circa 1800's Bailing Equipment

Vomiting and a Flat Tire On the Way to Butte

9/9/2006: Day 21, 42.7 miles; Total 765.6 Miles

We slept until 7 AM and then had the big breakfast at the truck stop. The TB had 3 eggs, toast, hash browns, pancakes, and red-eye gravy on biscuits. He did not eat the red-eye gravy biscuits. But he would have done a truck driver proud. I had the French toast, and it was good. We drank some coffee and as promised were off in a more relaxed manor for the 48 mile drive west on I-90 to my stopping point of yesterday.

It was 72 degrees, which feels like about 50 on the bike, and slightly overcast. The wind was with me! The elevation was about 4500 feet and on the hill just out of Butte will be about 5500 feet so will be climbing steadily all day. The Stallion rode beautifully and the tail wind was wonderful and I made about 12-15 miles per hour at times. There was an exceptional amount of glass on the road and some I could not avoid by swerving. I stopped at least half a dozen times to clear the tires with careful inspection and rubbing.

And at the three-mile mark I had a flat tire! This time there were three staples and a piece of glass in the tire; I think it was the glass that got me as it was clear through the tire and into the tube. I pulled off on an entrance ramp and got all my tools ready for a record speed attempt at tire changing. I turned the Stallion upside down, and realized I was going to get greasy so I put in a call to the TB to bring me a paper towel. I told him to go off the exit ramp and back on down the entrance ramp he would find me near the Interstate. Soon I had the tire off and turned it inside out to inspect. There was a piece of glass sticking out of the interior of the tire and a hole in the tube at that point. Then I ran my finger around and found not one but three staples sticking through the tire to the inside surface although I didn’t find a tube hole related to the staples. How do the secretaries get these staples out to the Interstate?

As I found the staples up pulled the Montana State Police. The officer gave me the lights and asked if I was okay. I told him we should arrest all the secretaries and showed him the staples. He couldn’t believe it either! He was another nice guy who wished me well and then looked up the entrance ramp and saw the TB and the Van sitting in the middle of the road. “What’s that,” he said. And I told him about my crewman the TB who was probably afraid to come down while I was under arrest. The trooper said, “He needs to get out of the middle of the road.” About that time the phone rang, and the trooper said, “He’s calling!” So I answered while looking the TB straight in the face from less than a hundred yards, and he said: “Where are you?” I said, “down here by the trooper.” And the TB said, “Step out where I can see you plainly.” I thought, just who is the cop here? The trooper who apparently could hear all of both sides of the conversation said, “I‘ll leave so he‘ll come down, but be sure he is all the way off the road.” The trooper left and I told the TB NOT to come down, as I knew he’d have to have a wheel off the pavement to get all the way off the road and wouldn’t do it. Then as I proceeded back to my work, suddenly the TB was yelling over the fence from the frontage road and had a new tube, my new pump, a gallon of water, a quart of liquid soap, a full roll of paper towels, and a caffeine free diet cream soda for me. Just like Millie, he had it all; although she would have jumped the fence! By this time I had put the BAD tube back on the bike and was beginning to inflate it when I recognized the error of my ways. So I began to make the change to the new tube, when I saw the TB vomit on the other side of the fence. So I ran over to attend to him through the barbed wire. He claimed to be okay, says he’s tired, needs his walks, and is swearing off of the heavy breakfasts in the future—but not eggs! Needless to say, this was not the record setting flat repair!

He had apparently vomited after he left me off and was having a lot of indigestion and burping and now vomited a second time. He has been having indigestion and heart burn for two weeks but didn’t want to take the Prilosec I suggested. Now he took it.

We decided right then this trip is over. I’m avoiding the mountain passes; we are having personality clashes, and I don’t want to lose his friendship; his stomach is upset; I can’t go more than 50 miles per day, and at this pace it would take five months; and we can’t stay on the Interstate forever. We are going to go back to the motel again tonight to see the Ohio State/Texas football game and he is going now and I’ll pedal the 20 or so miles in by myself. I can call him if needed. He needs to rest his stomach. Then we will pedal 80 more miles on over to Bozeman, MT, near Big Sky where I go on an annual ski trip as a guest of my buddy Dr. Jay Crittenden. Last year Millie and I bought a 1/6^th share of the Condo and this happens to be our two-week time in the late summer. We will drive to the Condo for R & R for a couple of days and so the TB can see the place. Several days ago he said he has been dreaming of two things: 1) Going someplace and sitting by a fire with a blizzard outside and relaxing with a book. He hasn’t seen a blizzard since his youth in Rhode Island. 2) Going to the Blackwater State Forest, near Pensacola, with his Van and just sitting by the water and relaxing. It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to see that neither of these dreams involves chasing a buddy on his bike across the country with the van. Millie and I will make the first dream come true by giving him a week at the condo in December.

After all of this I started pedaling again, and he stayed at that exit for a rest. I did great for about 15 miles with the nice tail wind, and then all of a sudden the wind turned 180 degrees into my face and I could barely move over 8 mph again. I also noted that I had gained 500 feet in elevation and was steadily going uphill again. I plugged along in lower gears for about 8 miles and then the unheard of, IT RAINED! About a hundred drops hit me and I noticed some overcast. I pulled in under a bridge to wait it out, but it was already over. This was the first rain of the entire trip and if you paused, you missed it. I rested 5 minutes (or 15) under the bridge and started again to a new wind again at my back. I had about 700 feet of climb but steep and quick, and then I was able to do a mile at 21 mph downhill! Before you knew it, I had 42 miles under my belt and pulled into the Motel 6, where the TB already had the light on for me.

Tomorrow we will have a short day so we can watch the first day of professional football. Then we will get on into Bozeman, probably on Tuesday and then go to our Big Sky condo. We’ll then drive home by way of Yellowstone (42 miles from the condo), the Grand Teton National Park, and a few other sites the TB wants to show me.

When we finish in Bozeman, we will have done over 800 miles. That is more the 20% of the cross-country trip. We will have pedaled through Oregon, part of Washington, across Idaho, and several hundred miles of Montana. I’m sorry I couldn’t do better for my friends and readers; but we did the best we could for two grumpy old men.

Making Hay in Montana

It's The Altitude

9/8/2006: Day 20, 30.5 miles; Total 722.9 Miles

During the night the sprinkler system made two rounds of the park! At about 8 PM I was sitting with Art and Alvena at their picnic table hearing all of their tales of old age romance when the TB gave out a blood-curdling shout from his bed in the top of the van. There must have been a cougar or bear attack. I sprinted over to find the sprinklers were spraying the driver’s side of the van, and he was proclaiming, “that water is going to ruin my refrigerator! Put something over the sprinkler while I move the van.” Nothing is more precious than to see an 84-year-old man climbing down from a second level bunk in his underwear, while trying to pull on his pants so Alvena doesn’t see him, all the time throwing his hands in the air and mumbling under his breath something about the park supervisor being less than human, and the refrigerator being in great peril! Of course, the front seat was full of his stuff, so he was delayed as I tried to get him to let me just move it in spite of the stuff, but he would hear nothing of it. Finally the van was moved and the water was no longer hitting near the refrigerator exhaust. I didn’t have the heart to waken him some two hours later when the passenger side sprinklers began to spray our spare bike and my clothes hanging off the back. I noticed this spray when it shot through the window and wet my feet that were sticking out of the newly arrived, and too hot, zero degree sleeping bag. So I closed the window and went back to sleep. Later he went out to urinate and said, “That sprinkler must have sprayed on this side!” I said, “Did it,” and went back to sleep.

We drove the 10 miles back to the West where I had stopped yesterday and got riding at 8:30 AM. It was 36 degrees when we got up so I had full North Pole clothing on for the ride. I had on two long john shirts, a vest, winter gloves, and new long johns over the cycling shorts. I also had the usual reflective vest and orange soccer style shorts. Within a few miles the wind was again in my face and it was another tough day headed east on I-90 towards Butte some 100 miles away. I could still hear an intermittent squeak in the bottom bracket (the bearings for the pedals). I had inflated the tires to 110 PSI with the new pump in order to make it roll more efficiently, but headway was again very difficult. At times the wind almost brought me to a stop. All this was very disappointing to me, as I am just not making the mileage that I thought I should. My book says up to 140/day. One couple that wrote the guidebook says 70 miles by lunch. My head is down concentrating on the road hazards and the traffic behind in the mirrors. I am not seeing the scenery. I’ve not looked up enough to see any Big Horn Sheep, Antelopes, or deer and I know a lot have seen me. In a word, I’m getting discouraged. Even the dreaded “Q” word, quit, has been in my brain and might have passed my lips once.

Finally, at 20 miles we agreed I’d go to the 30 mile Exit Number 174. I struggled against the wind and finally made it to the exit and went down to the first gas station variety store and got an ice cream sandwich and a cup of Cappuccino. The TB was nowhere in sight. The heavily bearded attendant said, “An old hippy in a VW was here but he went down the side road.” I slept with my head down for half an hour, and after being here for more than an hour I called him on the cell phone. He was back up on the Interstate proceeding further east! After three calls and many exclamations of, “can you hear me”, he pulled in and picked me up coming in from the west! Apparently he thought I might go by this exit so he sat on the on ramp as I exited the off ramp and we missed each other. Such is the life of the long distance bike rider and crew.

I wanted to go to Butte; some 48 miles further east to have the bike checked one more time for the potential bearing problem. I am having a very hard time keeping the Stallion moving. I suspect I am the power problem, but if there is a drag in the bearings I want to know it.

We went to a bike shop in downtown Butte as directed by a fellow at Wal-Mart. The shop had a bunch of kids working and the boss said he couldn’t work on it and had no mechanic on Saturday so he sent me over to “Bad Beaver, Bikes, Skis, and Tours” a new shop in the old historic section of Butte. It was the old historic part of the city and had many beautiful buildings and some slums. The owners Ed and Susan Renfro have had bike shops for years and have toured Bulgaria on bike. They were very receptive, pleasant, and imminently technically skillful in working on all the gear. Susan must be a long distance cycling psychologist as she encouraged me and honestly thought my mileage totals were good not bad. She reminded me that we are cycling at 5000 feet of altitude and I’m from sea level. She said 40-50 mile days around here are good. She then reviewed my route and gave suggestions. All the while, Ed was working on the Stallion. He checked out all four sets of bearings (two wheels and the bottom bracket and the rear gear cluster). He found several areas that could have squeaked but nothing worn out or broken. He adjusted the shifters again, and showed me a non-liquid lubricant that he says is the best and makes little mess. Somehow my shoe cleats came up and he checked the shoes and the pedals to see why I can’t get into or out of my cleats efficiently. He showed me how the cleats are recessed in the shoe for walking and the edges of the shoe are interfering with the mechanism. So he trimmed a little of the shoe and adjusted the pedal clasp mechanism and it all worked much better. He also checked the rough front wheel weld and reassured me once more. These are wonderful people who charged me $10 for labor and 9.95 for the high tech lubricant. I tried to pay more, but that was it. I should have been charged $50 for the psychological support!

As we left the store Madeline stopped us to ask what was our adventure. She is a beautiful 49-year-old mother of six kids and a nurse who had formerly had her bike fixed at the same shop. She rode the famous “Ride Across Iowa” on three occasions and had interest in the bike on the back of our Van. She home schools the kids except for the oldest a 17 year old who wanted to go to her senior year at school this year. The kid has great standard test scores and thinks school is a little slow but apparently likes the social aspects (which was one of my questions.) The child is an Irish Dancer and the local group has instruction form a school out of Chicago and does River Dance type stuff beautifully. When she said she had six children, I asked what held her back and pointed out the TB who has eight kids. She said they had wanted eight themselves. She also thought 40-50 per day was excellent mileage and even commented that my insignificant weight loss meant I was gaining muscle. Then she informed me of the probable answer: Butte is a mile high city, and we are pedaling above 5000 feet all the way from Missoula! Athletic performance is significantly affected at altitude. There’s the excuse I need; I can finally quit whining and get on with it. Where do all these people come from when we need them! She, however, refused to take us home stating she only had one bathroom! Wow, six kids, and one bathroom!

The altitude problem reminds me of a story my friend Tom Weiner told me about UNLV basketball coach Jerry Tarkanion. Tom was on the board of UNLV. Someone asked Tark if playing a game at the altitude of Denver would affect his team’s performance. Tark said, “No, the game is indoors!” Well, I’m outdoors Tark, and I think it’s bothering me.

I drove around town looking for a motel in our 40-50-price range, and received a lot of back seat driving advice (mainly about the brakes and “I need this car to last many more years”), and a lot of advice that I’d never find a cheap room in town. After returning to downtown Butte we checked the Comfort ($85), Days Inn ($78), Red Inn ($86), I was forced to admit he was right. We went back to the Historic section and saw two slummy looking places and didn’t even stop. So I started west on I-90 and we saw a sign for the “Rocker Inn” at the next exit for $39. It is a very nice place and for $54 a nice price, “since we saw the sign.” Her first quotation was for $64! It’s a very nice place but no internet.

We are going to try to relax more, and I am trying to keep at it, and lower my expectations. We need to just “let it happen” instead of the David Horton approach of “push, push, push.” I can’t do it that way. I think I can quit worrying about the bike and I don’t know why all the mileages I’ve heard of are bothering me. Perhaps it’s because I’m at it alone and don’t have dozens of other cyclists around with whom to commiserate like we always had in the Appalachian Trail Thru-hike days. And of course, I don’t have my Millie here who was the driving force behind the AT success. I am so grateful to have the TB or I wouldn’t be here at all; but even though I was with him for a month in Maine on his AT thru-hike, I am learning more now that his idiosyncrasies and mine are not the best blend! But who on earth would put up with spending their whole day catering to a slow bike rider. He does, and I bless him for it.

We are going to get a good late start tomorrow. That’s my best plan.

Old Lovers

9/7/2006: Day 19, 49.3 miles; Total 692.4 Miles

We were up and out by 8:30, best we could do after a cup of coffee and a muffin at the hotel office. As I left Lolo, I heard the TB shouting from the roadside. I pulled over and he was getting an oil change! Now I was proud of him. No one has ever changed the oil in any of his vehicles because of all the damage they can do. And here he was for the first time loosening up. Then I saw him carry out his own five-quart Pennzoil can. I took the picture and rode on. I Rode 12 miles from Lolo to Missoula and had another muffin and cup of coffee. I checked our room and he was reading the paper. I congratulated him on getting the oil change, and he said: “I shouldn’t have done it. They used my oil and charged me the full price of $19.” So I made the mistake of asking why not use their branded oil and take his back, and he said (Honest to goodness he did): “They use bulk oil and who knows what brand.” After about 4 miles through town I was up on I-90 and did very well for 32 miles. I then hit the heaviest head winds of the trip. Even the truckers were complaining at the rest stop.

I-90 east toward Butte is very flat along Crooked Creek, which flows westward—too bad for L & C who didn’t find this stream for floating to the Pacific. It would have saved all the perils of the Bitterroots.

The Squeak was now persistent. At the rest stop I got some 3 in 1 oil from a Canadian and we applied it to the sealed bearings of the bottom bracket. He wouldn’t sell it to me. I was out early and had good mileage the earliest of the whole trip but the mid morning easterly wind was killing my progress. We made it to 43 miles and ate lunch and took a half hour nap. When I awakened I thought the wind had stopped. So I did 3 more miles in so vicious of a head wind that I could do a maximum speed of 8 mph on a downhill. I was wasting energy. So I called TB and he picked me up at the rest stop 2 more miles down the road. I had done a good 49 miles for the day but was so spent that when I parked the bike beside the van and headed for a bench to sit I tripped over the curb and fell hard into the grass just off the sidewalk. The TB was sitting in the van back seat reading the paper and missed it, but a lady truck driver jumped out and ran over to check on me. I hit the left shoulder pretty hard, but I guess these old fat bones are tough, as I was not injured.

WE drove to the next exit at Drummond—“state football champs and second in track.” The town was so small that they must be busing kids in to have any type of team. The town looked like an old western with one street and false fronts, and at least a half dozen signs saying: “Say No to Meth. ” At the town park for $10 there is “dry camping.” Although the sprinklers were on all evening and half the night, all camper water spigots were off. Restroom was clean on the floor and had a clean sink and washed my bike clothes. The urinal and commode were as bad as I have seen. I flushed the commode for all those ahead of me, but the urinal wouldn’t flush. Finally, the TB (a very bold move for him) found the ladies room in better shape. I was embarrassed that I had not figured that out.

The best part of the day was meeting Alvena and Art who camped near us. They are lover’s their 70’s and knew each other in high school. They each married others and lived in Kalispell where he was her (and everybody else’s) jeweler. Both spouses died in 2000. In 2003 they got together when he asked her out on a date to drive one of his 15 antique cars and 5 motorcycles. She made an immediate hit since she could drive stick shift! I said, “Your husband is an interesting man.” And she replied, “He’s not my husband; we’re shacking up!” Then she said, “He’s two years younger than me and I’m glad because I want a man with energy!” She said about one of his car, “It’s a 1928 Chevy. You don’t get in. You put it on! It’s a teal blue color.” On one of their early dates they went on an antique car tour in a 1929 touring Car. She sat real close to him and the others following were watching what they were doing. (What were they doing?) So she crawled back over the seat and pulled down the rear curtain! He then pulled out his pocket watch that he had bought off of E-bay. He described it as an erotic watch made in Germany showing a couple in a car in an uncompromising position. As he said, “It’s a great watch for a jeweler and antique car owner and septuagenarian lover.” I should have taken a picture. Art, send me a picture of that watch! They were on their way to an antique car show in Dillon, MT.

A Day in Missoula, Montana

9/6/2006: Day 18, 0 miles; Total 643.1Miles

Our day in Missoula was full of doing nothing much. I washed the clothes twice. We ate the free muffin and coffee breakfast although I found that the TB snuck off to Denny’s for more eggs. He watched a lot of TV to check on his stocks but the only ones he ever talks about are Dell and GE. He made a trip to Wal-Mart and bought two twelve packs of soda pop and some more turkey and cheese and bread. He needed some oil and had refused to buy it for several days since it cost $4 a quart, so he bought a 5-quart jug of Pennzoil at Wal-Mart and was looking for a pan and a funnel which he says they didn’t have at Wal-Mart. He doesn’t want anyone to change the oil as “they often strip the plug.”

I used the car and went off to a bike shop and bought a new helmet mirror and a mechanics type hand pump (one you hold down with your foot and it has a longer supply line and a built in gauge). I then got a haircut.

While I was at the bike shop the chief mechanic, a guy about my age with considerable experience seemed also to have reservations about the Adventure Cycling Organization. He said in a telling tone, “They directed you which way to Yellowstone?” He gave me a few route tips and I immediately decided to go down I-90 toward Butte and then cut down to Yellowstone. This would eliminate four major mountain passes, two over 7000 feet and a lot of secondary road with narrow shoulders, along with the narrow shouldered switchbacks that I would have to walk over the passes. It seemed the better part of valor for me.

Rolling Into Montana

9/5/2006: Day 17, 27.1 miles; Total 643.1Miles

Today we awakened in Mountain Time Zone at Lee Creek Campground, just 5 miles inside Montana, still on US Route 12 just 6 miles down from Lolo Pass. When we awakened it was 36 degrees. I wanted to get on down early so we could have half the day today and all of tomorrow off. I think it will be good for both of us. I dressed in my blue winter cycling gloves, a black balaclava under the helmet, black polyester Duofold under shirt, a second light blue Capilene long sleeve shirt with zipper neck, orange and yellow safety vest, black bike shorts with chamois pad, green polyester long johns, orange over shorts, synthetic socks with stars and stripes, and a lightweight blue windbreaker zipped to my increasing beard. It was a warm and colorful sight on my fat frame.

It was 27 miles and a 1000-foot elevation loss to the town of Lolo, a major intersection of bike routes, where I turn south on Route 93 towards West Yellowstone, MT. On the way down I saw two deer and saw signs for moose crossings. Although the loss of elevation was significant, the wind resistance and the rolling friction of tire on road make pedaling still necessary. I was disappointed in that. I have surly learned that I can’t coast across America. But I did do the 27 miles in less than 2 hours. As I rode I heard an intermittent squeak from the chain system.

The TB met me at the intersection of Routes 12 and 93and we took the van to the city of Missoula, MT, some 10 miles north. We had a mail drop of my “Zero Degree Rated Sleeping Bag,” which I almost needed last night. However, after we picked up the bag, the Missoula temperature went to 80! Before we got to the post office we went to breakfast. The TB has gone 2 days without eggs and pulled into the first Denny’s he saw and ordered the truck driver special of 3 eggs, toast, bacon, 3 pancakes, and hash brown potatoes. I had a strawberry waffle. And he’s the one who weighs 140 pounds!

We went to the bike shop where mechanic Abe took the Stallion out for a spin and declared that everything was functioning well. He inspected the derailleur system, the brakes, and heard no squeaks. I had him check out the front wheel again as the weld in construction is not smooth. He like others does not think it is a wheel failure risk. I was also looking for fenders, as I’m sure it will rain sometime, although it hasn’t yet! Abe agreed with Scott from the Lewiston, ID, bike shop: fenders won’t fit on this bike! The forks are too narrow. However, for $10 he had a “water deflector” that fits under the down tube—isn’t a fender a “water deflector;” and showed me how my trunk baggage bag on the back will deflect the rear wheel water. So I’m satisfied that I’ve solved this fender problem and the squeak is a non-problem. By the way if it really rains, I’ll be sitting it out in the van.

Once we got to town the TB wanted to leave immediately. I wanted a room in town for two nights with a full day off. He said he wanted to be out of town. I just spent 600 miles of pedaling to get to town and he wants out! He said he was nervous about the driving, so I said, “let me drive if you’re nervous.” “I’m not nervous,” he said and he continued to drive, saying, “Since you can see and know where we are going, just let me know where to go!” What a TB I have.

Headquarters, Missoula, MT

Entering Montana: Top of Lolo Pass

First PersonTo Walk Lolo Pass Since Lewis & Clark

9/4/2006: Day 16, 38.5 miles; Total 616.0 Miles

We slept in a little this morning as we had tough times yesterday. We drove back to near the rowdies but stayed up the road a bit; thereby missing about 0.2 of the route but I didn’t want anything to do with the guys we saw last night. The TB wanted to call my State Trooper friend, and I just wanted to be out of there.

We were at about 2500 feet of altitude and were headed for the peak of Lolo Pass at 5200 feet. I figured if Lewis and Clark could make it bushwhacking in the woods, I could do it on the road; and that pushing a bike would be easier than leading a horse.

At one point I saw a cement mixer looking device out in the river suspended between two pontoons. The river was about 30 paces wide and 3 feet deep. The device was spinning slowly and the river upstream was diverted to flow toward the mouth of the device. I don’t know what it was, and would like feedback from my readers. I wonder if it was some type of automatic gold panning operation. As I observed the machine, I saw an eagles nest high in a streamside tree—but no eagle.

Just after the machine, I saw a cyclist coming and wave him down. It was Harold Pederson a “psychologist who got tired of it and so became a contractor.” He says he “drives nails now.” Harold has been on 27 long distance bike rides and this one is 700 miles from Butte, MT, to Astoria, OR. He has done 7 bike rides in foreign countries. He goes about 100 miles per day. He is a very likeable guy, but the 100-mile stuff makes me hate him. He gave me some good tips, and we gave him lunch. I didn’t have any tips for him other than to tell him about the Hot Spring. And then he said, “You went to the wrong one, there’s another one where clothing is optional!”

I made good progress up towards Lolo Pass to about the 3800-foot elevation level; then I was reduced to a walk pushing the bike as we went. I then walked the final 3 or 4 miles over Lolo Pass at 5200 feet, thereby becoming the first person to walk Lolo Pass since Lewis and Clark, I think. Later the TB said, “That hill back there wasn’t bad, I didn’t have to shift the VW into third, it did it itself.”

At the top we switched to Mountain Time and moved into Montana. The TB was kind enough to get pictures of me at both signs, although he complained because there was a dead deer nearby and it smelled a bit. He couldn’t understand how a car could hit a deer, until I explained, “you don’t hit them, they hit you.”

While riding (and hiking) we think of the neatest stuff. For instance, the earth is a globe of 360 degrees. There are 24 hours in a day. So each time zone is 360/24 or 15 degrees of longitude. We have covered one time zone or 15 degrees of the earth or 1/24th of the earth’s surface. It sounds so easy.

The TB had picked out a campsite some 6 miles down the mountain from Lolo Pass. It was a rapid descent at about 25 mph, a far cry from the slow walk pushing the bike up the other side. I stopped twice to feel the rims and they were warm but not hot from excessive braking. On the way down I saw three live deer. They are ugly faced compared to Pennsylvania deer.

The Lee Creek US Forest Service campsite had a nice level spot, no electric, no shower, and a metal bear box for storage of all food and anything that smells. Last week some other campers heard a bear try to open one of the bear proof trash containers. It is nice to be able to start right from the site and that will be the case here.

The Unknown Machine

Bitterroot Adventures: Fire, Hot Spring, Rowdies

9/3/2006: Day 15, 45.1 miles; Total 577.5 Miles

Today it’s up the Lochsa River a designated a National Wild and Scenic River. We are in the middle of the Bitterroot Mountains that were described by Lewis and Clark as the most horrible of mountains. The L & C party ran out of food and water on several occasions. There were Indian Trails through the region for over 10,000 years as the Native Americans traveled back and forth through the region with the season, including going over Lolo Pass from Idaho into what is now Montana. There are historical signs along the way and I managed to read most of them. L & C came west in 1805 and returned east in 1806. The Nez Perce gave them plenty of help and in turn they were given “peace medals” from President Jefferson. The Nez Perce were said to have taken these medals very seriously, but within 70 years they were driven from their lands. The TB doesn’t read all this stuff and thinks I should just pedal more. Once he said, “I was studying the Atlas and these Indians sure have a lot of reservation land.” I said, “They used to own all of it!” And he responded, “Just think what lives we’d live if they still owned it.” I guess he has a point!

As I pedaled along I finally saw a fisherman in this the most beautiful looking trout fly-fishing water I have ever seen. His name is Alan and he’s a student in Fisheries Science at Idaho State University in Moscow, Idaho. Alan and his girlfriend had camped in the area and each was on the river fishing. She was a good quarter mile upstream and behind some trees so I never was able to talk with her; however, Alan was 20 yards from the road standing on a rock in a foot of water beautifully laying his line into some soft rapids. I stopped to join him vicariously, and verbally, from the road. He was using a nymph. As the line floated easily a cutthroat trout hit and gave a good fight but was landed with finesse, handled carefully never out of the water and easily released from the barb-less hook. Alan and I were both elated with the catch. It was a fair fish, measuring about 13 inches. On the next cast we threw out into the same pool and I could see a bigger fish hit. We played it carefully, cautiously, and it pulled out a good 25 yards of line until we thought it might get away. But alas we turned him and he was landed just as carefully and released unharmed. This one was over 15 inches. Our country and our wildlife are in good hands. Thank you Alan.

As I pedaled there were perhaps a hundred vehicles an hour with about 10 percent being motor homes on this holiday weekend. The motor home drivers (I’m profiling here.) are prone to not want to wander over the center line and Rout 12 is a 2 lane road with a white line on my side that some times gives me as little as 6 inches of shoulder. One camper truck came fairly close and immediately behind was an Idaho State Trooper who flashed his light and pulled him over. I figured it was for crowding me. I tried to listen as the trooper threw his hands in the air when the driver first got out of the camper, but I heard no conversation and proceeded onward.

After another mile or five (who knows) I saw a sign, “Smoke Ahead.” Soon I could see a forest fire on the slope to the left of the road. I stopped for a picture and a US Forest Service green pickup truck pulled off on the other side with “US Gov” license plates. Out stepped Frank Bruno from Red Rock Fire (www.redrockfire.com) with a radio, a satellite phone, and a cell phone. Frank was dressed in wool green pants and a yellow heavy long sleeve shirt on this day of 85 degrees. From the Red Rock web site is the following mission statement:

“Red Rock Fire's "mission" is to provide "state of the art" wildland fire suppression and management services on an "on-call" basis. These services are intended to augment the services provided by existing public and private agencies in the face of natural disasters.”

And Frank delivered.

I pulled over to give Frank a hand listening to his radios. I introduced myself and he said, “Doc, if you want to see the action, the helicopter will be here in 4 minutes.” True to his word he directed them in with the radio, and then called headquarters on the Satellite Phone. It didn’t seem appropriate to ask for a Pizza delivery, so I controlled myself. The pilot looked the fire over and Frank gave the order for “water suppression of the fire nearest the road.” He then explained to me that the fire was over 160 acres in size and had been burning for 13 days. It was caused by “dry lightning.” A week ago Frank had two men up on the mountain but it was too steep and dangerous for them. The slope was about 45 degrees. The only way to actually put out the fire was a combination of men and helicopter drops. If the fire was not so close to the road he would let it naturally burn as it produces good habitat for deer and elk and is “nature’s way.” However, because of public safety and steepness of the slope he wanted to keep the fire from getting closer to the road. The fire was at least 500 feet higher on the slope than the road and Frank pointed out that when all the trees burned they would fall to the road and create major rock slides that would be dangerous and very difficult to repair. Therefore, he was going to suppress this side of the fire.

The pilot told Frank he knew of a pool a mile or so down the Lochsa River and would pick up 200 gallons of water at a time from the bucket suspended on a 50-foot cable. Frank described it as, “like dipping water out of a bath tub with a cup.” Soon the helicopter was back and went directly over our heads spewing water as it went towards the fire. Soon we suffered a small shower as the spewed water came across the road. The pilot maneuvered expertly to the side of the fire towards the road and dropped his 200 gallons and went off for another load. Frank described it as a direct hit as we could see a change in the smoke color and the emergence of steam.

I watched as we dropped about 5 loads of water all direct hits, and suddenly a state trooper pulled up giving someone in a pickup truck a ticket. As soon as the newly ticketed pickup was gone, I approached the officer asking if he gave the ticket I had seen earlier. He had. That fellow had earned his ticket by weaving across the road in front of the officer and not for coming too close to me. I told the trooper (who asked that his name not be used since he doesn’t like the internet) he had a wonderful state, and he agreed. His distant grandparents came to Idaho on the Oregon Trail by wagon train more than 150 years ago and the family has written journals from that trip. I’d love to see those!

Back in Lewiston, ID, we heard about a Hot Spring that is poorly marked and not on our TransAm Bike Maps. It close to the 142-mile marker on the road and the TB, true to his name, found it. We had set the Hot Spring as our goal for the day and by the time I got there I was totally depleted just like in the old ultramarathon days. I had gone over 45 miles, all uphill, with an elevation gain of 1200 feet and the temperature above 85 most all of the day. The TB wasn’t quite ready for my exhaustion, but he was sitting in one of our chairs and gave it to me immediately. I asked for something to eat and he brought out a pint of macaroni salad, 4 slices of bread, a can of mandarin oranges, a dish of potato chips, and a couple of colas. Within an hour I felt better.

The TB said he wasn’t going to the hot spring and by the time I recovered I didn’t much want to go by myself. There had been two family groups and several couples come down from the Hot Spring and all said it was marvelous and about 104-108 degrees. Several of the females in wet t-shirts looked like it really would have been marvelous to be there with them! But I could not be deterred so I got a clean change of clothes and wore all my day cycling clothes and started up the ravine knowing full well this was bear and cougar country. The trail was abominable and because of all the tourists had offshoots running every direction. It was said to be half a mile. At about half way I came upon a lone camper sitting by a big campfire on the edge of the stream. We had seen signs that campfires were outlawed. Soon I saw about 20 feet up to my left two pipes coming out of the rocks. There was no steam. I climbed the rocks and there was the Hot Spring. It is about ten feet in diameter and 3 feet deep. It looks like it is a natural depression in the rocks that has a cemented lip on the low side to hold in the water. There is a wooden bench 3 inches above the water on the up-hill side and surprising to me, no mud. I laid out my clean clothes on the granite, sat on the bench, and dangled my feet. I have a hot tub at home that I don’t get into and it’s only 10 feet from my bedroom. Now I walked half a mile in bear and cougar country to this unknown tub. But it was worth it. If the water at home is above 103 degrees, it’s almost impossible to get in, so I would say this natural hot spring temperature was about 102. It was, in a word, perfect. I stripped and washed clothes and myself. Then I look down and there comes the TB. He couldn’t hold back and I was glad he made it.

After about half an hour of the tub we made our way back to the car arriving before nightfall. On the way we got off the trail twice, but it was obvious and no risk of being lost.

The TB had set up the camper and had it leveled and I had all my wet clothes draped from the bikes for drying and we went to bed at about 8 PM. Well, that was way too early for this place. Cars kept coming and going, horns blaring, with couples heading out for the hot spring well after dark. The TB was particularly intrigued by two girls holding hands as they headed for their tent just 50 yards from the cars. Then came the coups de grace when the TB was asleep (thank goodness) a car came into the parking lot way too fast and skidded in the gravel. It then made a quick reverse turn and backed in almost scrapping the glass off our headlights almost pinning us in our spot. It turns out they belonged to the tent just beside the van. They had a boom box in the car and let it all boom out! One of them walked around behind our van and the bikes and behind the car next to us. He fired up a generator twice as load as the boom box. He then turned on enough light for a night Super Bowl. About that time the TB who goes to church daily when at home awoke and wanted to know in somewhat salty language what the heck was going on. And then in rather loud voice he said from behind his tent curtains, “What are those jerks doing.” One of the guys took a huff from some type of pipe, and both were half the age and twice the size of the two of us. I encouraged the TB to not say anything, although he clearly wanted a piece of them. I thought that we could be in serious personal danger. So we moved his top bunk stuff, closed the top lid, put the Stallion on the bed (ala That Stallone Gangster Movie), removed the leveling blocks, and squeezed out of our space and departed. The Tb was hopping mad, but it was okay now as we were gone. About 7 miles up the road we found the Jerry Johnson Camp Site and pulled in to a nice spot and had a good nights sleep.

The Trail Boss Enjoys the Hot Spring

Frank and I Drop the Water

Frank Bruno, Forest Fire Expert

Alan and I Catch a Cutthroat

Dave Statler Plays Me a Nez Perce Safe Passage Song

Labor Day Parade in Kamiah, ID

A Parade in Kamiah, ID, and a Bear in Lowell, ID

9/2/2006: Day 14, 46.1 miles; Total 532.4 Miles

Today at about 22 miles we made it to Kooskia and the original Trans-Am route still on Route 12. At Kooskia the Clearwater River begins where the North Fork and the Middle Fork of the Clearwater join. We follow the Middle Fork north and east to Lowell, ID, where the Selway River and the Lochsa join to make the middle fork. The flow is less, the canyons just as steep and beautiful but now treed, and the route begins to get steeper as we make our way to Lolo Pass at 8000 feet into Montana in another 100 miles.

Along the way to Lowell, population 23, we had some great adventures. First of all, at Kamiah, population 1700, it was the annual Labor Day Weekend Free BBQ and Parade. We didn’t know it when we entered town so we stopped at the first good size gas station (They are all Texaco’s) and had a Cappuccino and large muffin for 99 cents. We both sat out front in the sun and nearly roasted at 90 degrees. This is funny since the whole 20-mile ride in I was cold and had on extra sleeves and the windbreaker vest. I quickly peeled down to my long sleeve dress white shirt and my reflective safety vest. As we sat I could hear the public address announcing a parade and the free BBQ. I asked the TB to check it out and give a $5 donation for a BBQ chicken dinner for me and started out of town; however, as I went down the street I say this massive crowd lined up for the parade and three kinds of police—state, town, and Nez Perce tribal. It turns out Kamiah is on the Nez Perce Reservation. They had a wonderful parade started off with a local gal singing the national anthem. As so often happens in some many towns when the local star performs, she forgot the words; however, it didn’t bother me or any of the thousand people present and we cheered wildly for her performance. Then they gave an award to the parade announcer for doing the organizing and announcing for so many years. He said, “I have a military retirement, and just got my social security, so if I don’t die I’ll be doing it a long time!” We cheered loudly again and I jumped on the stallion and raced back to the gas station to get the TB to come to the parade. He said he was not interested, but I learned later he thought I had said I was going to be “in” the parade so he went and stood in the sun and saw the whole thing. In actuality, I could have easily been in it and should have been.

I made it about 1 mile out of town Eagles Nest Gifts and Souvenirs. I had been thinking of getting Millie some genuine Nez Perce item. Dave Statler was sitting out front rolling his own cigarettes from Native American Indian Tobacco (from Kentucky!). Dave is a retired fisheries biologist and told me all about the Salmon and the Steelhead that go all the way (m ore than 500 miles) out to the ocean after being born (spawned) in the local waters of small side streams. Some of the Steelhead are “4 Ocean” fish in that they stay four years in the ocean before coming back to the exact spot to spawn their young. Now there are at least half a dozen dams in the way and they still make it back. He says less than 10% make it back. So the state has hatcheries and they come back to the hatchery! He then sold me a necklace for Millie made by his wife, better than the Nez Perce he says. But it looks Indian. He was very proud to show me the flutes he sells. His is 3 feet long, played more like a clarinet, with multiple note finger holes. He played an Indian “Have a Safe Passage” tune for me and I got a picture to prove it.

Later the TB met me at Kooksiakia some 7 more miles down the road. He had seen an accident where a motorcycle and its trailer were in the ditch and ambulances were present. It must have happened just behind me.

At our destination for the day there were no motel rooms and no campsites. But the restaurant/motel owner let us camp in the yard. Some motorcyclists saw a bear across the river and walked right by me as I typed journal to see it. After it swam the river they told me. Now on 2168 miles of Appalachian Trail and 535 miles of Trans America bike ride I have not seen a bear. The TB walked 100 yards to the store and saw it again.

Speaking of the store, Candy the manager let me wash my clothes in the big sink inside the store and I hosed off myself outside using stream water from the hose. The stream hose water smelled better than the city restaurant water. Candy has several grandchildren and a husband who loves to hunt. It is now bear, deer, and elk archery season and her store seemed the center of the activity. They hunters were baiting for bear all with secrete ingredients, but I managed to decipher some of them: grease, donuts, honey, and Cappuccino!

We are now 78 miles from Lolo Pass and our crossing to Montano and Mountain Time zone. We will have gone across one whole time zone! We are at 1400 feet elevation now and Lolo Pass is at 5235. I have some real work ahead of me, and the road gets very narrow with no shoulders. I will be real anxious going down the other side.

Up the Clearwater River, ID, on Our Anniversary

9/1/2006: Day 13, 51.2 miles; Total 486.3 Miles

Today is Millie and my 43rd wedding anniversary. I've been able to speak with her by phone inspite of the deep canyons and to let her know what she's been missing. She's off today to take our friend Virginia to look at new furniture--her anniversary present. Later tonight she goes out to dinner with our friend Karen while her husband practices for the World Poker Tour. I'm glad she has all her friends and tennis groups, but she should be out here pedaling like she was with me when we hiked the Appalachian Trail. If she were here I'd be in Montana by now. She's been a great wife for 43 years and I hope for another 43.

I was up at 6:30, had one donut and cup of coffee at the motel office after waking the night crew, and was out the door pedaling before the TB could get all the stuff out of the van and make me a “proper” breakfast. He wasn’t happy about it either, acting very grandmotherly! It was 56 degrees, but I didn’t feel cold this morning and felt ready for a good day. The first few miles were through Lewiston, Idaho, and then immediately into the Nez Perce Reservation and past their casino on US Route 12 that will take us clear across Idaho. The casino had gas for 15 cents a gallon less than in town, so I phoned the TB and informed him. He is just like my wife in that he would drive a hundred miles to save a nickel on gas, so he was very pleased.

We followed the Clearwater River the whole day. The Clearwater joins the Snake in Lewiston. Some 45 miles up the Clearwater is the spot where Lewis and Clark came off the plains and first found water flowing westward. They had to go 16 more miles down the river to what is now Orofino to find trees large enough to make five canoes for the trip down the Clearwater, Snake, and then Columbia to the Pacific. My trail, Historic Route 12 follows the riverbank upstream closely and is very flat with few small climbs here and there; however, the TB assures me we are going downhill all the way as we proceed up river! He’s not on the bike! In actuality my altimeter said we gained about 1000 feet in elevation throughout the day. I stopped and read several historic markers all giving details of Lewis and Clark’s trek. At one point, Lenore, there was an 1898 Tram to bring grain down to the railroad at the river’s edge from the plains that are 1600 feet up from the deep gorge. It is very difficult to believe there is flat land up there but everyone I ask assures me it’s so and now and then I can see houses and the edges of the wheat fields up there.

I fell again today, again because of the cleats in the shoes that attach to the pedals. I had stopped for half an hour and adjusted the cleats on the shoes and the pedal spring mechanism that holds the cleat tight. I had it all loose enough that I was much better able to get both in and out of the cleats. When I later slowed for a BOBB (butt off bike break) I easily got my feet loose and as I came to a stop my left foot easily got reengaged, the bike stopped and I fell onto my left side. This time I got a considerable amount of abrasions on the outside of the left lower leg. I used my synthetic towel and some of my sports drink Conquest and washed it good, thereby bloodying the towel some but getting the leg good and clean. I have no idea why all falls have been to the left and the mirror on the handle bar end on the left has survived. Such is the life of the long distance bike rider.

Tonight we are in a Bureau of Land Management (BLM) Campground. As he picked me up some 12 miles down the road past here the TB was delighted to tell me about our campsite. “We’ve got a delightful and wonderful sight tonight,” he said. “It’s on Federal Land and so I got it for half price, only $9.00.” He has every possible discount from retired military to Golden Age Passport; and he loves to use them. Everything fit his three major criteria; price, electric, and level. “However,” he said, “there are no showers, no hot water, gravel tent sites, no shade, and the 300 foot Dworshak Dam looming half a mile up stream.” Sounded perfect to me.

I went to the toilet, which had a sink and washed my biking clothes and myself at the sink. I cleaned my bloodied towel, and scrubbed my abrasions hard. Scrubbing hard is the solution. Then I pitched my tent in the scrub grass instead of the gravel. During dinner the host came over and told us we were to use the gravel for the tent. I apologized, told him the price of the tent, and said I’d move it (I actually wouldn’t have risked putting holes in the floor in the gravel; I’d have gotten into the van). He said just leave it for tonight, and I did.

Tomorrow we go over the 500-mile mark and at the 22-mile mark at Kooskia, ID; we join the original trans America route. Recall that we took the Lewis and Clark route from Astoria up the Columbia gorge because the Trans-AM route was closed because of forest fire at Sisters, OR.