Post 11- Final Post, Chicago to Martha's Vineyard

So it has been a while since I last posted, the reason for this is that I have been keeping a journal and relearning the freedom of writing by hand, plus I have not always had convenient internet access. I have written nearly forty pages since I left Chicago so I am only going to give you the bare bones of what happened:

I left Chicago heading South along the Lakefront Pike Path, to Gary, Indiana. It was an industrial nightmare and there was a lot of glass on the street that I had to avoid. I went to South Bend and stayed with a couchsurfer there. He showed me Notre Dame campus and I walked around.
I left towards Toledo the next morning and when I got to Elkhart, I met a man in a parking lot who wanted to know all about my trip. I told him about it and then he said he wanted to give me a free chiropractic adjustment. I got his business card and tried to find his shop but it I got lost, so I headed back towards the center of town and called him telling him that I wasn't going to make it, but that I really appreciated it. I left town and about a mile down the road, there he was in his suburban, stopped at the same light as me. He pulled over and gave me a free adjustment on the side of the road! I couldn't believe that he would take the time out of his day to do that. He then handed me something rolled up and said, "I want you to have this". When I looked at what it was, I saaw that it was a wad of cash. Tears welled up in my eyes and he explained to me that people don't take the time to slow down and that what I was doing was incredible and he wanted to support my cause and my spiritual journey. He then left just as fast as he came and I got back on my bike with the biggest smile on my face. I rode my bike to Pokagen state park, and had the campground to myself. I walked down to the lake and found a private dock; I had a bottle of wine, a loaf of amish bread and the setting sun all to myself. When I went back to my campground, I saw little lights flickering on and off in amongst the trees. I saw this phenomenon once before, at a campground on the Mississippi , but this time I felt like there were little spirits watching over me, trailing their traces of light behind them as they floated around me. That day was magical, it brought me back to that place in myself that I found in North Dakota: there was nothing else in the world that mattered at that moment. This was the meaning of my journey.
I left early in the morning and rode through countryside crossing into Michigan, and Ohio; had a several dogs chase me and asked for directions to town until I reached the outskirts of Toledo and called my host, Adrienne. Toledo was boring and my host was out of sorts, I stayed with her and her parents. I had an uneasy feeling but it went away when their huge dog finally started to like me. In the morning I went to the post office to see if my eyeglasses had arrived, I had my friend Ian send them from Eastern Washington. They weren't there, and I had to bite my tongue because I really needed to be able to read again. I hoped that I would just get them one day.
I rode to Sandusky that day, but I had to hitchhike across highway 2 a few miles to get over the inlet there. I found a fire station a couple of miles away from Cedar Point Park to set my tent up at. I was in the midst of the roller coaster/ water park capitol of the world.
After saying goodbye to the nice fire fighters that put me up for the night, I left town headed to Cleveland. I somehow made it to Cleveland by noon and I called Jamie's friend, Dan. I met him at his house and we started drinking a couple of hours later, I knew that we would get along because he was drinking Sparks. We went to a place called Whiskey Point on the lake and climbed to the top of an abandoned lighthouse, and drank Sparks. While I stayed in Cleveland, I felt like I was in Portland, mainly because of the area I was in, Lakewood. Also Dan and his friends did everything together, we played volleyball, baseball, went dancing, sang karaoke, ate amazing food, drank at bars, and I even went swimming in Lake Erie during a rainstorm. It was a great time, but the weather turned gray and the rain came down in torrents so I changed my plans and decided to take a bus to Pittsburgh 100 miles away and visit a friend, Ret.
I went to Pittsburgh and while I was there, I hung out at the bar she worked at, met her friend Chris, practiced juggling, and went to the Andy Warhol Museum. Ret and I also ate the largest slices of pizza that I had ever seen. I put my bike back together (I had to disassemble it to get it on the bus), and headed in the general direction of Philadelphia. I originally was supposed to go to Buffalo and take highway 5 East to Boston, but this sounded like more fun. I found a crazy route through the hills of Pittsburgh out of town and ended up in Mckeesport. I saw a bike path sign and somehow had found the Great Allegheny Passage Trail. This route goes all the way to Washington, D.C. It would take me mostly in the right direction, so I just decided to follow it for a couple of hundred miles.
I went through Cumberland, into Williamsport, Gettysburg, York, lost in Amish land, then into Philly for a couple of days to see the Liberty Bell and some history. Went to Jersey City from there, took the Chinatown bus to Boston, then rode my bike to Wood's Hole and took the ferry into Martha's Vinyard where I have been for the last ten days.

Post 10- Chicago

The first thing that I did when I arrived was go the the bike shop called "On the Route". Jon and Margaret told me to meet up with their friend Heather, who in turn had a friend named Chris that works at the shop. He wanted to know all about the trip and wished that he could do it, but he was very helpful and even gave me a bike map of Chicago. I then ate dinner and met up with my host, Justin. He was the most active person that I have ever met, and he was also able to give me a place to stay on short notice. We went to a comedy show called Barrel of Monkeys put on by a group called the Neo-Futurists. They do thirty plays in sixty minutes and they are all plays that children have wrote and were adapted by the comedians. It was one of the funniest performances that I have ever seen, I actually hurt from laughing for so long. I met one of Justin's friends, Jaimy Klinko who invited me to stay at her place for a couple of days. I was relieved to have another plaee to stay because I hadn't made arrangement with anyone else yt.
I packed my things in the morning and brought my things over to Jaimy's apartment. Then I met her and Issabella (the girl she nanny's) for lunch. After eating, I headed for downtown but didn't make it more than a few blocks before I bumped into a famous eatery, Jay's Beef. So I got a hot beef sandwich and ate my second lunch. I took Milwaukee Ave towards the city, which cuts at an angle and has a bike lane of sorts. The first thing that I saw was the Sears Tower, and then I headed to Grant Park. I had a good time there, checked out some crazy sculptures ("THE BEAN"), mediated for a while and practiced my juggling. I had dinner with Heather and her roommate and we met up with Chris at the bar they work at, The Shire. I made it back to Jaimy's, stayed on the futon and slept in. I had contacted another guy, Michael through the Couchsurfing network and he agreed to let me stay through the weekend.
I found a Polish resatuarant that was highly rated, ate the sampler platter with meat galore, and Michael greeted me at his house. We made some food, and then met up with Stacey, his girlfriend. We went to the local bar by her house and had a good time. the DJ was horrible, he basically just had a laptop with a horrible play-list, so we just went home.
There was a Couchsurfers event that night at the Neo Futurists, which was organized by Justin. Over a hundred people showed up for the event and I was seriously impressed by another great show, this one was for the adult audience. I got a ride home from one of Justin's friends. Friday was also fun, I rode around the Navy Pier and then went to Critical Mass (thousands of bicyclists that take over the streets for a few hours). I then met up with Jaimy for dinner and drinks, and stayed at on the futon again. Jaimy told me about her friends that live in Cleveland so I was happy to have another place to stay. I ate breakfast with Jaimy and then went back to Michaels' house.
Me and Michael got cleaned up and went to the International House Music Festival. The funny thing is that when we got arrived, there was a State Fair going on and we didn't notice that the parking lots next to the Fair was where the house music was happening. We finally figured it out and as we entered, there was a Drum and Bass section, House and Techno sections. The DJ's were actually really good, and we stayed for a few hours. I was going to go the the Bike Messenger Prom that night, but I decided to hang out the Michael and we went to a club to go dancing with some of his friends. I was able to borrow a nice shirt from him and it turns out that we are both a shoe size 44, European. The music at the club was like a video game on crack, and un-danceable so Michael went home and I went with his friends to a place called the Lizard Club, they actually decided to just go home, but I wanted to dance so I just got out there. I had a good time and walked three miles home because the train was under repairs.

Post 9- Davenport, IA to Chicago, IL

It was Friday, August 21 and I wanted a cup of joe, so Eric suggested that I go to Red Band Coffee. I took the beautiful bike path to downtown and walked into the small art deco building but there were no seats, only piles of large burlap sacks full of beans from all over the world. I ordered a black coffee and they ground my own serving on the spot, using a fresh paper filter. I watched the black gold drip through the filter into a large lab beaker. It was by far the best cup of coffee that I have ever tasted, but they didn't serve breakfast so I had to finish my cup there and look for a breakfast joint. I found a small diner in the center of town, ate and then walked across the "bridge to nowhere"- a multi million dollar pedestrian bridge that stretches over the road towards the mississippi.
I wandered around, found another casino paddleboat, drank free coffee, ate theur buffet and then Eric called so I met him down at the River Music Festival volunteers' booth. We helped load case after case of beer and soda into huge bins then filled them with ice and started drinking. Unfortunately, the sky turned dark and the rain started, which came down in torrents. The beer was free as long as we were volunteering, so we mingled with the other volunteers and drank, drank, drank.
The rain stopped shortly after 5pm and people started to line up to buy beer; I had met Jon and Margaret in the meanwhile. They were a very nice couple who decided that they were going to buy me breakfast in the morning, and I couldn't say no. My shift ended so I grabbed a few more beers and headed out to go see the opening bands. It was mostly country with a rock twist to it, so I just floated around with Eric, Jon and Margaret, enjoying the festival and people watching. Its' funny the crazy people that show up when something is free: zitty teenagers, mullet sporting couples, and lots of bikers.
The Blue Oyster Cult was the headlining act, so I pushed my way up to within four rows of people from the stage. They were very impressive, especially for their age. I danced like a maniac and eventually left my coveted spot to go find my new friends. We left the show with a couple of Eric's frat-looking friends and went to a bar where I met a couple of nice girls, talked to them for a while and left after consuming way too much alcohol. Oh well.
In the morning, I somehow woke up just before Jon called and he was very hung over. They took me to a place called the "Shed" and I ordered the Hungry Man's breakfast, which consisted of a huge slab of ham, a large sausage, bacon, two pancakes, three poached eggs, an english muffin and homefries. I actually couldn't finish the last couple of bites. We took a picture outside with a large corn sculpture and they dropped me back at Eric's. I packed my things and was on the road around 11 am.
I went across the river and started to head west on the bike path. It was a glorious day, and I stopped at a park which had a workout station. A few more miles down the road and I found a map of the area, it turns out that I had been riding in the wrong direction for about an hour; so I took the most direct route to get to the Hennepin canal trail, I-80. I would have to say that it saved me tons of time, but in hindsight, was very stupid and dangerous. It's not only illegal but very scary to have cars pass you at 70 miles per hour, even though there was a huge shoulder that I was able to stay on.
I finally found the Hennepin and as I entered, there was a sign that read, "trail closed". Trail closed! I wasn't impressed by this, so I just went on anyway. About a mile down the road the trial was completely washed out and I had to push Bella around a muddy, steep path the other hikers/bikers had carved out. It wasn't all that bad, and I continued on down the crushed limestone path. The day went by relatively smoothly after that, and I was very happy to have the solitude back that I enjoy so much. There ware osprey that would take off in front of me as I passed their perch; they are so graceful as they fly. I even saw one spear a small fish with its beak, these are the things that make me appreciate my country and also just being alive. I made it to a campsite at lock 17 and set up for the night. There was a small group next to me that I befriended and they offered up their beverages. People are so generous, especially the country folk that I meet.
The next day, I hopped onto route 6 because the bike path was a little slow and I was worried about destroying the tread on my road tires. I made it through several Illinois towns and eventually came to a more populated area along the Illinois River. I found a nice spot off the bike path but left for another site because of the large amount of glass and trash in the area; there were also four wheeler tracks everywhere and I just didn't want to be bothered by local drunks. Instead, I found a small clearing along the bike path and set up there. The trail at this point is called the I&M Canal and is a part of the reason why Illinois is the most populated state in the midwest. They used it to barge materials all the way from Chicago down to the Illinois river, and the Hennepin Canal extension was supposed to bring goods all the way to the Mississippi.
I rode the I&M to its' end, which links up with the Centennial Trail; this took me to within about 20 miles of downtown Chicago but it just ends. I found a road that took me to a suburb that had a library and I mapped out a route into downtown on Ogden street, then up towards Logan Square which was where my couch was waiting for me.

Post 8- Prescott to Davenport

I woke up early, ready to start my trek down the Mississippi. As I aired up my loaded down rear tire, it began to deflate so I had to pull everything off and replace the tube with my spare. I looked at the old tube and realized that the bike shop in Fargo had replaced my inner tubes with an inferior brand; why would they do that? The fix was easy and I was back in business. A few miles down the road was were the junction between the St. Croix and Mississippi occurred. The town of Prescott marks this location; I stopped long enough to take pictures and do some pushups. The road out of town was very hilly, but I was rewarded with a rare moose sighting and wild turkeys. I made it to Red Wing, where the shoes come from; I also stopped in the store to take a picture of the worlds’ largest boot, size 638 and ½ if I remember correctly. I then stopped for breakfast at the local greasy spoon.
The ride out of town was actually quite nice, with a series of rolling hills and farmland, just a few miles west of the Great River. At around 4pm, I pulled into a gas station at Wabasha. As I enjoyed an ice cream sandwich, I noticed a small boat on a broken trailer on a flatbed tow truck. A barefoot man in his forties who had autism was talking with his mother about what to do with the boat. She approached me and asked if I was riding a racing bike; I told her it was a cycle cross bike and that I was riding across country. They continued to talk about the boat, made a phone call inside the service station, and said something about driving the boat down to La Crosse. I thought to myself, “what a coincidence, I’m going to La Crosse tonight”. So, I jokingly mentioned that I would ride down with the man if he wanted. The mother, Lavern actually thought that was an alright idea but Steve wasn’t sure if he had room. He was on a journey to the mouth of the Mississippi, so the boat was full of food and supplies.
I met them, and the tow truck at the boat ramp and we loaded my bicycle into Lavern’s SUV. We took some pictures and Steve and I were off like a herd of turtles, at about 5 miles per hour. When we left the marina, and crossed into the channel of the Mississippi, we continued at our slugs’ pace. I assumed that we would increase our speed but that didn’t happen; I didn’t want to press him about it so I just sat quietly, absorbing the great views of the surrounding bluffs, bald eagles taking flight, and the sand islands that dotted the river. Steve stammered out that, “I just tuned the m-m-motor, and y-you aren’t supposed to open the throttle m-m-more than half way”. In fact, he only opened the throttle about a third of the way, because I could pick out any tree on a shoreline and watch the squirrels run up and down before we were past it. It was a lesson in patience, and I enjoyed every view, every ripple of water, and the silence that the river afforded us. We didn’t say much for a long time until we reached the first lock-and-dam. I learned how to signal the lock to open for us, and also about what the numbers on the buoy’s meant.
While travelling down river, you are supposed to stay between the green and red buoy’s; they indicate where the depth of water is nine feet or more, which is what is required for the barges’ passage. We did this for hours, and the sun set quickly, we weren’t to La Crosse yet and it dawned on me that we weren’t going to get there by boat tonight. The next dam was approaching, and natural light was fading quick. Steve made a wrong turn at a reedy island, and we got off course. There were large numbers of pelicans roosting and wading in the shallow depths at either side of us. We slowed to a sloths’ pace and Steve finally realized that he needed to turn around. As we pulled around and he opened the throttle up, it sputtered and the clutch slipped. Something was stuck on the blades of the motor, so we limped the boat out of the shallow water, and back into the channel. It was extremely dark and I had no idea where we were going to pull out of the water. Fortunately, we saw another small craft sneak into a dark passage along one edge of the waterfront. I had to put my headlamp on to keep us from getting stuck in the reeds, and we followed the light on the back of their watercraft into a creepy tunnel that seemed to go nowhere. We had to row the boat through the black widow infested tunnel, and finally made it to a small marina with a boat launch. I helped tie the boat up, and promptly called Lavern to come and rescue us.
We were in a little town called Minneaska, where the only thing open was Buck’s Tavern. The locals looked at us like we just landed on Earth from space; I was still wearing my spandex bike shorts and a rain jacket, and he was barefoot and stammering. I actually thought the situation was hilarious and enjoyed every part of the adventure. The bartended got worried when our ride didn’t show up when we said, so she got on the phone with Lavern and directed her on in. I squeezed myself into the vehicle with my bike and all the gear, and we drove the rest of the way to La Crosse. We got into town at around 11:30 pm and I called Stephanie’s father, George. He met us outside of his old mission style house, and I was thankful to have a place to stay.
George made me a sandwich and he let me help myself to salad, grapes, brownies, and Ice cream. I told him a little bit about the day’s craziness and then he showed me my accommodations. He was a very kind man for waiting up for me and having a bed made; I asked him to wake me in the morning. We had cheese omelets, brownies and milk for breakfast and then I gathered my things. George told me a little history and mentioned about the castles and estates that were a product of the timber industry over a century ago. I bought and new inner tube at the local bike shop and then drank three cups of coffee downtown.
It was about 1 pm and I crossed the Mississippi for the second time headed south. The ride was gorgeous, the hills were rolling and I seemed to hold a steady 18 miles per hour for several hours. The easy part was over though, because before Harpers’ Ferry, the road went up and through the steep bluffs, and my pace slowed back to the turtle speed. The only saving grace was the fact that every uphill has a downhill, and I was able to get some video footage of my descents. As the daylight faded, I finally made it into Marquette about an hour before sunset. I found a Bed and Breakfast, knocked on the door and asked if I could set up my tent in their yard or if I could set up in the city park. They weren’t too keen on that idea, but offered to call the mayor’s office. They were in a city council meeting, but then she looked down the road and there were a group of people standing outside. I went and talked to them, and I was introduced to the mayor and city clerk; they said that they couldn’t let me camp in the park, but Mary Sue offered to let me set up in her back yard two blocks away. The mayor told me that I should buy her a beer, that,” we have priorities in this town”. I laughed, and followed Mary Sue to her yard.
After setting up and catching up on a phone call, I headed over to the casino, which was actually a huge old paddle boat. I took a picture with a giant pink elephant in a top hat, and boarded the docked ship. The only thing that they had for dinner this late was goulash, and stale garlic bread, but It filled me up. I wandered the three floors of insanity, the dizzying array of slot machines, and flashing lights and buzzing bells was almost too much for me. I settled at the bar, and talked with the cute bartender along with a group of older, cigar smoking gentlemen, telling stupid jokes. The funny thing about working in a casino is that you have to say, “thank you, good luck” to every person that you talk to; you also have to show your hands to the camera in the typical “jazz hands” motion so that they can see that you aren’t pocketing any money. I left a couple of hours later after drinking three beers and I told Amy, the bartender, “thank you, good luck”.
The next morning, I crossed the river into Wisconsin. The town of Prarie du Chien was named after the natives here, apparently the tribal leaders name was translated as Dog, hence Prarie of the Dog in French. I bought a loaf of bread at a grocery store called Piggly Wiggly, and started a hilly bike ride. There was nothing about the ride that was flat; in fact, I have never ridden up steeper hills other than Seattle. I stopped for my peanut butter and agave sandwich lunch in a small town about 25 miles away from Dubuque when the rain started. I had a host, Sheri, that night in Dubuque so I just decided to gear up for the weather and go for it. However, just before leaving the gas station, a grumpy old man said, “you are going to get wet”, and all I said was, “yup”. It never amazes me the things that people will say to you just because they can’t keep it to themselves. I was able to keep my shoes dry for the first ten miles, but the drops of rain increased in size and intensity, so my feet were swimming in water by the time I reached Dickeyville. I just kept pushing on through and as I finally reached Dubuque, the sky cleared up and I found a café that had black eye coffee and a restroom to change my clothes in.
Sheri met me after about an hour, and we put my bike on the bike rack the she kept in her trunk. There was a tornado warning county wide and the dark clouds were moving fast. We drove to her house across town, and unloaded my things as the rain started to pour again. We were both hungry, so were went to the grocery store and bought the fixings to make BLT’s and also a bottle of wine. When we got back to her place, we made dinner and talked about Sheri’s trip to Japan, including what she learned about Sake and a little about my bike trip thus far. I had two sandwiches and drank most of the white wine, then did a load of laundry and passed out. I dreamt about flying in a helicopter over glaciers and valleys, it was nice to be dreaming again.
I left town early the next morning, because my trip to Davenport was just over seventy miles, and I was told that the trip was hilly. I stopped at a local BBQ place to use the restroom and fill my water, but the owner told me to just grab a bottle out of the cooler. I love the unexpected kindness that all types of strangers have shown me the past six weeks. I left town on Interstate 61, which was a four lane highway that had a disappearing shoulder every few miles. I don’t know if I have ever been on a road that made me nervous the way that this one did. I kept my cool for nearly thirty miles even though I had three semi trucks honk at me and one pass about a foot away from me. I had enough of the high speed, noisy road, and I stopped at a visitors center at Huntsville. It was a nice stop, there were massive restored lime kilns on a historic estate. I ate lunch at the interpretive center, picked up a bike map of Iowa and took country roads the rest of the way to Davenport. It was refreshing to slow my pace once again, watch the corn fields sway in the wind, and daydream as the scattered clouds floated on by. I only had one dog try to silently chase me, and I easily outran him. I pit stopped in Grand Mound , had a Diet Coke in a dark, cavernous bar, and rested for a about an hour. I called my host, Eric and got directions into West Davenport where he lives. The rest of the ride was actually really comfortable, as the hills decreased in size and I was able to average a comfortable 18 mph the fifteen miles into town.
I got on the bike path that meanders all the way through town and arrived at Eric’s place just as he was pulling in. He got tickets to a Minor League baseball game for us, the local team is known as the Quad Cities Bandits. Eric works in insurance so he knows quite a few people around town, so he was able to get us into the private party with free food and beer. He told me that if I wanted to stay another day, there was a river blues festival going on with Blue Oyster Cult headlining. That was all that he had to say, I love music. Eric told me that he was going to be serving beer for three hours at the festival and asked if I wanted to work so I said yes, sounds like another fun experience. The Bandits won the game, and we left the stadium, got home and went to sleep.

Post 7- St. Cloud to somewhere near Stillwater

After getting lost trying to find Holly’s house, I swallowed my pride and called her. She was even waiting for me outside (I had to call several times). I met her sister, her little birdie and she took me to the community garden at St. Cloud that she volunteers at and then I met her friends, Maggie and Paul. We cooked dinner with produce that we gathered from the garden and drank local Minnesota beer (this is a common theme). It got late quickly and before I went to bed, I made plans to meet up with Paul and Maggie in the morning. I met them at the local coffee shop, Meeting Grounds, at around noon and I met another friend, Kelly, who worked there. Holly joined us there for lunch and when Maggie had to leave for an appointment, Paul and I went shopping at local bookstores and vintage shops. I found a bunch of old greeting cards and a handmade journal so that I can write when the computer is not handy. We went over to Paul’s house and listened to old records, of which there were many to choose from (David Bowie included).
Maggie got home and we snacked on bagels topped with cream cheese and Kim chee. I decided that I wanted to make Eggplant Parmesan for dinner for everyone, so I called Holly and asked her to pick four ripe eggplants and a bunch of basil. We went to the grocery store for supplies and high-tailed it back to Holly’s to get started on the preparations. Paul and Maggie were of great help, I don’t think I would have finished it before midnight otherwise. I suggested that we go bowling that night because there was a special that night ($15 for bowling until midnight, and free pizza and beer for a couple of hours). Kay, who was the other couch surfing hostess in town, came over and we began a long night of debauchery. After eating a delicious dinner, we rode our bike posse over to the bowling alley. We drank as fast as we could in order to get our monies’ worth and played three fun-filled games of bowling. There were a lot of pictures, funny moments and some beer spilt. We went back to the casa, and hung out for a little longer, even though Holly had to leave early that morning for work.
I woke up extra early that morning and woke Holly up; it took me hours to get all my things together, probably because I was hung over. I stopped by the coffee shop on the way out of town, said goodbye to Kay and Kelly and was on my way. The countryside was full of corn, and soybeans, but there was a bald eagle munching on a dead raccoon in the middle of the street. I made a song about Amish people, and got lost on one of the millions of country roads, that change names every five miles. At that point I decided to just follow Highway 10 into St. Paul. After heading south for about ten miles, I met up with the freeway and found a salad buffet in a town called Becker. I also mailed off a couple of the postcards that I had previously acquired.
The road was uneventful for a long time and the shoulder disappeared in each town. As I got closer to the Cities, I started to get nervous about the road (there were on-ramps seemingly about every half mile at this point). I passed a sign that said no bikes allowed in a town called Coon Rapids and I had to remove myself from the insanity. There was a White Castle, so I was obliged to get some sliders; I wasn’t sure how I was going to get to St. Paul that night. After my gut bomb, I found a park and ride nearby and waited for a bus to come. Holly was nice and made arrangements for me to stay with her friends, Stephanie and James, so I told them that I was on a bus heading their direction. I was dropped off a few miles away from their house, so I pedaled over there. On the way to their house, I met a man who had a monkey on his shoulder; he had the monkey defanged and it was wearing sport pants, go figure.
Stephanie and James were also waiting on their front stoop for me to arrive, and I was exhausted. They offered me yet another variety of Minnesota beer, and we hung out at the house, and made dinner. They had made up a nice futon on the floor upstairs, and I was very happy to have yet another comfortable bed to sleep in. I was excited for the next day because one of my favorite songwriters, Daniel Johnston was performing at First Avenue that night.
The next morning, I got a ride into Minneapolis from Stephanie and had coffee at Dunn Brothers; there was a nice, upbeat guy working there who gave me directions to some of the local places to check out. I walked across town to Electric Fetus to buy tickets for James, Holly and me. Tickets in hand, I strolled over to the Art Institute (which was free that day) and checked my bag in. The first thing that I saw was the Doryphorus, one of four statues of David of which the others are located in places such as the Vatican. The museum had an extensive collection of art from all over the world, spanning thousands of years of history. My favorite exhibits were a series of hanging scrolls from China depicting mountains, villages and floral motifs. There was also an excellent collection of Buddhist art, sculptures, and artifacts. I left the museum nearly four hours later, ate Vietnamese food, and caught a bus to the Sculpture Park near the Walker Museum. The park was beautiful; it had interactive sculpture including a large kinetic piece that you can climb on and a giant spoon bridge with ten foot cherry on top.
I meditated for about an hour under a row of trees that had hundreds of wind chimes strung up throughout them, the sound was mesmerizing. I talked with my friend Sandra, who lives on Martha‘s Vineyard about doing a little work on the island, and then Stephanie called me to come and pick me up. We went back to the house and met Holly there, who came down from St. Cloud to come to the show that night. We made caprese (open-faced tomato, basil and mozzarella sandwiches) and had a couple of brews before we rode bicycles down to the show.
Daniel Johnston was incredible; he puts on a great show for a disturbed man who’s right arm can’t stop shaking. He was only able to strum about five songs on his guitar before he had a backup guitarist accompany him. Holly introduced a friend of hers to me, who happened to be the guy that I talked to earlier at the coffee shop. James and I reminisced about old Nintendo games throughout the show. We rode our bikes over the stone arch bridge, which overlooks the Guthrie Theater and the old mill that was the backbone of the city back during its’ formative years.
I slept well again on the comfy futon, Holly also stayed at the Stephanie hotel. In the morning, Holly and I hit the town. We went to the local swimming hole, Hidden Lake and enjoyed basking in the sun. There just so happens to be a mud hole that you can jump in and cover your body in the muck. We got completely covered in the grayish colored soupy mess and walked back over to the beach to people watch the pasty Minnesotans. Then we drove over to St. Paul to Degidio’s Italian Restaurant, to try and meet up with a friend of a friend. He wasn’t working, so we had bloody mary’s and a gambled $5 worth of pull tabs. I won back a dollar and decided to save my huge winnings for pin ball later. There was a band called Vampire Hands playing at the Turf Room that night, and this time Stephanie decided to go instead of James, go figure. The opening band hadn’t started yet so Stephanie, Holly, Desiree, Andy and I went to the nearby bar and played pinball and pool.
When we went back to the show, the second band was playing and the venue was packed like a can of sardines. I enjoyed the music, it made me want to stomp around and clap my hands. When Vampire Hands came on, I moved closer to the stage; I was within punching distance of the stage. Holly moved closer to the speakers, which was fine because I was in full stomping swing for the rest of the show. I can’t remember having so much fun dancing around; it was nice to be in a large city again with all the night life surrounding me. We walked the mile back to Stephanie’s house and Holly, Andy and I crashed hard, sharing the same floor space.
The next day was a little harder getting going, and we went down to the Farmer’s Market in St. Paul to get some local produce. I bought jerky, broccoli, and a fresh loaf of bread. It was Saturday, and there were two barbeques going on that night; I joined Holly, and I met a large group of women who had prepared some delicious sausages, veggies, and desserts. I talked with some of them about my adventures and how I my trip had led me there. We then moved on to the second event where Stephanie and James we at; there was Minnesota sweet corn, ribs, and more sausage. I was tired, and had trouble keeping my eyes open the whole evening. We made it safely back to the house and crashed once more, this was starting to become a pattern and I told them earlier that if I didn’t leave the next day then I would never leave.
In the morning, we all went to the NE Minneapolis neighborhood that James and Steph were going to move to and ate breakfast at the local bar (which had bloody mary’s with meat sticks in them). We stopped by Desiree’s house, I got a tour of it, and then they took me back home to get ready to leave town. It took me a while to get ready because James gave me a set of attachable handle bars that you can rest your forearms on (arrow bars?). I had been experiencing severe numbness in both of my hands’ fingertips, so this contraption is supposed to help with that. I left town at around 4 pm and rode the bike path to the beautiful town Stillwater, on the St. Croix River. I was trying to make it to Red Wing before dark, but had to stop a few miles north of Prescott because it was getting dark. I slept under a picnic shelter that evening at the Regional Park, because I didn’t want to pay the $15 to stay at the campground. As I finished setting my tent up, I noticed that there were little glowing lights floating around the area. I had no idea what they were, at first I thought that there were animals looking at me, but when I saw the same, eerie flashes in the trees, I knew that they were some sort of glowing insect. I then remembered that Holly told me to not keep my food with me because there were cougars, and as I was trying to sleep I just remembered that. In fact, I couldn’t sleep because I kept hearing things moving in the nearby bushes, so I moved my tent closer to the middle of the picnic shelter and put my food about thirty feet away behind the trash cans. I then felt safe, and promptly fell asleep.

Post 6- Great Falls, ND to St. Cloud, MN

It finally happened, I had that moment that you can’t quite describe in words, that moment where there is nothing but the road before you, the birds chirping, the wind in your face and breathing, in and out, in and out. I had become one with the world for just one second, yet that second seemed to last an eternity; and then I was back again, back aching, legs burning, but I won’t forget that moment, it forms the basis for what we are all striving for in some form, enlightenment, salvation, nirvana, call it what you like.
The 70 miles to Fargo went by in a hurry, and I made it to the University Post Office, where I was supposed to pick up my reading glasses that I left in Diablo. They were closed, in fact they were only open from 10 am to 1 pm Monday-thru-Thursday. I called my friend Ada, in Seattle and found out that the glasses were never sent to Fargo so I breathed a sigh of relief and headed towards the bicycle shop that used to be a train station. Something had come loose on my rear wheel about ten miles outside of town and was sliding up and down the spoke.
The guy who checked it out said that I had cracks all over the place and several of the spokes were completely blown out. Oops, didn’t notice that one! It turns out that both of my tires were worn so thin that he could pinch the material right off, and my chain was stretched out beyond its limit. Hmm, well I guess that it was good that I made it to Fargo, the first serious place to get any real bicycle parts since Seattle (also known as the place where your map folds in half).
My host Tyler called and we made plans to meet, and while I was getting my bike worked on, another cross country biker came in to the shop. His name was Joe and he was on his way to Portland to find whatever it was that he was seeking, that being work, happiness and a possible education in Naturopathy. I asked my host if Joe could also stay, and he did. We all made dinner together and enjoyed the stories that we both had to share with Tyler. We drank local beer (of course) and decided to go to the local Irish Bar/venue. We had beer, scotch, watched a great cover band and I narrowly avoided a fight with a very large, rude, inebriated white guy. I slept on the couch and Tyler’s friend took us to breakfast at the Marriot, which happened to be an extremely delicious buffet (including a wafflemaker, piles of bacon, and sausage, and fruit).
I convinced Joe that he needed to go through Glacier National Park, instead of south through Billings, and we had lunch at Pita Pit. I didn’t leave town until about 2 pm and the rain had just started to dump so I geared up and just kept pedaling towards the Eastern Horizon. The rain turned into lightning and thunder and I pulled off in some small village that had an ice cream shop. The lightning was crashing down all around the building and it was raining so hard that the gutters were overflowing In rows of waterfalls. I talked with a nice lady and her daughter while we all took shelter, and then ordered a huge bowl of ice cream. The storm quickly passed, and I headed out again. The county side turned into rolling hills and small lakes all around me, it was exhilarating to pump up a hill and then come swooshing down the other side, it was almost like flying. I didn’t quite make it to Pelican Rapids, which was unfortunate because I had to buy an RV site at the local campground. The owner of the permanently set up RV had an outdoor canopy set up so I squatted for the night under the cover. I was just waking up when I heard someone outside say, “you up yet? What are you doing here?” I replied, “some of the neighbors said it was alright to set up for just the night”. He wasn’t very happy, as it was the camp host who sold me the RV site next to the one I was at. I told him that I would leave right away and he said, ”you better do that, the owner is usually here on the weekends”. I left quickly and without a shower.
I stopped in at Pelican Rapids and had breakfast, I finished my book and took my time. There was a lot of traffic because WE Fest, a country music festival had just ended. I traveled through more gorgeous countryside and saw bald eagles and other large birds of prey. I came upon a place called Little Swan Lake and went for a swim. A nice lady with three little girls and one friend offered me ham sandwiches and gummy candies. I gladly accepted and went on my way. There were a lot of dogs that came chasing after me that evening and each time, it rose the hair on my arms, I really don’t want to ever get mauled by some farmers attack dog. The sun started to set that evening and after I passed a beautiful sunflower field, I made it into Long Prarie. I couldn’t find any place to set up my tent so I asked a motel owner if I could set up my tent in the back. She was nice, and I had some nice asphalt that was dry to set up on. I was even able to pickup internet and watched a couple of South Park episodes that night. In the morning I picked up some groceries and said hi to an Amish family that came trotting in on horse and buggy. The ride in to St. Cloud went extremely smooth, the wind didn’t seem to slow me down at all. At this point I had ridden about 2000 miles, and I arrived in St. Cloud around 5 pm, Monday the 10th of August. I crossed the Mississippi and called my host, Holly...

Post 5- Wolf Point, MT to Grand Forks, ND

August 2, 2009
I saw that there was a Pow-Wow going on behind the Sherman Hotel in a vacant lot. There were a large variety of tents and teepees being set up and I thought that I could camp there. As I was about to enter the premises from the adjacent street, a blue Subaru slowed down and a man leaned out of the window and pointed down the road. I thought he was indicating the direction for camping or something, but as I headed in that direction, I realized that he was pointing me out of town. I wasn’t very happy about my situation as I had pushed myself the whole day a distance of 120 miles to get to this town. On the corner there was a casino, so I figured that they would know where to camp. I went in and the first person that I asked about camping was the cash handler standing within the safety of a metal mesh cage. She told me that I should camp at the Pow-Wow. Everyone was welcomed, in fact that was part of the point of the event. So I told her, “I could go, but a man pointed me out of town as I was entering”. She wasn’t very happy about what had happened to me, in fact she was pissed off, so she called her boyfriend to come and pick me up. I was to camp in their backyard.
We pulled up to a house about ten blocks away from the center of town and I was shown the backyard area where I could set up my tent. The yard was infested with green and brown grasshoppers. There were so many of them that as I took each step, hundreds of them would hop away trying not to get splattered. We went inside and he told me to make myself at home, so I got my shower, plugged in my electronics and relaxed. He told me that his girlfriends' brother wanted to talk to me. The fifty something man was wheeled into the house; he introduced himself as an elder of the Bear Cub Tribe, a people placed on the reservation in Eastern Montana. His grandfather was the last Native American to be born in a teepee in this area. He told me that he was deeply dishonored by what had happened to me. The purpose of the Pow-Wow was to celebrate, and to come together and be welcoming. I was given two gifts, and I accepted them. He told me that keep it with me and it will protect me. I have never felt so touched by a person’s actions, as I did with the words that were uttered by him.
That night I was told many stories, with the help of several pints of whiskey and cigarettes; many of them had to do with the proximity of the Missouri river to Wolf Point; about 2000 yards away. They showed me pictures of the log cabins that they grew up in, and older pictures of their grandparents. They had been cooking moose ribs earlier in the day, and I was given a well marinated section. I don’t know if I have ever eaten anything in my life that melted in my mouth as this moose did; the tender meat fell off the bones as I picked up each piece, and each bite was savory and juicy. The one benefit of being native is that you are allowed to hunt year round. One of the cousins was the big hunter in the family and the meat I was eating came from a three year old moose that he spotted at a friends’ ranch. He had to borrow someone else's gun, and he was able to kill it. They asked me to stay for a couple of days, the family wanted me to go and see the Pow-Wow, so I obliged. By the end of the evening, we were all drunk and unfortunately, tempers were starting to flare towards the cousins and family members,so the elder was wheeled home about four blocks away and I retired to my grasshopper haven. I just don’t know why people have to be proud to the point of putting someone down because of blood line or purity. We are all here on this planet together, we are all one, there is no need for senseless hurt.
The following morning, I was up early and they fed me grits; I had two heaping bowls. I was feeling the pain in my legs from the day before and I basically didn’t want to do anything but sleep, eat and write. Throughout the day there were more cousins (such as Gene who lives two blocks away, is paralyzed on his left side and was at the house constantly);more brothers who wanted to meet me, and they brought Black Velvet and Coke. Cigarettes make me sick, so being surrounded by three to six people with a fag in the mouth at all times makes for a stuffed up Gary. There was a big feed the next day at George’s, so I had to stay in town.
I had a late morning because I slept inside; I can’t tell when the sun is coming up when I am in a catatonic state in a house. We went down to the river in the pickup and they told me about how the river runs through this particular section of Montanca. The Missouri is a shallow, dangerous river; there are whirlpools and swift current that can suck you down before you know it and you have to avoid sandbars while floating down the big muddy stream. We later went to the BBQ and I helped carry out the twenty or so pounds of meat. Unfortunately, Gene got to the BV before the food was done and his drunken self was driven home because there were kids there. The food was delicious, from the home made potato salad to the pork loin, moose, and scratch apple pie. I don’t know what happened then, but the couple I was staying with started to get into it and he was cursing. He was told to leave, and it took him a long time. I had to forcibly take my bottle away from him and then I left with one of the cousins to go to the Pow Wow. It was amazing to see all of the beautifully, and colorfully dressed people dancing. I was even pulled out there and learned the basic dance step. This was a traditional Pow Wow, where you come out in full costume for a reason such as honoring a soldier; sometimes there are dance competitions where you can win thousands of dollars, but they don’t do that at a traditional event such as this one. There was too much drama to mention what happened later that night, so I will not write about it out of respect. I left at 4 am that morning in the dark without sleeping much.
The only thing that I focused on that morning was not thinking about what had transpired earlier that day (nothing bad happened to me personally). There was a serious lightning storm rolling in and I took shelter at the Town Pump gas station where I had some stale coffee and a moldy doughnut that I had to exchange for a less moldy one. I talked to a police officer who passed me by earlier and he radioed in my inquiry about when the Sherman Hotel started to serve breakfast. So I hung out in the empty hotel restaurant for about forty five minutes until about six when all the white old men in town came in to get their normal breakfast buffet of fake eggs and sausage, I had three plates.
My bike ride to Williston, North Dakota that day started out great. I made it to the town of Poplar quickly, and then the wild dogs in the neighborhood started chasing me. I don’t like when dogs chase me, so I usually tell them to go away in a deep voice while pedaling away as fast as I can. Most of the rest of the way to the border was flat except for an area called “the Cuts”. This area is sort of a badlands consisting of hills that have been eroded away by nature over eons leaving the underlying sediment exposed. All of the clay, silt and peat from ancient times are visible. It is quite beautiful, but I was nonetheless glad to be out of the hills and into more flat land.
I knew that there was road construction at the border, so I just pedaled as far as I could and when I got to Bainville, I had to get off my bike and stick out my thumb. No luck initially, but then I pulled out Duke, the rubber duck that I started carrying since Cut Bank and held him up as trucks passed me by. Five minutes later, I had a ride and they were willing to take me all the way to Williston. I made the mother and daughter drop me off ten miles out of town and rode the rest of the way in. It wasn’t long before I found the internet café in town and waited for my host, Micah to call. He was a very unique guy, religious for sure, but he had books from about every religion in his apartment. I always enjoy fellow artists, we tend to think alike. He gave me a book entitled Siddhartha, we made up songs on the guitar and drank beer. I slept well that night on his couch.
The next morning, I left around nine and the wind was blowing extremely hard out of the north. It was hard to even go ten miles per hour. My maps showed that there was nothing along the north shore of Lake Sakakawea for seventy miles, so that was as far as I had to ride. I didn’t know that Western North Dakota was so hilly, and the grade was more like eight to ten percent. A storm hit at about mile forty and I had to take shelter under some trees. When it passed, I continued my struggle onward and finally made it into Newtown, on another Indian Reservation. These people were placed here away from their traditional farmlands, and I saw that there was a fort of some sort nearby. I bought a fish sandwich at a local grease hole and overheard a lady talking about a group of bicyclists coming through the area in a week. I asked her about camping in town and she told me that I could camp behind the Lutheran Church in the nice grass. It was the best place I could have possibly have camped, especially since it was free. However, I was awakened by the sprinklers watering my tent at four in the morning, but I just went back to sleep.
That morning I got up early, ate a huge breakfast in town, and finished the rest of the small bottle of tequila that I bought the night before. This area of North Dakota is littered with what the locals call “Potholes” and it was very beautiful to ride through. The hills were rolling and I started to see large fields of volunteer sunflowers. I made it to Minot around three and as I was pulling up to the visitors center, I couldn’t get out of my clipless pedals and gashed me knee. I had placed my first aid kit in an easy to reach place a few days ago, so my wound was bandaged up quickly. Minot had a great Stave church and other beautiful monuments at the heritage park. I ended up checking out the town for a few hours looking for a good place to camp and couldn’t find one so I just left town. I ended up riding in to Surrey, about ten miles East of Minot. I camped at the local high school in the baseball dugout because it was sheltered and at this point I didn’t know what kind of storm would hit next. Some kids kept driving around in a four wheeler close to the baseball field but finally when home when the moon started rising.
As I woke up, I knew that the day would be good as the wind was blowing out of the West. I rode in to a town called Rugby, which is known as the geographical center of the United States. I met another biker, named Francis and he took me picture at the ridiculous monument that the coffee shop had erected. We rode in to town together looking for a bike shop, but it was only open by appointment and when I called the number I got the typical “the number has been disconnected” recording. Oh well, I thought, so I left town after eating some summer sausage and hummus. I made it to Devils Lake at dinner time and considered staying there the night, but I didn’t get the right feeling. Instead, I left town and I decided to just go as far as I could, tailwind still blowing strong. I made it 144 miles that day and found a city park in a town called Lakota. There was a pavilion to set up under and in the morning I found that the lock on the gate to the pool had already been cut, so I took that as I sign that I should go in and take a shower. I hadn’t had a shower for three solid days, so I was extremely pleased. I had about 60 miles to go to get to Great Falls, but I had a strong headwind the next day. It took me until about 4pm to get into town and my host hadn’t called me back for a couple of days. I decided to just go downtown and hook up to the internet to find a new host. As I finished my coffee, my original host finally called me (she was sick for several days) and I went over to her apartment. Linnea and Phil were extremely nice to me, and fed me curry and wine. They even had tons of musical instruments and all of the types of board games that I like to play. I enjoyed meeting people so similar to my best friends from Seattle, it was meant to happen. In fact, my attitude about life had already become so very positive. I only meet people that am supposed to meet, and they always impart some special wisdom upon me.

Post 4- Glacier Park to Wolf Point

July 31, 2009
Lee and I left St. Mary late on Sunday due to the thunderstorms that kept rolling through the valley. There was a big climb as we headed south out of the park, but we found a shortcut down along the Cut Bank Creek when we came down the other side. The road is called eight mile road, and it put us right into the broken glass strewn streets of Browning. The locals in Montana have been telling me not to stop in Browning because it is dangerous, but we didn’t care about idle talk. There were a few strange that some people gave us but the majority was nice. We ate lunch and continued towards Cut Bank with a North wind the entire time; we got there around 5 pm. The camping was not easy to find so Lee went into a casino and asked around, and as the bartender was coming out, she was rattling off her street address. We found the home, and also her son, Vladimir’s personal toy collection strewn about the backyard. At least the yard was flat, and there weren’t too many dead mice that I had to pick up.
The following morning, we went to Albertson’s for the daily banana and snack purchase, got some coffee at Mc D’s and were off around 9 am. The wind was just as strong, and the ride was difficult all the way to Chester. I made it to town about an hour before Lee so I slept on the bench at the rest stop. When he came rolling into town, we found free camping at the city park and bought a six pack of beer and dinner supplies. Two beers down, and bellies full of potatoes, peas and salad, we met JP who was heading west from Maine to Anacortes. He was full of very useful information, and we gave him some suggestions and places to stay for some of his ride coming up. I slept well that night, only got up once and when I did, the stars were shining and I could see the milky way clearly.
The next leg of the journey was to Havre, and we were blessed with tailwind for about ten miles. That wind turned into a strong north wind once again, and we pushed in to Hingham where we had lunch at Spencer’s Hi Way Café. With the help of ‘ol Spencer and his phone book, we called the Northern Montana University to book two dorm rooms for the night. JP told us about this ten dollar special the night before and we couldn’t refuse. After eating greasy deep fried chicken and lays potato chips, we stepped out of the café and the storm clouds had all decided to congregate right above our heads. It didn’t matter at this point if it was raining or not, but we put our rain gear on and braved the storm. After pedaling with all our strength for several hours, only to go 10 mph, we made it to the great metropolis known as Havre. Bill runs the student union and he is sympathetic to cross country bicyclists. Lee let me have the first floor room and it had a television, couch and two separate beds. I caught up on some writing and phone calls while yet another storm system moved in.
I decided that it was time for me to go on ahead early and I said me goodbye’s to Lee who had been great company throughout the lonely stretches of the Montana plains. I had a deliciously cheap pancake breakfast at the local grease hole, then bought bananas and granola at Gary and Leo’s Grocery Store (coincidence?). The skies had opened a hatch of sunlight for me and the winds were blowing at my back, it was nice to be back up to 20 miles per hour for once. I rode for 90 miles through the flattest terrain I had seen so far; Fort Belknap Indian Reservation was no different. The most interesting thing that I saw that day was an old Spanish style mission church that was a faded shade of pink and the colorful graveyard next to it. Someone had taped a cardboard sign on the old locked rusty gate surrounding the grounds. I didn’t read it, because I think it probably said something like,” anyone trespassing into this graveyard will be cursed for the rest of their life”. As I started down the road, a native man in a beat up pickup towing a horse trailer swerved over into my lane and stopped. I was thinking that I was in for it when he said, “hey I’ll trade you two horses for that bike of yours!” I said, “no I like my bike, but thank you”. He had about five children with him in the truck all giggling and they finally left, laughing on down the road. The trip went as smooth as it could and I found the local park; most towns in Montana usually have a park where you can camp for free or for just a few dollars a night. I met another biker named Gary and a French Canadian couple in their sixties. They made dinner and shared their wine with Gary and I. I slept under a covered pavilion that night.
In the morning, I was up early and ate biscuits and gravy at the coffee shop downtown. With a full belly and a determination to make it as far as my legs would carry me, I shoved off. I once again had the wind at my back and made to a town called Saco, known as the mosquito capitol of the world. I bought a diet coke from the convenience store there, rested for about ten minutes and got back on Bella (she’s a pretty bike). Saco wasn’t as full of the little bloodsuckers as people said, but the surrounding farmland was horrible. I couldn’t stop for a second before my whole leg was covered in them. Lucky for me, I was feeling strong and just kept pumping up the hills as hard as I could. I was running out of water, and the town of Oswego was still ten miles away but out of nowhere there was a rest stop. I pulled my steed into one of the pavilions and a nice English lady was chatting with an Australian couple. Sure enough, Mary and Morris (the Aussies) invited me for lunch (which consisted of canned ham, canned pearl onions, canned beets, potato ships and sliced cheese. It was actually quite delicious, and most of all, free. I made it to Oswego and bought a waffle cone. While at the little shop, some of the locals told me not to stay the night in Fort Peck Indian Reservation, which was about 15 miles to the East. I didn’t listen to them and I kept on truckin’ through town.
At about 6 pm I made it to Wolf Point, I had pedaled around 120 miles that day and all I wanted was a place to set up my tent...

Post 3- Priest River to Glacier National Park

July 24, 2009
The ride out of Priest River was hilly but relatively smooth, I arrived in Sand Point before 9 am and ordered the lumberjack breakfast. Before the server had returned to ask me how it was, I had devoured my “large” meal (which was served on a square plate). Luckily, the meal came with coffee cake which I finished in about 30 seconds, washed down with two cups of coffee and a stick of butter. The next leg of my trip took me along the coast of lake Pend Oreille. I would never recommend anyone to ride their bike through here. I had people yell at me trying to get me to fall, cars honking, and on the two occasions that I did stop I got ridiculous questions like, “are you insane, are you nuts?” and “you need to get your head checked”. My impression of Idaho was a bunch of rude and impatient people.
I finally made through hell’s panhandle and into Montana, so I stopped at a bike shop in a tiny town that I don’t remember the name. They didn’t have any replacement spokes, which I still needed in case I broke some on the road. So I continued down the road but I took the alternate road which has less cars and should be a more scenic ride. Scenic is great unless it is 100 degrees outside and you still have many miles to get to the next town. After about ten miles the road turned into choppy gravel and dirt, they were improving it but all I got was issues with my brakes rubbing my wheel. I made it back to the real road and was very tired from my strenuous travels. I camped at bull lake that evening which was less than one hundred feet from my campground. While I was wading around in the water, I met Jerry who was camped next to me with his wife and friends. They were riding their Honda Goldwings and had ended up right next to me, so they gave me beer, cookies and advice. The two most important pieces of advice that I imparted upon me were, “whatever you do, don’t ever sell your bike” and “to find good, cheap food, stand outside of Walmart and wait for a fat lady to walk out then ask her where to eat”.
I needed to make to Libby the next day which wasn’t that far, so I left around 9 am and things went very smoothly. I met a Dutch couple who had been riding for about 9 months and as I left en route to Libby, I decided that I would just push on through without lunch and eat when I got into town. Unfortunately, at about 10 miles from town my bike wouldn’t roll very well anymore. I stopped at a scenic area, and took all of my gear off the bike. I messed around with the spokes trying to true the wheel just enough to get the bike rolling properly again. Thirty minutes later, I was satisfied with the bike and pushed through to Libby.
Libby is a smallish Montana logging town, and they have giant sculptures of eagles everywhere. I found the river about a quarter mile from the center of town and took the plunge once again, washing away the grime that on most days seemingly welds to your legs after about 50 miles of biking. I couldn’t find any knowledgeable fat ladies but I found a rather large man at a convenience store who promptly pointed me out to the towns’ only Mexican restaurant. He told me,”get the giant burrito, most people can’t finish it”. I took that as a personal challenge and I had it digesting within about five minutes’ time. My campsite was right in the center of town and cost me five dollars. The wonderful thing about this campsite was the fact that it was right behind the largest grocery store in town that had free internet access and free refills on my iced coffee. I don’t think I slept until about midnight.
The next day was absolutely wonderful as my ride took me along Lake Koocanusa for 60 miles into Eureka. Not to say that it wasn’t challenging; the entire ride is up and down large inclines. However, every time I went down one of the hills, the wind cooled my face and I made up for some lost ground. I couldn’t count the amount of bald eagles that rode high into the sky riding the thermals. The best part was the wide shoulders that made me feel secure. I made it into Eureka sometime during the two o’clock hour and promptly found the river in town; I was over heating a bit. I met Maricio and several other bicyclists who were touring with Cycle America. They invited me to stay at the local high school with their group of forty or so bikers. What good timing, I thought. I have to thank Greg who was the director of sorts, because he was so gracious letting me eat catered food with everyone for dinner and for breakfast. I took a shower with my flip-flops on and slept in the padded wrestling room.
I was well fed and on the road around 7 that morning and headed to Whitefish, when I realized that most of the drivers on the road were driving like maniacs. I stopped at Dickey lake for a some Scooby snacks; I was impressed with the greenish-blue colors of the lake in the early morning light. The shoulder continued to narrow until there was none, all the while the logging trucks zipping by at 70 miles per hour inches from my rear view mirror. I think that I literally saw my life flashing before my eyes when I heard sirens blaring behind me while summiting a steep hill, and before I knew it and ambulance was about fifty feet behind me. I basically threw myself into the gravel “shoulder” and in the last instant unclipped my foot from the pedal. I was still several miles from Whitefish, but continued on ever-so-wary of the crazies trying to run me off the road.
Finally, Whitefish! I arrived at high noon and I can’t say enough great things about this outdoorsy town. I had secured a couch to sleep on with Angie and Ian, but had time to kill before Ian was off of work. I went to the bike shop and the guy behind the counter drew me a nice bike map from town to Glacier Park. He told me where to get a pulled pork sandwich, and I walked over the viaduct to Babyback BBQ. I talked with Jazelle who took my order, and then she drew me a map of a nice swimming hole where I could avoid all of the annoying children at the City Beach Park. Every person I met in Whitefish seemed to have all the time in the world, and most of them drew maps for me. I meandered my way through town, got a cup of ice cream, some snacks and a bottle of vodka. Ian called and told me that he lived a stones’ throw away from the Beach Park, so I just went there instead the secret swimming hole. I found a shady spot to take a nap, got some ice from the concessions stand and filled my water bottle with vodka. I brought juggling balls with me on this trip and I enjoyed my half drunken attempt.
At Angie and Ian’s house, I basically watched a ton of movies that I haven’t seen yet. It was nice to finally take a break from all the ass-numbing miles of riding. Ian had a couple of days off so we went up to Whitefish Mountain Resort, and took the chairlift to the top. We later met up with Angie and went to the farmers market, which happened to be going on the evening. There was a great bluegrass band playing, Jazelle was there selling feather earrings she makes, and I met up with my next host, Kevin. He gave me a key to his trailer which is parked on land that he owns right outside of Glacier National Park. I think that evening was when I fell in love with the town. I love the outdoors with a passion and Montana does have the best to offer. We returned to their home, and watched The Departed which oddly enough takes place in Boston, my Atlantic Coast destination. Ian and I went golfing the next day and I finally got a decent pair of sandals. I packed my things early that evening and rode the twenty miles to Kevin’s trailer which put me about 10 miles away from the entrance to Glacier Park.
I slept well in the tarp covered trailer which had candles for lighting and maps of the park and of Northwest Montana. It only took me about an hour to get to West Glacier and stock up on much needed items (including bananas, oatmeal and instant potatoes). The first campground as you enter the park is Apgar and I had RVs surrounding me as far as my eye could see. However, there was a spot left in the hiker/biker area and I took advantage of it; most of these sites are five dollars per night in the park. When I was finally ready to explore the park, I decided to take a free shuttle to Logan Pass. They started this service three years ago and it takes a lot of hikers up to otherwise hard-to-reach places; it also takes cars off the road. The drive is three hours or more round trip and luckily I was able to get the front seat of the shuttle and roll the window down for some great pictures. I later returned to my campsite and met Steve, who came to Glacier from Wisconsin to do some backpacking. Later came, Bratati who also took the train from Seattle on her own camping and hiking get-away.
I shared my next two days with these interesting people. Bratati is originally from India and we share similar philosophies on life, particularly that of living in the moment (one of the main reasons for my bike trip). I had a moment when I was on the road from Eureka to Whitefish, a fish jumped out of the water of a small stream that I was passing right when I rode by. It may be insignificant to some, but it brought a smile to my face. It was like I knew it was going to happen before it did, amazing. These are the kinds of moments that make life beautiful, so sharing them with Steve and Bratati was extremely satisfying. That night I learned some yoga, including Warrior 2 and a sequence that starts with downward dog, and continues into other poses. We drank some beer and wine, and I ate my four servings of potatoes that I bought earlier that day.
Steve and I decided that we would go on the Highline Trail which is 11 miles long and goes past the Garden Wall, however the thunder and lightning that morning was prohibitive and we hiked 3 miles down to Hidden Lake instead. By the time we reached the lake, the clouds had parted and the sun was shining again. On the way back up the trail, a family of marmots were busy eating ground cover and a several groups of goats were basking in the sun (some right in the middle of the trail). We took the shuttle back to Apgar and parted ways for the rest of the day. I rode my bike 8 miles to Lake Mcdonald Lodge, and the place was decorated like it was Christmas….in July?! This was another one of those moments that have made me smile, plus I took about seven cookies, spent some time writing, and rode me bicycle back to the campsite. I was asleep early that night as I was going to wake up early the nex day to ride up Logan pass at its’ 6600 feet.
I was on the road at 5:45 am and at about 8, I bumped into Lee whom I had met near Diablo Lake, before my trip on the Maggot Run. We planned to meet each other on the other side at St. Mary Campground, and then I kept on climbing up the Going to the Sun Road. On the way up, I caught up with two bikers that passed me earlier, Nana and Janet. These ladies had been riding from Anacortes and together we all made it to the top of Logan Pass. We took pictures at the top and went screaming down the other side at 30 mph. When we got to St. Mary Lodge, Nana bought us diet coke's and we went to the local cafe for burgers. Afterwards, I went back to the campground and just decided to set up my tent at the hiker/biker site.
A few minutes later, the Dutch couple, Stella and Joris whom I met near Bull Lake a week ago arrived and we got a better deal on the camping. We talked about their travels, and a little about what it is like to live in different places. They were surprised that I tend to tip about 20 percent when I eat out. I guess that the Dutch are more frugal than Americans, but it does allow them to travel on less. I went back to the cafe with them and bought another burger, this time only tipping 10 percent. Later, as I was preparing for bed, Lee's nieces came strolling by my campground and I walked with them back to their site. Lee has a beautiful extended family that lives in Whitefish, they were all so friendly (only because they gave me cookies). We made plans to leave together in the morning, as Lee and I were heading the same direction towards the East Coast.
As I was

Post 2- Diablo Dam to Priest River

The following day Ian and I went swimming and diving in the lake which is a greenish-blue color. Apparently, this happens because the streams created by the melting ice wash ground down particles from rock and minerals into the lake; the so-called “glacial flour” is suspended in the water with the resulting color. who knew? Later, we raided the leftover lasagna, beets, pancakes and pie at the Evironmental Learning Center, then I did some juggling, hammock napping and an improv music session with Ian and his rommie, Nick. I enjoyed all of the people at B-12; they have hearts of gold. The next morning I went on a tour of the Diablo Power Station with Ian and all the kids. My name was Wendy on the tour because one of the ELC workers couldn’t make it.

Leaving took me much longer than I expected; when I finally had all my things together the clock was at 1 pm and the sun was angry. After hitching a ride back to Ross Lake and replacing two brake pads, I was on the road again. Words can’t do justice to the feeling you get when you get to the top of Rainy Pass, and then back down a hill 500 feet only to start up again to climb Washington Pass at its 5400 feet. The salvation is waiting at the top, where the North Cascade peaks are still snow capped and the air is refreshing. I should also mention the fifteen or more miles of downhill waiting on the East Side in to the "old west" town of Mazama.

I was supposed to stay at an outdoor community house in Mazama with a guy from Coucusurfing.com but he was out of town and the director thought that I would be a liability to the organization if I stayed on the property. Luckily, there was a rock climbing area called Fun Rocks about a half mile away where I was able to set my tent up. I gave some rock climbers a couple of beers and slept in relative comfort that night directly beneath one of the problems.

I left early that morning but the sun was already baking my face and legs, so when I got to Winthrop I had to stop for a rest. There was a farmers market setting up in the town park, so I had to check it out. I set my bike against a tree and tried to buy carrots from one of the vendors and unfortunately they have rules prohibiting selling anything before the official opening. Lucky for me, Amber (the girl working the booth) offered a place to sleep at the farm when I told her I was staying somewhere near Okanogen that night.

The ride over Loup Loup Pass from Winthrop was long, hot and horrible; I couldn’t wait to get into Okanogen town. When I finally came down the other side, I pulled into the first store and there were a couple of bikers wearing Canadian flags all over them. The Canadians! Bill and Linda were headed north that day, they shared their fresh cherries with me and we took a photo-op and off I was again.

The directions I followed to Filaree Farm sent me up a steep hill pass the courthouse in the middle of town. The owners' name is Watershine, she's a nice lady who figured out how to sell more varieties of garlic in the US than any other farm. A group of barefoot interns live in the midst of apple and pears trees in trailers, shacks and there is a spare tree house. Nobody wore shoes, I even took mine off after about ten minutes, It felt very natural to walk around the property that way. The farm makes most of its income selling seed garlic to other farmers, and most of the meals there consist of food from row crops grown organically on site. I had a great time talking with JC, Alex, Amber and Adrian; they showed me how they do things around the farm and I helped out with the irrigation pipes that night. I actually got to sleep in the tree house that night, it was a good thing because I watched thunderstorms rolling in over the countryside all night.

After pounding a couple cups of coffee and I was off to Tonasket where JC had made arrangements for me to stay with his Dutch friend Ton (pronounced Tone) at his Leaping Sheep Farm. I pulled weeds for about three hours in exchange for a wonderful home cooked meal that his wonderfully nice wife, Leah prepared (they just butchered the chicken the day before). When Ton and I were talking about city life versus farm life, he said something that I will always remember; he said, “people have forgotten to live by the rhythms of nature”. I have only now been living this way on my bike for about ten days but I know what he means.

Ton also had an intern, Miriam, who happened to be from Boston. We talked about traveling and life, and later that night I set my tent up in the middle of his row crops. I just so happened to set my tent up in taller grass, and all night long I could hear insects trying to chew their way into my tent from every angle.I was really tired though, so I decided that I wouldn’t let them drive me insane, and just went to sleep. I had another wonderful breakfast with farm fresh eggs, potatoes and coffee and I was on the road again.

This time I had to go over Wauconda pass after riding seven miles back into town. I don’t like the passes in this part of Washington, they seem to go on forever and ever. I was extremely parched when I arrived at the general store in Wauconda which doubled as the post office and café. The refills of coke were free! happy day! That was the only good thing about the ride that day.

I got into a mining town called Republic where they still mine for gold, and all the men in town look like they just came down from the mountain from months of prospecting (just joking). I stayed at the Fairgrounds under a horse barn that was still under construction. The old, bushy-haired camp host was drinking beer with his buddies when I pulled in and he said, " You can do whatever you want here, you could sleep under the covered bridge if you want". So I wondered around the grounds, made my ramen and tuna packets for dinner and played Led Zeppelin on my laptop. Just as soon as I had all my things in order the sky ripped open again and started pouring buckets. The thunder rolled across the hills in waves and lighting flashed every thirty seconds. I couldn’t be happier under my generous shelter; this was one of those moments that you realize that things just work out the way they were supposed to.

Just up the road, there was a café that had huge portions of eggs and potatoes and that seemed to fuel me all the way up Sherman Pass. This ride was supposed to be longest and hardest but all I did the whole time was focus on flexing my core like yoga instructors tell you. I was at the top quicker than all of the other passes and the ride down was very exhilarating. My next stop was in Colville, and as I rolled into town there was a sheriff that must have driven by at least three times (that’s just what they do in small towns).

I had made plans to stay with a hay farmer, Angie Barton; she picked me up in her Toyota at the farmers market. We went to the local micro brewery and had a couple of cold ones, I think that she must have known every person in the warehouse-turned-brewery. When we arrived at the farm, I couldn’t believe the amount of animals that surrounded the house and barns. It was like Charlotte’s Web, minus the talking animals. Angie and her husband Dennis have four children, including eighteen year old twins (Ellie and Claire) and two peacocks, and a tarantula. They have close to five hundred acres, part of which is on a hillside that has a lake hidden behind a rocky butte.

After I took millions of pictures of the animals, I milked a cow and goat; then they took me for a ride up to the butte to catch the sunset. Angie then caught two rattlesnakes with her bare hands, but the horses her girls were riding got spooked. This was the kind of crazy fun that doesn't exist in the city. I also thought that this part of Washington was all desert, and it was until Wauconda, but I was impressed with all the green hills and trees. I was also impressed with the way the Angie raises her children, they were all so happy, respectful and polite. Life slows down when you live on a farm. I was served lamb sausages, potatoes, and pancakes with huckleberries and apricot sauce for breakfast. I have not eaten this well since I was a young.

I was off to Ione around 9 am, and through the hills I went past Crystal Falls and through the nonexistent town of Tiger. When I chocked my wheels in Ione, the river by the city park beckoned me to dive on in. I ate BBQ burritos and a peach for lunch and proceeded to leave town, only in the wrong direction. I didn’t realize this for three miles, and I had to backtrack to get on track. The Pend Oreille River is wide, slow flowing and very flat the whole way South, except for the insane headwind the whole time. At about mile 60 for the day, I stopped at a campsite to dip my head in the river. I met a man named Mike who was with his family and they were all riding their bikes around camp. He gave me a ginger ale and I told him about my trip. He informed me that the road ahead was torn up, nasty and muddy for 6 miles, so I had no idea how I was going to make it through. The incredibly generous man gave me a ride in his truck down the road through the muck and let me off across the river from Usk. He and his family were the only people around for miles, and if I hadn’t talked to him then I would have been S.O.L.

I rode another 30 miles to a town called Priest River, bought a small bottle of scotch and slept at the campsite called “Mud Hole”. They had a bicycle site that only cost me three dollars and I built a fire, drank scotch, and ate couscous. Life on the road has its redeeming moments...

p.s. I have tons of pictures but I am having trouble uploading them, I will reformat them soon.

Post 1- Seattle to Ross Lake

July 10, 2009
My trip started out in Seattle on Tuesday ther 7th of July; I had spent most of the day sweeping and mopping my basement apartment , getting the rest of my backpacking gear at Second Ascent in Ballard, and storing the last items in the shed for the summer. I finally got on my bike and rode down to the train station to try to catch the 6:40 pm train to Mt. Vernon. Luckily I arrived about 20 minutes before the boarding call and I bought my ticket. I arrived in Mt. Vernon around 8pm, repacked my bike and it started to rain, but there really was no turning back.
I rode about 15 miles to Anacortes and after initially getting lost, finally found Washington Park 3 miles outside of town. I set up my tent and slept in relative comfort even though my spirits were slightly dampened. In the morning downpour, I hightailed it over to the bike shop only to find that it was closed, so I pedaled over to Penguin Coffee to get my Americano fix and wait for the bike shop to open. When it finally did, I spent close to three hours buying and installing all the rest of the gear that I needed (most importantly the rain booties for my bike shoes, and rearview mirror). I was finally ready they told me to go to the marina where I could dip the rear wheel of my Kona in the water.
It was about 2 pm when I left town, and my situation was improving by the minute. The ride was mostly uneventful until some older lady stopped her pickup in the middle of the highway to see if I was alright; I had laid my bike down to go filter some water out of the Skagit. I got to Concrete and decided to push on through to Rockport, where I found an amazing campsite at Steelhead Park. The ride was about 65 miles through farmland and rolling hills along the meandering Skagit, really quite beautiful. I met Bill and Linda, a Canadian couple in their late 50’s who had only just started touring about ten years ago but have been all over the world since. I learned some important things from them about the bike touring lifestyle so the next morning I went over to the Post Office in town and sent home about 3 ½ lbs. of clothes and other items that I didn’t need.
I was on the road a little after 9:30 am and caught up to the Canadians in Newhalem, which has a great history from the construction of Diablo Dam. Apparently, the last real store for about 70 miles was in this town, so I bought some Reisling and stuck it in my bottle holder. The ride was mostly uphill from there until I made it to the sleepy ghost town of Diablo, where I was supposed to stay with a friend of a friend. She couldn’t host me that night because she had to work, so I thought that I would just push on ahead to Ross Dam where my friend Ian was working and living. I made the mistake of not writing his emailed directions down before leaving Seattle, so I went by memory because there was no internet or phone connection for miles around me. The directions were something like, “walk across Ross Dam, even though it kind of looks illegal and then take a right until you get to building H”. I rode seven miles up a steep grade to the Ross Lake trailhead and then down about a mile trail from highway 20. This task is no problem if you don’t have a bike with fifty pounds of gear on it! The other problem was that once I got across the dam, there is another longer trail that leads to Ross Lake Resort. I thought to myself, “this won’t take me that long”, so I just kept moving. Bad decision; this trail was about a foot wide and switch-backed up the hillside. Nevertheless, I somehow made it to the resort with my dignity still intact and explained myself to the staff. They said, “there is no Ian working with us, he must be working at the Environmental Learning Center down at Diablo Dam”. I was shocked and in disbelief, three hours earlier I was at Diablo Dam .
Before I could say much else, one of the staff said, “You can get a ride on the trash boat that is going down to Diablo right now! Go get your bike and bring it to the dock before they leave”. So I gathered my bike, loaded it on the resort boat, and we went across the lake to the waiting truck that had the trash boat hooked up to it already. The driver told me that If I had gotten there literally two minutes later, I would have missed “the maggot run” that they only do once a week on Thursdays. We drove down to the bottom of Ross Dam in the diesel pickup with his dog Lady, unloaded the boat and headed down the Eastern arm of Diablo Lake.
A euphoric feeling washed over me as I was sitting cross legged on the front of the tiny boat gliding through the lake with towering cliffs rising on either side. When I took my bike off the boat I rode over to the ELC; I met one of the workers, Sarah just outside. I quickly told her of my ordeal and that I was looking for Ian. She said that if I wanted to stay, dinner was being served in fifteen minutes. I just about cried with happiness for my recent turn of luck, and ate the best five dollar salmon dinner I have ever had.
It turns out that the chef, Betsy is a roommate of Ian’s and I got a ride from her over to the house. When Ian got home, I pulled out the wine that had made and interesting journey around Diablo Lake and back and enjoyed a wonderful evening of drinking and second dinner. I had traveled over a hundred miles in two days and the journey already proved to be a wild, crazy adventure. In my 28 years on this planet, I have always believed that everything will work out for me…. and it always has…

Seattle to Portland in two days with Ty

We left my house at about 8 am on June 16th, 2009. We had our gear loaded, new clipless pedals and a determination to get to Portland in one piece. Somewhere around Husky Stadium, I came to a stop and realized that I couldn't get my foot out of my pedal and fell on my left side. I think we had traveled about 5 miles at this point. I was told by someone that everyone who buys clipless pedals at some point will fall. I guess I was breaking them in.

We stopped at Seward Park to get our "REI pose", and the rest of the day was hard pedaling to Centralia with a huge hill outside of Tacoma and some flat and some smaller hillls. We arrived in town around 7 p.m. There was Mexican restaurant nearby so we ate there and also had some cheese and salami that I had packed. Ty also had ice cream from the Dairy Queen across the street. We stayed at Econo Lodge for the night.

Total Distance-106 miles, 8hrs 2min bike time, Av.-13.1 mph, max-32 mph

The next morning we awoke early due to the fact that Econo Lodge stuffs their pillows with socks instead of feathers, and our tukusses were extremely tender. We were on the road by 7:40 a.m. regardless of the soreness. There were some good opportunities for photoes around the Vader area, including some bike action shots. We were definitely in BFE, Washington. The worlds largest egg?! cluck, cluck...

We made it to Kelso and had to face the bridge that crosses into Oregon over the Columbia. Due to the fact that this bridge was literally right next to a logging operation, there were chunks of debris all over the road. After a hair-raising crossing we were in Rainier, the halfway point of the day at just over 50 miles. This is when we saw the sign that said, "St. Helens- 15 miles". I told Ty that I wanted to stop there for lunch. This would have been a good plan, but the next sign that we passed said 10 miles, and the next sign after that one said 12 miles. How can that be possible? We hit a wall, but pushed through with heavy hearts and made it to the St. Helens Safeway for a bucket of chicken, a pound of potato salad and a banana.

We nearly decided to take a bus into Portland, but luckily our hour lunch break was enough for us to get back on the bikes. We averaged about 15 or 16 mph for the last 30 miles, we felt lucky to get a slight downhill for the rest of the way there. If there was one thing that I would say about riding from Seattle to Portland is that the hills are not "rolling"; a hill is a hill any way you look at it, and with 40+ pounds of gear on your bike, it is not easy. Still, we made it in one piece with no flat tires and only a couple of chain derailings.

Total Distance-103.1 miles, 7 hrs 54 min bike time, Av.-13 mph, max-31.1 mph

Now I am excited to do my cross country trip: Anacortes to Martha's Vineyard, here I come! I will post as often as I can.