Day 51: Randolph, UT to Coalville, UT

There was no shoulder heading south on route 16, but it was flat and I was heading toward civilization.  My excitement, if that’s what it was, diminished somewhat when I crossed back into Wyoming.  This was the first (and only) time I had increased the number of states between me and my goal.  But, it was a necessary evil in this case to take one step back so I could take a dozen steps forward on the mighty interstate that promised to carry me west in grand style.

As houses began to appear, then actual businesses, I resigned myself to the fact that I was unlikely to spot any buffalo, antelope, or other “exotic” creatures of the Great Plains.  I had seen a “Caution: Wild Horses” sign a few days back, but I didn’t have the good fortune to see a herd of galloping mustangs cross my path like a Marlboro or Chevy ad.  I was lucky enough to smell some horses as I passed Wyoming Downs Racetrack, so that was something.

I reached Evanston and grabbed a quick lunch before hopping on route 80.  It still felt weird to be riding in the breakdown lane of a major interstate highway, but after a mile or so I was comfortably in the groove.  The noise and stress of the traffic wasn’t ideal, but the view was still magnificent (if you blocked out the highway) and knowing there were people around if I got myself into trouble was a fair tradeoff.  Plus, with exits every ten miles or so, I knew I wouldn’t have to go all day without finding a spot to rest and refuel.  Then, as I approached the first exit, I got my first hint that things weren’t going to be all rainbows and unicorns.

“No Services.”  No biggie, it’s not that far to the next exit.  Where, as you might have already predicted, was a sign advertising “No Services.”  Well, so much for civilization.  The next two exits proved to be service-less as well.  The good news was that after climbing for the first four miles into a pass, the rest of the ride was downhill.  Weehaaa!

I eventually did find a gas station and was able to get a fresh sandwich and some chips.  I restocked my Gatorade and water supplies, and was right back in the slow lane.  I hit several construction zones along the highway, but most of them were inactive and easily navigated.  I was only forced to walk my bike a couple times over dug up ground.  Even though the day was warmer down in the lower elevations (upper 70s), I was feeling relatively hale and hearty by the time I reached the town of Echo, my final destination for the day.

Of course, the motel I had picked out for my night’s accommodations was closed and quite possibly abandoned.  No rest for the wicked, it seemed.  Nine miles farther south was Coalville.  Just off the exit there was an RV park with campsites situated right next to a luxurious Best Western.  I sat in the parking lot for a good five minutes debating between a cheap piece of dusty ground or a cushy bed.  As tempting as it was, I skulked into the RV park, staked out my plot of dirt, and set up my tent.  After a quick shower, I rode into town, bypassing the ubiquitous Subway, and found a nice little pub where I rustled up a wholesome burger and a couple well-earned beers.  Ah, civilization!

What I Learned: I was expecting motels to be plentiful and cheap when I got out west.  Neither of these conceits turned out to be true.  While there were motels to be had, they were often less than inviting, and were barely cheaper than staying at a generic but generally dependable chain hotel.  And, with reward points earned along the way, the brand name hotels would often end up being cheaper in the final tally. 

Distance Today: 73 miles
Total Distance: 2,771 miles

Day 50: Fontenelle, WY to Randolph, UT

There wasn’t anything to keep me lingering in Fontenelle longer than necessary.  Even so, I forced myself to take the time to whip up a delicious, double-shot of cinnamon raisin oatmeal.  I had been careful about using my stove and conserving fuel.  It dawned on me this morning that I was going into the final stretch with a decent amount of gas in the canister I’d started with.  I hadn’t even touched the backup fuel I’d been toting from the Atlantic Ocean to here.  That's one item I can trim from my next transcontinental voyage!

The day was clear and cool, staying in the mid-60s most of the morning and only creeping into the low-70s at the peak of the day.  Great riding weather!  Even though the road didn’t have a shoulder, I made good time and didn’t have to worry too much about the one or two trucks that would blow by each hour.  Between the rare vehicle, and the occasional clutch of livestock, it was just me and my bike for the vast bulk of the day.  The scenery was beautiful, and the peaceful quiet was a true pleasure, but there was something nagging at me nonetheless.

I reached Kemmerer right about lunchtime and availed myself of the Café Ritz – the fanciest eatery in town.  (And, yes, you guessed it – the only one.)  One filling, if uninspiring, grilled chicken sandwich later, I was back in the saddle cranking my way westward.  I passed along the southern edge of the Fossil Butte National Monument.  It sounded like the kind of place I’d normally have liked to stop and check out, but with nothing between me and the horizon I didn’t want to use up daylight playing tourist.

As I approached the town of Sage, I dutifully recited my gas station prayers.  Of course I could have pulled out the smart phone and asked Google what was ahead, but where’s the fun in that?  My prayers, once again, went unanswered.  There was absolutely nothing there.  See – I was able to spend a good hour in hopeful anticipation instead of dejected resignation.  Later, when I did look at Google maps I saw that the town was labeled as “Sage Ghost Town.”  Thanks again, paper map!

After another 5 miles, I hit the Utah border.  One more state officially behind me!  This more tangible milestone buoyed my spirits more than crossing the Continental Divide the day before did, but there was still that nagging sense of something.  I was finding out that I was more intimidated by the realities of crossing Nevada than I had been by imagining the ordeal of mounting the Rockies.  That was just going to be some hard work, but Nevada was going to be hundreds of miles of deadly nothing. 

I was feeling generally strong.  No injuries, legs were holding up fine, no problems with dehydration, no mechanical issues to speak of, but I still had an uncomfortable feeling about the road ahead.  During a rest stop I reviewed my route again.  I would cut across the cap of Utah north of Great Salt Lake, take route 30 to the border, where it would change over to 233, until I reached the aptly named town of Oasis.  There I’d pick up interstate 80 and take that to just short of Reno.  I had encountered very little civilization over the previous several days, and where I was headed there was likely to be even less.

It wasn’t the absence of people per se that concerned me, but rather the lack of services – namely food and water.  Sure, I know that people and services are a package deal, but you know what I mean!  I decided I was just going to have to stock up as best as I could whenever I had the chance and power through the unforgiving wastelands like our intrepid pioneer ancestors did.  Then I came to the junction with route 16.  Screw the pioneers!  Half of them died out there in the desert being all stalwart and intrepid!  I turned south and headed for Salt Lake City.

What I Learned: Barren emptiness is an interesting place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.

Distance Today: 76 miles
Total Distance: 2,698 miles

Day 49: Atlantic City, WY to Fontenelle, WY

It got downright cold overnight, and remained so in the early morning hours due to the magic of being at a higher elevation.  I didn’t feel like firing up the stove, so it was a cold breakfast and a quick exit from the campground.  I startled a jackrabbit on my way out; first one I’d ever seen.  Those buggers are big!

I had the option of backtracking (uphill) to the main road, or taking a well-packed but winding dirt road to South Pass City.  I was rested and feeling ambitious, so I took the way less traveled.  I had to dodge some free-range cattle as I went, but I reached the former mining boom town after about an hour.  There was a small reconstructed main street with old timey buildings along it.  I was the only one there and nothing was open except for a gorgeous, heated state-of-the-art tourist bathroom, which I gratefully took advantage of.

After snapping a few pictures, I got rolling and hit the main road in short order.  It was a little more than another hour until I crossed the official Continental Divide.  It was a somewhat unexpected milestone, but it made me feel like I was making real progress.  This put me about two-thirds of the way into my journey.  Counting miles was too daunting a prospect for me, so I had been going by number of states done versus number of states left to go.  There were 8 behind me, and 3 more ahead.  I spent most of those first eight states being apprehensive about the Rockies looming in my future, but because of the route I had chosen I had inadvertently cheated my way through what may have been the least challenging path possible.  I promised myself that I'd take a much harder route next time!

A short while later, I slammed on my brakes and almost went flying over my handlebars when I spotted an antelope.  Everybody I’d met for the past three days kept talking about how the area was lousy with these guys and that you couldn’t swing a dead jackrabbit without hitting one.  If this was the case, I’d somehow managed to miss the burgeoning herds all around me as I raced across the lonely plains at a blinding 8 miles per hour.  Once stopped, I whipped out my camera and powered it up.  While I was waiting for my device to decide it was ready, I watched the beast hop away in that peculiar way that antelope apparently do.  By the time I zoomed in, it had disappeared into the brush.  Drats, foiled again!  Oh well, I’m sure there’d be plenty more along the way.

I had covered about 45 miles (a good deal of it downhill) before I came to the town of Farson and celebrated the sight of a gas/food station.  I loaded up on edibles and drinkables, gulped down a red slushie-thing, and made good use of a nearby picnic table in the shade. 

The rest of the day was mainly flat, which was good because I wasn’t breaking any land speed records after gorging myself on gas station cuisine.  I reached the little town of Fontenelle an hour or so before sundown.  They had a free camping area, which turned out to be an odd arrangement that had probably seen better days.  There was a big area with a 10-foot high chain-link fence all around it.  As you went through the gate, to the left were a collection of public works type buildings, and to the right was an orderly row of what appeared to be campsites.  A lone, possibly abandoned, RV trailer was the only occupant besides me.  The grass was overgrown to about knee-high and dried brown.  It looked like there were vestiges of water and electrical hook-ups, but I didn’t mess with either.  I thought the high fence was strange, but then I realized it would do a good job of keeping out any animals (wild or domestic).   I flattened out a spot in the grass, set up my tent, and went straight to sleep without bothering to eat any dinner.

What I Learned: Coyotes are straight up scary! Back home I’d heard a lone coyote barking now and again, and once I heard a pair of them calling back and forth to each other at a distance. But that evening was the first time I’d heard an actual pack of coyotes all wailing away together. Talk about unnerving. If I didn’t know better, I would have attributed the sounds I was hearing to a band of crazed demons out hunting for my soul in the blackness of night. Even knowing better didn’t provide a whole lot of comfort. Good thing I had that big fence!

Distance Today: 86 miles
Total Distance: 2,622 miles

Day 48: Muddy Gap, WY to Atlantic City, WY

According to the map, I had one reliable island of civilization between me and my destination.  Jeffrey City was a little over twenty miles away, which made it a good candidate for breakfast, but then it looked like I was on my own after that.  I swung by the gas station and stocked up on water, sports drinks, snacks, and vacuum-sealed sandwiches before striking out into the barren wilderness.

I passed another pioneer landmark, Split Rock, but it was too early in the day to stop and play tourist.  Besides, I was able to grab breakfast at the Split Rock Bar & Café in Jeffrey City, so that’s about the same thing…right?

As I pedaled on into the landscape of low hills and dry plains, I couldn’t help noticing an increasingly odd feature of the local terrain.  There were random fences scattered out in the fields, and I couldn’t discern any purpose for them.  There were the fences that ran along either side of the road, and those made sense, but then there were these high, gap-planked fences ranging from 50-feet long to sometimes hundreds of feet.  There was no logic that I could see to the spacing or angle in which they were arranged.  Maybe something for the livestock to stand behind when the wind blew, or a place for them to find shade, perhaps?  I’d have to ask someone, assuming I ever encountered another person.

I was happy to reach a lone rest area right around lunchtime, but I was annoyed by a sign they had there: “No Overnight Camping.”  Not that this would have stopped me if I reached this spot at the end of a long, hot day.  It just seemed to be against the code of the West not to allow travelers respite in this modern-day version of an oasis.  This place had a playground, for goodness sake!  The least they could do is not get all snippy and post such an inhospitable sign.

I still had a lot of miles to cover, so lunch at the rest area was a quick, unsatisfying affair.  A half hour of riding later, I was pleased to find a different kind of sign – one that made me extremely happy – “6% Downhill Grade.”  Weeeee!  The next three miles were an effortless breeze.  The only problem was that it was hard to keep my eyes on the road due to the great views I was being offered on the way down.  I even when so far as to stop to take in the scenery a couple times, losing all that downward momentum, but knowing I could regain it in a matter of seconds.

The big downhill had me smiling for the next hour, then I hit the sign announcing an impending construction zone.  Once again, it was all construction with no construction workers anywhere in sight.  And this one had it all.  The pavement was torn up and replaced with coarse gravel.  Trenches ran along the sides, so not only wasn’t there a shoulder, there was a deadly mantrap instead.  Once through that, I reached the ever-popular grooved pavement.  In the middle of this stretch, there was the always fun single lane and stop light arrangement.  You know, the kind where there’s enough time to get through if you’re in a vehicle, but if you’re on a bicycle the light changes when you’re only midway through.  I finished out the four-mile obstacle course with another run of bone-rattling gravel before being returned to the glory of smooth pavement.

After a few more long downhills, it was time to pay the piper.  Time to go up.  And up.  And up some more.  While not especially steep, it was relentless.  It took almost eight miles of grinding uphill before I could see a potential flat spot ahead – could this be the top?  Dare I imagine?  As I rounded the curve, I was assaulted by (you guessed it) another evil sign: “High Wind Area.”  Gaaahhh!  Nooooo!  The light wind I had been doing my best to ignore on the way up was bad enough, I didn’t need to be mercilessly buffeted by high winds after all that climbing.

It only took a few minutes for my angst over the prevailing zephyrs to evaporate.  Once I came around the switchback and out onto the flatish straight away I had seen from below, I was looking out over the Red Canyon Wildlife Area – and it was spectacular!  I stopped at an overlook and gawked at the gorgeous expanse spreading out beneath me.  I couldn’t get enough of it.  The land sloped down from my left like a gargantuan swath of green felt.  To the right was an escarpment with a face of red leading away into the far distance.  All was surrounded by a halo of hills and peaks that cradled this immense natural diorama that evoked a sense of the primordial earth that could almost be felt in the DNA that had been passed down from hominid ancestors.  Yeah, it was that frickin’ cool.

All the sweat and suffering of the day melted away as if it never happened as I stared out over the breathtaking scene.  Now I know exactly what it’s like to go through the pain of labor and childbirth, then forget it all the moment your newborn is presented to you.  (I can hear you rolling your eyes out there, ladies!)  Anyway, it was pretty awesome.  I got out my camera and began taking pictures, knowing that they wouldn’t even come close to matching the experience of being there.  So, I guess it was a good thing that I was there!

What I Learned: BLM campgrounds are awesome!  Not only are they cheap, but they can pop up where you least expect them.  Like right next to yet another town in Wyoming that has “city” in its name but in reality is more like a remote collection of a few dozen cabins and trailer homes (and a closed general store).

Distance Today: 81 miles
Total Distance: 2,536 miles

Day 47: Casper, WY to Muddy Gap, WY

The best part about Casper was that my new tires were waiting for me when I arrived at the hotel.  The night before I had installed my spiffy new 700c x 38 Schwalbe Marathon Plus tires.  They were bigger than the stock tires that came on the bike, so I had to monkey around with the fender in the front to adjust for the tighter clearance.  I had a new lease on life and was able to hit the road without the stress of wondering at what point in the day I would get a flat.

It took me almost an hour to get out of the city, and when I did there was plenty of downhill sending me out into the desert with little effort on my part.  The North Platte River was on my right as I chewed through the miles, trying to get as far as I could while the air was still cool.  I passed a sign for the Gray Beef Reservoir and wondered how anyone came up with such an unappetizing name for a body of water, only to later realize that it was actually the Gray Reef Reservoir.  Much more appetizing.

As the afternoon approached, a low wind started up out of the southwest.  There were enough long, downhill stretches as I descended into the Great Divide Basin, however, that it wasn’t causing me any problems.  What was troubling was the utter lack of services along the road since I’d left the city.  Up to this point I’d become accustomed to a nice little town or village every ten or twelve miles.  Even if the town didn’t have a store or restaurant, it was still comforting to be in a “place” at least once every couple of hours.  Not the case out here.

Shortly after noon, I reached Independence Rock.  This formation of granite rises out of the ground like a giant whale frozen in mid-breach of the surface of the earth.  It served as a landmark for pioneers crossing this forbidding territory on their way to what they hoped would be a better life in the West.  It also served as a canvas for 19th century graffiti artists, who carved initials and dates into the stone on their way through.  As crazy as it was for me to set off on this cross-country trek on a bicycle, at least I didn’t pack up my whole family in a covered wagon and try to walk to California during a time when there were not only no gas stations along the way to pick up Gatorade and energy bars, but there were all sorts of things along the way actively trying to kill you!  Damn, those folks had some guts.

I took a walk around the rock and talked to some nice folks who had sold their house so they could become RV nomads.  I can’t help but wonder if that’s one of those rat-race pipe dreams that’s better as a dream than a reality after a while.  The site had bathrooms, water and shaded picnic tables, but no food.  I made due with one of the bananas I had procured that morning and a couple fruit & nut bars.  It’s always a good idea to fill up at breakfast whenever you can.  (The hotel I was staying at in Casper didn’t offer a breakfast, so I had to nonchalantly wander over to the hotel next door to get my free eggs, waffle, yogurt, biscuits & gravy, bananas, and donut.) 

By the time I left Independence Rock, the wind had gotten serious.  Even though the terrain was mostly flat, it was slow going for the rest of the afternoon.  When I finally reached Muddy Gap about four arduous hours later, I was thrilled silly to find a gas station with a store (though not much else).  They didn’t have a pizza mausoleum or a hot dog torture device, so I had to resort to a packaged ham and cheese sandwich, a bag of chips and a couple sketchy looking apples for dinner (along with a nutritious king-sized Snickers bar for dessert).

I scouted around for a place to camp, but there were no city parks, campgrounds, or other legit places to set up.  There was a small collection of run-down houses and trailers by the side of the road.  It appeared to be lived in, although no examples of living people were in evidence.  A large steel garage had “Fire Department” spray painted on its door.  It was locked up and empty of fire people, but it did have a flat spot of ground along the east side that I decided no one would mind if I used for the night.  Despite having set up in the shade, it was stiflingly hot inside the tent.  I settled in, drank a half gallon of water, and attempted to read a chapter of my book on the Revolutionary War.  I was unconscious by the third paragraph, once again missing out on yet another potentially glorious sunset.

What I Learned:  In this part of the country, it’s very likely that you'll have the same view for a good part of the day.  After leaving Independence Rock, I was treated to a great vista overlooking the plains (or prairie, or maybe it was dessert, not sure what the technical distinction is) to the Teton Mountains.  Twenty miles later, I had almost the exact same view, with the mountains only being ever so slightly taller.  An interesting phenomenon, but it makes you feel like you’re not really getting anywhere after hours and hours of pedaling.

Distance Today: 78 miles
Total Distance: 2,455 miles

Day 46: Douglas, WY to Casper, WY

To completely avoid the highway (Route 25) I’d have a ride of about 58 miles and follow some roads that looked pretty sketchy on the map.  Taking the highway would be more direct and about 10 miles shorter.  I decided to get up early and get going before sunrise and split the difference by going on Route 25 for the first half of the ride, then getting off at Glenrock and taking secondary roads the rest of the way into Casper.  I figured that the traffic would be light enough that early in the morning that it wouldn’t pose much of a problem, either in terms of safety or annoyance.

It was definitely weird at first riding my bike in the breakdown lane of a major highway, but when I saw how the hills had been graded to long, gradual slopes I warmed up to it rather quickly.  I could see the un-graded hills to the north where my off-highway path would have taken me and was happy I’d opted for the less scenic route.  It took only five miles, however, for me to run into one of the unique problems of riding on the highway…construction.

Sure, you can run into construction on any road (as I often did), but highway construction is a different beast.  The entire westbound lane was shut down and traffic was being diverted into a single lane on the eastbound side.  There was nowhere for me to ride, so I had no choice but to pick my way through the construction zone itself.  It was nothing but dirt and gravel in some places, but there were big sections where the pavement was still intact.  I had to work between construction equipment in a few spots, and dismount in places to get my bike past some areas that were too soft to ride on.  I was glad that I got started early enough that the workers weren’t there yet and it was an inactive site.  I wasn’t in the mood to test my bulldozer dodging skills.  All seemed to be going well until I got to the bridge. 

There was a 6 foot wide trench between me and the newly poured concrete of the overpass.  No way I was getting over that.  I backed up to where I could get over the median and onto the single lane of the detour.  I waited for a while until there were no vehicles coming, jumped out onto the road, and pedaled like I was going for the yellow jersey!  I made it past the bridge and back into the construction area before any big trucks wiped me out.  After that, I had three lanes of downhill all to myself for the next two miles – sweetness!

When I got to my exit I waffled.  The secondary roads from this point on were only slightly off the main track of the highway, but I was feeling pretty good about ol’ Route 25 and chose to go ahead and take it all the way into Casper.  Ten miles later I discovered that supernatural forces may have influenced my choice.

A little red car was pulled over in the breakdown lane, its left tires just inside the white line.  There was plenty of room on the right for me to pass.  I assumed the driver was making a phone call or sending a text message.  As I passed I saw an older woman in the driver’s seat with her hands in her lap and the windows rolled down.  Something wasn’t right.  I squeezed my brakes and turned around to check on her.

“Having car trouble?” I asked.

“I’m out of gas.”

Seeing that her iPhone was sitting there on the dashboard, I made the next logical assumption.  “You’ve called someone for help?”

“Well,” she began with a quirky grin, “I’m psychic, and so I put out a call to the angels and asked them to send me help.”

Ho, boy.  It took my brain a second or two to recover from that.  “The angels must be having an off day since it looks like I was the best they could do,” I told her.  She chuckled, but I don’t think she appreciated my questioning her angels’ judgement.

I got out my phone, located a towing company and gave them a call.  After that we exchanged introductions and I got in the front seat to wait for the tow truck to arrive.  Judy the Psychic insisted that I didn’t have to stay, but I wouldn’t have felt right if I didn’t see this thing through.  I asked her to enlighten me about her mystical abilities in the meantime.  She was only able to give me a vague collection of new age standbys by way of explanation – healing, auras, spirit communications, and so forth.  Nothing very specific or at all verifiable.  In case you were wondering, I wasn’t the least bit surprised by this.

About twenty minutes later the guy arrived, poured a few gallons of gas into her tank, and presented the bill.  Judy rummaged around in her purse for a few moments before admitting that she didn’t have any cash.  She asked the tow truck guy if he could take a credit card.  When he said he could and pulled out his smart phone with a card app on it, she then had to ask if he would mind splitting the bill between four different credit cards.  The look on his face told me we were very close to a breakdown lane homicide.  I assured him that he could put the whole amount on my credit card, and he was happy to do so.

Judy was beside herself at this, and insisted that I give her my address so she could send me the money.  I explained that I had been the beneficiary of a lot of kind people who gave me help during my journey when I really needed it, so this was simply my opportunity to pay it forward.  Despite my appeal to karma (a supernatural economy that she should have been very comfortable with), she still wanted my address and phone number.  I gave in and scribbled my address on the back of a receipt that she tucked into her over-stuffed purse, and I was more than certain that I’d never hear from her again – I didn’t need to be a psychic to predict that!

Judy started up her little red car and headed off to the nearest gas station, presumably to put a tank of gas on six different credit cards.  As I got started on the last five miles of my day, I couldn’t stop laughing at the thought that if she was a psychic, why didn’t she foresee that she was going to run out of gas?  The angels could have saved themselves a lot of work if they had just gotten Judy to look down at the fuel gauge about 20 miles sooner.  This one cost me some money, but it was easily one of the most entertaining encounters of my trip. 

And, who knows, maybe I’m the one who has it all wrong.  In a way, her approach did work in the end.  Was there more to my decision to stay on the highway instead of sticking with the route I had planned that morning?  Were invisible spirits guiding me to that particular time and place in the universe in order to help this woman in trouble?  Probably not, but just for fun I put a call out to the angels to say hi to Judy for me and see if they can collect the money she owes me!

What I Learned:  Don’t waste your hard-earned cash on those black, rubber bungee cord thingies.  As I churned through the miles on the highway, I noticed an inordinate number of these things lying in the breakdown lane.  I must have spotted at least 30 of the things along the way.  Some were broken, but most were intact.   I could only assume that this style of stuff-holder was either popping off passing vehicles at an alarmingly high rate, or that people were tossing them out mid-trip.  Either possibility doesn’t speak well of their efficacy.  I decided never to buy this type of bungee cord in the future!

Distance Today: 57 miles
Total Distance: 2,377 miles

Day 45: Harrison, NE to Douglas, WY

By the time the sun was breaking over the horizon behind me I was crossing from the remote west end of Nebraska to the equally remote east edge of Wyoming.  The first place I came to was Van Tassel...population: 15.  A harbinger of things to come.  The weather was still cool, and over the weeks this had become my favorite part of the riding day (with the point in the day where I’m finally done riding being a close second).  My favorite part of this particular morning was seeing something that many people would consider rather mundane.

The roads in Wyoming were a bit rougher than those in Nebraska, but I was cranking along at a respectable clip.  The land sloped away to the north (my right), giving me a grand view across the prairie to a long ridge of hills in the distance.  Something moving out there caught my eye.  It took me a moment to recognize what I was seeing, but when the penny finally dropped I realized I was looking at a train heading east.  I stopped my bike and watched it crawl along with a childish smile on my face.  This was the first time I’d ever seen an entire train from beginning.  This one was at least 30 or 40 cars long, and I’m used to seeing a train only a couple cars at a time as they chug by while I’m at a railroad crossing.  I’ve never been in a place where I could see the whole thing all at once from engine to caboose.  When you’ve been out in the middle of nowhere for days on end it doesn’t take much to amuse you!

In Lusk, there’s a gas station-store at a crossroad.  I was expecting the usual small town affair with a few locals and me being the weird outlander, but this place was different – I’d stumbled into the Grand Central Station of eastern Wyoming!  The place was abuzz with RVers and Bikers (the vroom-vroom type, not the pedal-pedal kind) coming in from every direction (except the way I had come).  I battled my way inside and was jostled around while I collected an iced tea and a mini-pizza.  As I waited to pay, I was entertained by a generously proportioned woman explaining to her husband why she was ordering a 12-piece bucket of fried chicken to “snack on in the car” after having just finished eating lunch.  Ah, America the bountiful!

I was 5 miles out of Lusk when my front tire went floop.  I dropped the bags and had the bike upside down in a flash – I was getting pit-crew quick at this flat changing game!  I searched for the intruding object but found that a sharp rock had perfectly matched up with a thoroughly worn through spot on the tire and punched a tiny hole there.  While I was swapping in one of my new tubes, an older lady in a spiffy Honda pulled over and asked if I needed a ride.  I told her it was just a flat and that I’d be back on the road in no time.  “Besides,” I explained, “my bike is too big to fit in your car anyway.”  She excitedly told me that she had a pickup truck at home, but I assured her I was all good, thanked her for the offer, and off she went.

I got the new tube installed, and remounted the wheel in short order.  As long as I already had everything out I decided that I should just go ahead and patch the punctured tube on the spot in case I needed it later.  Once that was done and I was packing up to go, a little brown pickup truck pulled over and beeped.  It was the lady who had stopped earlier – she had gone home and returned with her truck after all.  She insisted that it was no trouble and that she didn’t have anything else to do all day.  I didn’t have the heart to turn her down after all the trouble she’d gone through, plus it wouldn’t hurt to make up for some of the time I’d lost changing the flat.  I loaded my stuff in the back and hopped in.  Kay introduced herself and away we went.  I was just hoping this wasn’t going to be another Harry type of encounter.

Thankfully, Kay was nothing but lovely.  Her truck didn’t have any AC, but she kept me distracted with a rundown of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.  We soon arrived at Manville.  I expected her to drop me off at the truck stop there on the main road, but she went right past it and straight to her house.  Her place was only a quarter mile from the highway, so it was no big deal travel-wise.  I unloaded my gear as she hurried inside to get me some ice water.  Once again I was lured onto a shady porch and regaled with stories.  At least this time they were pleasant stories about things like birds, bunnies, and jauntily painted scrap-iron sunflowers.

I attempted to “be on my way” a few times, but I failed to escape Kay’s conversational pull.  She went to the senior center in Lusk for lunch just about every day, she was related to Amelia Earhart in some fashion, she had ridden a motorcycle to Sturgis with her late husband 12 times, and she had a fellow coming by the next day to cut her grass.  It began getting late enough that I really did have to go.  I was doubtful I’d be able to make my goal of reaching the city of Douglas – which was important because I already had a hotel room reserved in Casper, so I couldn’t fall behind schedule. 

Kay assured me that I didn’t need to worry.  She’d give me a ride to Douglas, after all she had nothing else to do all day.  I wasn’t left with much of a choice at that point, especially as I looked out at the wavy lines of heat rising off the pavement unperturbed by the increasing wind blowing from the west.  I sat back, took a long sip of my ice water and listened to Kay’s stories for a second (and sometimes third) time.  Eventually, I was able to convince her that I should load my bike back into the truck if we were going to get her back home in time for dinner.

Kay was not too skilled with the stick shift, but she somehow managed to move us forward.  The truck was hotter than before and I worried that it would be too much for her to handle.  Kay insisted that she was used to that kind of heat as we barreled along at 10 MPH below the speed limit.  I was leery of having her go on the interstate, so I had her drop me off at the Sinclair gas station in a place called Orin Junction (a total ride of about 30 miles).  I insisted that she let me put some gas in her truck – the last thing I wanted was for her to run out of gas on the way home from this little adventure of hers.  I also offered to get her a cold drink for the road.

We went inside and Kay pointed out that the “cafe” there had ice cream.  I took the hint and ordered us a couple dishes of vanilla, but they were all out.  I ducked over to the store and found half-pints of chocolate and Oreo ice cream.  She went for the Oreo straight off, claiming she wouldn’t be able to finish it all and worried that it would melt on the ride home.  Good thing she was able to polish off the whole container like a champ!

We said our farewells and I promised to send her a postcard from San Francisco.  As I was loading my bags on my bike, the cook from the cafe came out for a cigarette and we got to talking.  Despite being an ex-con, he was a nice guy and quick with a good-natured smile.  He told me there was a service road that ran along the interstate up to Douglas, which was a welcomed alternative to the highway at rush hour.  It was a hot, sweaty, hilly 10 miles, but I made my destination before sunset, so it was a generally successful day in most respects.

What I Learned: Sometimes you’ve simply got to let go of your well-laid plans and just go with the flow.

Distance Today: 51 miles
Total Distance: 2,320 miles

Day 44: Hay Springs, NE to Harrison, NE

I made it to salvation (otherwise known as Walmart) and headed straight for the bike section.  I grabbed the last two tubes they had that would fit my bike, then searched for the other item I’d been lusting after: tire liners!  These little strips fit inside your tires and help prevent punctures - exactly what my increasingly baloney-skinned wheels needed to hold me over.  And, of course, while I’d seen these things at every other Walmart I’d ever been in, they didn’t have them at this one.  What are the chances? (100%)  I’d have to continue to limp along and count on the good luck I’d had since I did the tire rotation to carry me through.

I stopped in Crawford for lunch and consulted with a group of guys who looked like they were part of a local road crew.  My prevaricating GPS had been gleefully telling me there was a big climb coming soon and I wanted to get a second opinion.  When I told the guys my route and that I was on a bicycle, there was a lot of laughing and shaking of heads (did I mention that it was well into the mid-90s by this time of the afternoon).  They confirmed that I had a big hill in about 5 miles.  I asked if they meant big in that it’s long, or because it’s steep?  They assured me that it was both.

They were right.  The good news was that I had amazing views as I slowly worked my way up past the buttes and increasingly dramatic landscape.  It took me the better part of three hours to reach the top, and I rewarded myself with a good long rest in the shade of a handy dumpster at the scenic overlook.  As soon as I got rolling again, I began to regret taking so much time lying about.  A river of ominously dark clouds was flowing toward me from the south and it wasn’t looking friendly.

I could see clear sky to the west, so I put my head down and poured what energy I had left into covering the four or five miles I needed to dodge this storm.  I didn’t see the flashing of lightning, but the threatening rumble of thunder came from high above the black clouds.  I was confident I could outrun the beast...until the wind hit.

The first blast almost knocked me off the road.  I pressed on and felt the drops of rain hitting the left side of my face.  I stopped to don my rain jacket and wrap a Walmart bag around my handlebar bag to keep it a little more water resistant.  These operations are usually only take a quick minute, but with the battering wind it was more of a challenge than usual as I fought just to keep my bike upright.  I remounted and resumed tacking against the wind.  I was half hoping a passing truck would stop and offer me a ride, but I wasn’t willing to stick my thumb out in the face of this one little land typhoon.

As I pedaled, I could see out across the vast plateau.  Directly to my south was the looming storm about to smash into me.  To the southwest were dark clouds dumping rains mainly on the plains.  To the northwest was another trail of gray clouds also pouring down rain.  There was a narrow gap of blue sky in front of me in the center of which hung the hazy sun on its way to setting.  It was strange being surrounded by all this inclement weather and still riding in the golden glow of an evening sun.

As much as the wind had checked my progress, I still managed to slip out from under the edge of the storm in time.  I hadn’t been rained on, but I was drenched from the inside out with sweat.  My hope that morning was to make it over the border into Wyoming, but I was grateful to make it to the town of Harrison, just inside the Nebraska border.  At the Longhorn Saloon I was served up an excellent mushroom swiss burger and a delectable order of onion petals.  There were a couple places to camp in town, but with all the rain going around I was more interested in finding indoor accommodations.

Once again I was saved by local knowledge.  The bartender let me know that the Sage Motel, which Google listed as permanently closed, was open for business.  I made my way there in the dark and rang the night bell.  A gentleman in bare feet and a flannel robe adorned with covered wagons opened the office door and checked me in.  It turned out to be a cozy place, but as soon as I plugged in all my devices to recharge I was too asleep to appreciate the place’s rustic charm.

What I Learned: Every once in a while you need to stop and take a look back.  I mean this literally.  I was about three-quarters of the way up the big climb when I was beginning to get grouchy about the top not coming fast enough.  I stopped for a short break and for the first time turned around and looked behind me.  Not only was I treated to a stunning view that I would have otherwise missed, but I was also able to see what I had accomplished so far.  This provided the lift in spirits that I needed to carry me to the top with a much better attitude. 

This also applies metaphorically.  It’s easy to get hung up on the problems and difficulties ahead of us, but taking some time to reflect on what you’ve achieved to get to where you are and appreciate the panoramic vistas of your past successes will give you a renewed sense of strength that will carry you forward with newfound vigor and confidence.  Give it a try right now!

Distance Today: 71 miles
Total Distance: 2,247 miles

Day 43: Cody, NE to Hay Springs, NE

A great start today.  The morning was cool and clear, I had the road almost entirely to myself for the first couple hours.  The terrain was becoming less flat, but nothing too challenging.  I chatted amiably with the staring cows as I passed.  All was right with the world, until I almost got crushed to a fine paste.

A pickup truck passed me with a tall, thin pole affixed to the rear bumper.  While I was trying to figure out what that was all about, I caught a glimpse of a huge mass approaching me quickly from behind.  It was a humongous truck hauling an extra-wide load – a wide load that was cantilevered threateningly out over the shoulder.  I made a quick move for the grass and got off the pavement just in time for this monster to zoom by at 60 MPH!  Close call.

Three more similar trucks growled by carrying some sort of gargantuan farm equipment (which I later learned were wheat harvesters).  The pole on the back of the lead vehicle was to test the height clearance of any overhanging obstacles.  It would have been nice for that safety vehicle to have given me a little heads-up beep as it went by!  Maybe they should have another pole to test widths...although, getting whacked in the back of the head by that probably wouldn’t have done me much good either.

I got to the little “town” of Merriman and rolled into the rustic gas station.  There was a little girl sitting out front strapping on a pair of old-timey roller skates.  Did I pass through a portal into the 1950s?  Inside, I was happy to find a microwave and breakfast burritos (no time travel anomalies today).   As I was waiting for my burrito to reach the temperature of molten lead, I noticed a glass carboy in the corner with a fermentation lock on top and an alluring golden liquid inside. 

I asked the woman what was brewing, and she said I’d have to talk to Randy about that.  Just then, Randy happened to pull in.  He told me he had an IPA fermenting.  I mentioned that I’d recently started home brewing.  This brought a big smile to his face and he waved for me to follow him into the garage.

Tucked in the back was a full-sized refrigerator with three taps poking out from the door.  He proudly pointed out the IPA on the left (the local favorite), an Amarillo hops ale in the center, and a cream ale on the right.  I asked about how the cream ale came out, and, rather than explain, he grabbed a cup and poured me a sample.  It was just before 9:00 am, but he informed me that “If you don’t start early you can’t drink all day.”  The cream ale was easily the best I’d ever tasted, and Randy promised to send me the recipe as he poured me a generous taste of the Amarillo hops brew.  It was also uniquely tasty with strong herbal notes.  I then had no choice but to try the IPA.  It, too, was fantastic.  I was regretting I hadn’t showed up here at dinner time so I could have wheedled a few full pints out of him!

By the time I finished my burrito, the regulars were showing up and arranging themselves around the high-stakes cribbage game.  The little girl (whose mom ran the register) was sketching shaky circles on metal wheels by the gas pumps, acting as the official greeter as the old-timers arrived at what turned out to be the local social nexus.  One of the retired farmers was kind enough (or cruel enough) to show me the radar on his smart phone, letting me know I had about an hour before I’d be drenched.  I considered spending the rest of the day lollygagging here at this homey spot, but I had to suit up and get going.

About an hour later I was still dry.  The dark clouds just missed me and I shed my rain gear.  Ten minutes later the next band of clouds swept in and unleashed a downpour.  Again, the rain was cool relief from the heat, but the accompanying wind was a real bugger.  The next couple hours were a soggy struggle, but the weather let up just as I reached Gordon and the local gourmet Subway Ristorante.

I was hoping to make it to Chadron, where they had a Walmart (and brandy new, un-patched inner tubes), but I only got as far as Hay Springs.  I scouted out the city park and found a nice spot between a pair of picnic tables under a small roof.  After a chicken strip basket at the Silver Dollar bar, I retired to the park and set my tent up in the dark for the second night in a row.

What I Learned: Having a good audiobook loaded onto your iPod really helps get through the long stretches of monotonous road, but it doesn’t help you go any faster.  (BTW, I was listening to “The Drowning Pool” by Ross McDonald, a 1950s detective novel featuring tough guy Lew Archer.  I guessed the killer right away, but the writing was entertaining enough to keep it interesting.)

Distance Today: 82 miles
Total Distance: 2,176 miles

Day 42: Ainsworth, NE to Cody, NE

The day was hot, but I still managed to log a lot of miles thanks to the flat terrain and nothing more than a mild headwind that came and went throughout the day.  I experimented with getting on the Cowboy Trail to see if that was any cooler than riding on the pavement, but it was just as hot (and much dustier).  Strangely, the high point of the day was my third flat tire of the trip.

I stopped for a rest next to the big, electronic sign that was warning of road construction ahead.  At least this bad omen was casting a patch of shade for me to take refuge in for a few minutes before tackling whatever mess was awaiting me.  I woke up surprised to find that I had dozed off for about ten minutes.  Thus refreshed and reinvigorated, I pushed my bike onto the road only to discover the rear tire was flat yet again.  I was expecting this at some point during the day, so I was content that it happened earlier rather than later.  I pulled all the bags off and flipped the bike there on the shoulder.

As I got to work, a pickup truck pulled over and the couple inside got out to ask if I needed any help.  I let them know it was just a flat that I’d have swapped out in short order.  Within five minutes of them leaving, two more passersby checked in to see if I was all right.  I thanked everyone profusely for stopping, and was encouraged that if I ever do get into real trouble that I can be fairly confident that there’ll be a kind person ready to lend a stranger a hand (at least while I’m in Nebraska). 

As I was working I noticed that the rear tire was significantly more worn that the front.  This made sense since it was bearing more weight (i.e. the bulk of my fat ass).  I decided to take the extra time to rotate the tires in hopes that putting the better tire on the rear would cut down on the chances of a flat until I was able to get my new tires.  I was rolling again in about half an hour and feeling a lot more confident (even though I was riding on two patched tubes).  Even better, the construction ended up being nothing more than some nearly completed crack patching.  Sweet!

I was planning to get dinner in Nenzel near the end of the day, but after chatting with a guy and his dog who pulled over to ask about my ride I learned that there was no place to eat there.  Luckily, he clued me in that Cody had a good bar & grill.  He was right!  I had my burger and beer while watching a shifting group of locals playing rapid-fire games of dealer’s choice poker.  It was dark by the time I was finished eating.  The good news was that the city park with camping spots that featured water, electric and showers was just across the street. All I had to do then was dodge the interlaced matrix of laser-like active sprinklers that surrounded the camping area!

What I Learned: The internet is no match for local knowledge!  When you’re a stranger in a strange land talk to people every chance you get.  Let them know what you’re doing and ask stupid questions.  Most everyone I met was more than eager to provide me all sorts of insider information that sometimes contradicted my maps or online research and sometimes gave me better options that I didn’t even know were available.

Distance Today: 81 miles
Total Distance: 2,094 miles

Day 41: O’Neill, NE to Ainsworth, NE

Finally out of corn territory, and into hay country!
~ Click image to view more pics ~

Much like the day before, not a lot of exciting things going on in northern Nebraska.  All I have to offer is a few random observations.

I’m being unfair when I say there was nothing exciting going on.  In O’Neill I did see a sign for Mud Drag Races.  The sign was handwritten with the words so close together that when I first read it I thought it was advertising Mudd Rag Races.  Not sure which of those would be more thrilling to watch.

At some point during the day I crossed into Cowboy Hat Country.  I hadn’t seen any up to yesterday, and today saw at least eight.

I encountered three very unexpected places between the remote towns along lonely route 20.  The first was a municipal golf course.  It was, understandably, empty of golfers on this fine Sunday morning.  I couldn’t imagine there could be more than 20 players within a hundred miles.  Next there was an airport.  The historical* marker explained that it was an Air Force training base during WWII and that ownership reverted to the local township in the 1950s.  Why the town decided to maintain it is beyond me – who’s flying to Empty Hills, Nebraska?  The most impressive, however, was a big sign midway between two towns announcing Racquetball Courts.  Huh?!  If there are only 20 golfers in the area, I can’t imagine there is more than one racquetball player!

What I Learned: Ya gotta love Nebraska!

* Kudos to Nebraska for using the grammatically correct term in their signs announcing “Historical Marker Ahead,” as compared to a few other states where I saw signs alerting visitors to their “Historic Markers.”

Distance Today: 67 miles
Total Distance: 2,013 miles

Day 40: Battle Creek, NE to O’Neill, NE

Today was perfectly uneventful.  I opted to take the road that ran alongside the Cowboy Trail rather than the bike path itself.  As nice as the trail is, I much prefer the speed and smoothness that pavement offers.  Plus, you don’t get as much grit and dust all up in your working parts (this goes for the bike and the rider).  The only real benefit of the trail is that it keeps you away from traffic, but with the shoulder as generous as it is along Routes 275 and 20 that’s not a big concern for me. Maybe if my entire trip was only going across Nebraska, then I’d consider dawdling along the trail, but with somewhere around 1600+ miles still to go I need to churn through the distance as efficiently as I can.

What I Learned: It’s inevitable that you’ll have days where nothing interesting happens at all.

Distance Today: 68 miles
Total Distance: 1,946 miles

Day 39: West Point, NE to Battle Creek, NE

Feeling revived by the arctic conditions of my hotel room, I was on the road before dawn and cruising through the miles like they were nothing.  The morning was cloaked in a heavy fog that lent a surreal atmosphere to the ride.  Better yet, it kept the air cool for at least an hour longer than if it had been clear.

I reached Norfolk (which the locals inexplicably pronounced as Norfork) by 1:00.  My first stop was Cleveland Bike and Sport.  They didn’t have the kind of tires I needed, but I was able to get my shifters and brake cables tightened up.  I asked if they had any Allen wrench sets that weren’t attached to a multi-tool (I like my Alien Tool, but there are some places I just can’t fit it).  They didn’t have any, but the guy rummaged around in his drawer, found a few spares and gave them to me.  Now that’s service.  If you’re ever in Norforlk, stop in there and buy something!

After a leisurely lunch at Whiskey Creek, I headed over to the Ta-Ha-Zouka park (I'm not making that up), which is where the Cowboy Trail bike path begins.  It felt too early to pitch camp, so I decided to ride to the next town 10 miles along the path and camp there.  The trail was paved for a little way then reverted to crushed gravel.  And, of course, it’s flanked by corn fields.

Battle Creek featured a fantastic park with a swimming pool (which thankfully means showers), a couple ball fields, playground, tennis courts, and a nice little gazebo with power outlets that was perfect for setting up a small one-man tent.  A small gaggle of kids discovered me soon after I arrived and a lively Q&A ensued. The younger kids lost interest after about ten minutes and ran off to climb on things, but an older boy named Titus stayed behind.  We talked about marine creatures (mostly whales), Greek mythology, and how he either wanted to join the Navy or become a scientist.  It really is nice to be able to carry on an actual conversation with a young person.

When Titus’ mom came to fetch him, she recommended her favorite restaurant just off Main Street, and insisted that the prime rib was the best.  It wasn’t especially close to the best prime rib I‘ve ever had, but it was good enough to get the job done (with the help of a tasty local brew).  Looming thunderheads stalked me as I headed home to my sheltered tent, but they passed by without dropping any rain on the quiet park that I had all to myself.

What I Learned: The middle of the country has a very loose definition of what constitutes a salad.  At one place I got some lettuce with just two slices of cucumber.  The salad that came with my prime rib consisted of a bowl of shredded lettuce, one carrot stick, and one thin wedge of tomato.  Or it might just be that I’m the only one who ever actually ordered the salad rather than the fried everything else.

Distance Today: 61 miles
Total Distance: 1,876 miles

Day 38: Fremont, NE to West Point, NE

I was envious of Tyson as he broke camp and was ready to roll in about 20 minutes.  At my most efficient, the best I could do was an hour.  I knew part of it was because I was carrying too much in the way extraneous “luxuries,” but there are certain comforts a young guy can live without that an old man like me needs to make a trip like this tolerable.

The ride started out great and I made good time to the town of North Bend, where I had a mail drop waiting for me.  My darling wife sent me a replacement sleeping pad (mine had developed a slow leak that had me re-inflating several times a night), an extra pair of socks, and my new credit card (to replace the one that had been compromised by identity thieves two weeks into my trip).  While I was adding my new toys to my kit and sorting out a few things I wanted to mail back home, I met half the people in town, all of whom wanted to know what I was up to.

One of the folks that talked with me was the woman who wrote for the local paper. She conducted an impromptu interview right there on the sidewalk.  It should give you a good idea of how much excitement there is in this town when I’m considered newsworthy!

The locals warned me off my planned route, informing me that there were a lot of hills and bad road the way I was thinking of going.  With my adjusted course, I set off into the growing heat of the afternoon.  There were still some hills on route 79, but they weren’t bad.  Or they wouldn’t have been if it weren’t for the hot sun sapping my will to move.  My spirit flagged, but just ahead was the town of Webster, which I used as my motivation to continue on, anticipating the cold drinks I’d be able to stock up on there.

When I arrived, it turned out to be a crossroads with a historical marker proclaiming that Webster used to be a place.  Once again, the joke’s on me!  I pushed on until I found a patch of shade by the side of the road and took a break.  When I was ready to get going again, I hopped on the bike only to find out the rear tire was flat again.  No flats for 36 days, and now two in as many days.  Maybe I wasn’t going to like Nebraska as much as I thought I would.

I returned to the shade and performed the necessary surgery, extracting the perfectly triangular sliver of stone that resembled a miniature Indian arrowhead from my tire and installing the tube I had patched the night before.  The combination of a worn out tread and the heat making what rubber was left soft and penetrable was not doing me any favors.  I carefully continued on my way, taking it a little slower than normal in hopes that this would lessen the chances of more punctures.  After ten minutes my rear tire was flat again.

This time it was a new problem.  By that point in the day it was somewhere around 96 degrees.  The road surface was in the 110-degree range.  This was hot enough to melt the glue on the quick-stick patch I had used, allowing the air to leak out.  I found another bit of shade and swapped in my only remaining new tube.  I was able to make it the 7 miles to the town of Snyder without further incident.  After a chicken salad sandwich, an Icee, and a cold, blue Powerade, I sat down and did a proper patch job on my two spare tubes.  The day was still crazy hot, so I opted for a quick nap on the grass before attempting to return to the asphalt sauna.

Things were beginning to cool down into the low 90s by the time I got started again.  I had intended to camp at the Neligh Park campground in West Point, but if I had any hope of recovering from the day’s ordeal I needed air conditioning.  It was a couple miles farther than the park, but the chill embrace of the Super 8 was well worth it!

What I Learned: It only takes about 5 weeks of continuous riding before your legs don't feel sore in the morning.

Distance Today: 44 miles
Total Distance: 1,815 miles

Day 37: Council Bluffs, IA to Fremont, NE

Crossed the Bob Kerrey Pedestrian Bridge over the Missouri River into Omaha first thing in the morning.  It’s a beautiful bridge, and so much better not having to dodge traffic as you cross.  Unfortunately, the memory card on my camera got corrupted and I lost all the pictures I took in Iowa.  Maybe it’s best to forget that leg of the ride anyhow.

Once in Omaha, the regularly scheduled lightning storm hit.  I was happy to be deluged on in exchange for the heat being knocked down a few notches.  There was one very strange moment, though.  As I topped a hill and began coasting down, I was getting soaked by a cold rain and being hit with a hot wind at the same time.  A freaky, but interesting, sensation.

Once I got loose of the city and onto the travelin’ roads happiness filled my cyclist soul.  Not only did Nebraska have shoulders, but they were wide and smooth!  They had somehow managed to figure out how to put the rumble strip right on the whit line so it didn’t get in anyone’s way.  And they were also kind enough to make their hills quite manageable.  Nebraska rules!

I made it to the Fremont Lakes Recreation Area after a solid day of sweaty riding.  My campsite was on the shore of a lake and I jumped in before setting camp.  What an awesome way to finish the day!  A few minutes later I was being hailed from the shore.  I looked up and saw a cyclist with a loaded touring bike.  Holy unexpected encounters, Batman!

Tyson introduced himself and we exchanged the requisite information about where we were coming from and going to.  He was a seasoned touring rider, and had been overseas biking through Turkey and Southeast Asia.  He was in the process of riding through one of the “stans” (Tajikistan, maybe?), when he had to come back to keep his passport active.  Instead of flying home to Seattle, he opted to fly to New York and ride home from there.  Bad ass!

We set up camp, he took a dip, and we chatted some more.  We got into the inevitable gear talk, and I made the mistake of bragging about how I hadn’t had a single flat tire yet.  When the conversation turned to tire widths, we went over to my bike to check out what size mine were (I wasn’t entirely sure), and guess what we found: I had a flat rear tire!  On closer inspection, it turns out that after 2,000 miles my tires were worn through.  I managed to find the little chunk of glass that had burrowed into the tread, and had the tire inflated and remounted in no time.  I then repaired the punctured tube with a quick-stick patch, and was back in business.  Or so I thought.

What I Learned: Don’t remove the tire from the rim until after you figure out where the tube is punctured.  This way you can quickly determine about where the intruding object is without having to search the entire tire.

Distance Today: 45 miles
Total Distance: 1,771 miles

Day 36: Bridgewater, IA to Council Bluffs, IA

I had a lot of miles to cover, so I was on the road by 6:00 AM.  There was nothing between Bridgewater and Council Bluffs except a couple of gas stations.  I was tooling along at a pretty good clip for the first hour, then I saw the dreaded sign: “Road Construction Ahead.”  I made a plea to the fates for a small bridge project or a single lane fix.  What I got, obviously, was a chewed up, grooved road.  Both lanes.

After two miles of this I came across the road grinding machine parked on a side road.  I was encouraged that this signaled I was close to the end of the messed up section of road.  Au contraire, mon frère.  The crappy, bumpy, gravelly pavement went on for another 10 miles.  The road destruction was apparently working its way west to east.  The rough road alone would have been difficult enough, but to add the incessant series of Iowa hills into the mix was nothing short of cruel punishment. 

When I finally hit smooth pavement, I was ecstatic...for about ten minutes.  That’s when the heat and wind conspired to pick up the torture where the construction left off.  Undertaking an adventure like this invariably comes with obstacles – if it didn’t, it wouldn’t be a true test of one’s will and perseverance, which is part of the driving motivation for doing something as crazy as this.  The real challenge, however, is dealing with situations where you are faced with multiple obstacles at once.  A little headwind: buckle down and fight through it.  Scorching heat: embrace the suck, hydrate, and go forward.  A grueling series of hills: conquer each of them one at a time while reminding yourself you’ve faced bigger climbs.  But when you’re up against a headwind in a withering heat while crawling up one hill after another this is true gut check time. 

I wish I could tell you that I passed that gut check on this day, but I can’t.  Sometime around three o’clock I began doing some calculations.  I’d reached the point where I was only riding about halfway up each hill before dismounting and walking my bike to the summit.  I could have stayed on the bike to the top of each of these hills, but the expenditure of energy wasn’t worth the small gain of time.  I knew it was going to be a long day, and I needed to conserve some strength for later.  At the rate I was going compared to the distance I had remaining, I figured I’d get into Council Bluffs somewhere around 2:00 AM, if I was lucky.  This was not going to work.

It’s dangerous enough riding in full daylight, and I made a decision early on that I wasn’t going to ride after sundown.  I have a headlamp and a forward white flasher, but neither is sufficient to allow me to ride in the dark.  I decided to stop at the next town and camp, even though I really wanted to get to the border and out of Iowa as expeditiously as possible.  After twenty more minutes, I realized that even achieving this modest goal was going to be a trying effort.  That’s when I swallowed my pride and stuck out my thumb.

About twenty pick-up trucks passed me before one pulled over.  The guy asked where I was going, and I said as close to Council Bluffs as he could take me.  Turns out he was going through there on his way to Nebraska.  Jackpot!  I threw my bike in the back and hopped into the air-conditioned cab.  My wounded pride was immediately salved by the plush seat and the cold air.

The guy’s name was Brad Riepe and he was about the coolest guy I could have asked for to give me a lift.  Turns out he builds custom hot rods, and was famous for his 1969 Plymouth Road Runner “Roadkill.”  My lack of detailed car knowledge made me almost want to turn in my man card, but he was just as impressed by what I was doing as I was by what he did, so it all balanced out.  As we sped effortlessly over one hill after another, I became more and more convinced that I had made the right choice.  Plus, it was almost exciting to get to ride in a vehicle for the first time in over a month!

Brad dropped me off at the east edge of the city by a bike path, and I rode five miles more to a hotel near the pedestrian bridge that crosses the Missouri River into Omaha. 

What I Learned: Iowa is by far the worst state I’ve encountered so far for cycling.  No shoulders, a dearth of paved roads, and unforgiving terrain make for some very unpleasant riding.  Maybe northern Iowa is better, but when you decide to ride across the country, I strongly recommend that you give Iowa a skip!  Also, resorting to the indignity of asking for help can lead to some very good things.

Distance Today: 38 miles (+ a 30 mile lift)
Total Distance: 1,726 miles