At long last, we are ready to release the trip video. The 'footage' was taken with my SLR camera...caution, may contain words that rhyme with "truck" and have freak nudity.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9yvXrQ1DgzU
Monday, November 2, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Done
Yup we're done. We are all now enjoying our celebrity status, getting recognized by fans wherever we go. Some of us have decided to pursue television opportunities while Grant here has decided to pursue his rap music career. Check him out in his debut hit.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Toronto, Canada - Some final farewell shots
So here we go. All great things must come to an end, and it has been a wonderfully challenging, epic adventure. And we did it! But not without the generosity, kindness and help from dozens of people at home and on the trail. Thanks for joining us on our adventure, it's been a grand one.
I'm sure with a bit of time to digest the trip each of us will post some closing thoughts and advice for future riders.
I'll have a video on YouTube in about a months time, and we'll put together a slideshow in Taupo for the end of October if you're in town.
Adios!
I'm sure with a bit of time to digest the trip each of us will post some closing thoughts and advice for future riders.
I'll have a video on YouTube in about a months time, and we'll put together a slideshow in Taupo for the end of October if you're in town.
Adios!
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Phoenix, Arizona. Antelope Wells: Been there, done that.
Just a quick update because we are all off to the airport in a couple of hours or so.
We made it to Antelope Wells on the dot of 10 am yesterday, after leaving Silver City about 14 hours earlier. Riding through the night did indeed eventuate to being the inspired and memorable way to end the journey that we had hoped for.
It was not a walk in the park by any means. With the five of us riding with camping quality headlamps, and with Ryan's and Trystan's failing early, lighting was in short supply over the 40 mile sand road section. This section was for the most part fast and fun, but invisible sand traps every now and again were cause for many a close call.
Riding through the night, when the body is tuned to resting, was not surprisingly tough. At times I found myself playing games to see how much of the time I could ride with my eyes closed (thankfully I never lost). Arriving in Hachita, 46 miles short of our destination, at 4am, we allowed ourselves a "sleep" on the concrete basketball court until 5.30am, at which time we made our final assault. Counting down the mile markers - the 30's, 20's, 10's, and single digits (!!), there was no doubt we were looking forward to the finish. Only some goat head punctures, interesting wildlife (including a couple of dead rattlers, a tortoise, tarantula (maybe?), and about a billion grasshoppers), and Ben and Ryan kissing the pavement just 8 miles short, delayed our arrival.
124 miles later, five tired, relieved, and satisfied cyclists rolled into Antelope Wells, which indeed lived up to the expectation of being not much at all. Just a small border crossing, a few trees, and an endless border fence.
A shuttle ride and a sleep later, and right now we are in an uncomfortably hot Phoenix, glad to be spending an minimal amount of time here. Phoenix is the means to an end - somehow the most convenient way to get out of this country.
Trystan is going to put up some photos when he gets the chance and no doubt there will be a few more closing entries to come. By tonight, Ben and Trystan will be in Toronto, and Simon, Ryan and I will be back in Vancouver. If just for a brief while.
Great Divide, check.
We made it to Antelope Wells on the dot of 10 am yesterday, after leaving Silver City about 14 hours earlier. Riding through the night did indeed eventuate to being the inspired and memorable way to end the journey that we had hoped for.
It was not a walk in the park by any means. With the five of us riding with camping quality headlamps, and with Ryan's and Trystan's failing early, lighting was in short supply over the 40 mile sand road section. This section was for the most part fast and fun, but invisible sand traps every now and again were cause for many a close call.
Riding through the night, when the body is tuned to resting, was not surprisingly tough. At times I found myself playing games to see how much of the time I could ride with my eyes closed (thankfully I never lost). Arriving in Hachita, 46 miles short of our destination, at 4am, we allowed ourselves a "sleep" on the concrete basketball court until 5.30am, at which time we made our final assault. Counting down the mile markers - the 30's, 20's, 10's, and single digits (!!), there was no doubt we were looking forward to the finish. Only some goat head punctures, interesting wildlife (including a couple of dead rattlers, a tortoise, tarantula (maybe?), and about a billion grasshoppers), and Ben and Ryan kissing the pavement just 8 miles short, delayed our arrival.
124 miles later, five tired, relieved, and satisfied cyclists rolled into Antelope Wells, which indeed lived up to the expectation of being not much at all. Just a small border crossing, a few trees, and an endless border fence.
A shuttle ride and a sleep later, and right now we are in an uncomfortably hot Phoenix, glad to be spending an minimal amount of time here. Phoenix is the means to an end - somehow the most convenient way to get out of this country.
Trystan is going to put up some photos when he gets the chance and no doubt there will be a few more closing entries to come. By tonight, Ben and Trystan will be in Toronto, and Simon, Ryan and I will be back in Vancouver. If just for a brief while.
Great Divide, check.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Silver City - we are drawing this one out!
Alright all you Spot Stalkers out there. Yes, we are still in Silver City. But in just 17 or so hours time we will be 124 miles away from here, five sweaty and smelly bodies rolling into a sweet All-American Cadillac sedan (I would almost call it a limousine) "with cold air conditioning" and being shuttled (chauffeured) to Phoenix AZ some 300 or so miles away.
But before then, we will have rode our bikes through the night - all 124 miles of it - from Silver City to the big smoke that is Antelope Wells. If this seems like a silly idea I can assure you we have conjured up some worthy justifications: We miss the oppressive day time heat, we get to knock out 124 miles in one go which is pretty cool, and even better we get to ditch our "beloved" Bobs for this final stint by not breaking the ride into two days - ah freedom at last! But perhaps most important of all, Matthew Lee rode 29 hours straight in his final stint to win the Tour Divide 2009 (the race along the same route), and in our efforts to be more like him the least we can do have the experience riding through the night to Antelope Wells.
So come 7 pm tonight, some cheap but satisfying mexican burrittos in our stomach, maybe a coffee and a coke or two, we will be on our way, headlamps at the ready, for what should be one hell of a way to finish this epic adventure.
But first we will have said goodbye to yet more local heros. This time is is Jamie, who's flat we have been staying at for the last two days, after finding him at the local bike shop on our arrival to Silver City. Jamie raced the Tour Divide this year on a whim and is quite the local legend. His flat is also nearing legendary status as a shrine to all things bicycles, with all five flatmates having an un-natural attachment to bicycles. Within moments of meeting us, Jamie had offered up his front yard for us (which quickly turned into unrestricted use of his flat) and being right near the down-town of Silver City the location is perfect. Jamie's flat has been a base for us as we have made and re-made our final plans. We also have his buddy and fellow local-legend, Jeff, to thank for our new ride to Phoenix, not to mention helping us out in many other ways to ensure a smooth departure. Legends! (And Simon, I don't use that term loosely!)
But before then, we will have rode our bikes through the night - all 124 miles of it - from Silver City to the big smoke that is Antelope Wells. If this seems like a silly idea I can assure you we have conjured up some worthy justifications: We miss the oppressive day time heat, we get to knock out 124 miles in one go which is pretty cool, and even better we get to ditch our "beloved" Bobs for this final stint by not breaking the ride into two days - ah freedom at last! But perhaps most important of all, Matthew Lee rode 29 hours straight in his final stint to win the Tour Divide 2009 (the race along the same route), and in our efforts to be more like him the least we can do have the experience riding through the night to Antelope Wells.
So come 7 pm tonight, some cheap but satisfying mexican burrittos in our stomach, maybe a coffee and a coke or two, we will be on our way, headlamps at the ready, for what should be one hell of a way to finish this epic adventure.
But first we will have said goodbye to yet more local heros. This time is is Jamie, who's flat we have been staying at for the last two days, after finding him at the local bike shop on our arrival to Silver City. Jamie raced the Tour Divide this year on a whim and is quite the local legend. His flat is also nearing legendary status as a shrine to all things bicycles, with all five flatmates having an un-natural attachment to bicycles. Within moments of meeting us, Jamie had offered up his front yard for us (which quickly turned into unrestricted use of his flat) and being right near the down-town of Silver City the location is perfect. Jamie's flat has been a base for us as we have made and re-made our final plans. We also have his buddy and fellow local-legend, Jeff, to thank for our new ride to Phoenix, not to mention helping us out in many other ways to ensure a smooth departure. Legends! (And Simon, I don't use that term loosely!)
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Silver City, NM - Photo's 1
So we'll finish off the blog with a good load of pictures. Remember that these are worth 1000 words each. Enjoy!
Falling for the chicken sandwich trap
[Warning - content will offend the offendable]
Following on from a couple of days in Pie Town where eating too much pie was the least of our indiscretions, the timing of our next cultural experience could not have been better. And in hindsight, given we were in the Southern US, this experience should have come as no surprise.
An hour or so away from our planned campsite for the night, we found ourselves in need of a top up of water to see us through the night and to the next water certainty, some fifty miles away. And after passing several windmills, all broken down, it was time to stop in at a ranch house. Passing by one uninviting residence, the next one looked just the ticket. Dropping in, I got the now familiar smiling welcome - and "yes you are most welcome to fill up your water, it tastes a little like gypsum or maybe sulphur but otherwise it it fine."
Within moments a young lady is at the door offering us cantaloupe, and yes that rock melon is delicious. With the five of us now swarming, the too-good-to-refuse offer to come in for a chicken sandwich is made - "there is plenty to go around" - how could we refuse such a generous offer? So while the dinner is being prepared, we sit outside talking to the helpful Granddad about our route, getting his local tips on what we can expect to find. A few grand children pop there head out the door every now and again, and all seems well in the world. Little do we know but the trap has been set, and the bait has proved to be more than palatable.
With the call for dinner made, we head in, to be greeted by three generations - with some of the family visiting it was quite the lively little residence. With the five of us getting a seat at the table along with the granddad and one of his son-in-laws, while the grandmother, mothers, and children sat away by themselves in the corner, it was quickly becoming clear we had made quite the far step to the right. The Granddad said Grace, and we tucked into our quite delicious chicken sandwiches over very brief small-talk about the ranching and such.
"So, are you church-going folk?" Bang, straight out with it. Trystan danced around the question while the rest of us muttered and mumbled nothing much.
And what follows is a very rough transcript which gives the gist of our two hour conversation with the Pastor of the local church:
"Well, then do you know you are going to heaven?"
"Um, well, no-one can know that"
"But I know I am going to heaven"
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because it is in the Bible, which is God's word, and if you accept Jesus into your hearts all your sins will be forgiven and you will know that you will go to heaven too. Let me quote from John, Chapter..." Or something to that effect.
"But I do good things in my life, I try to be good to people, is that not enough?"
"No, we are all sinners, and not letting Jesus into your heart is the greatest sin of all. If you will not let Jesus into your hearts you will go straight to hell".
"What if I murder someone and then let Jesus into my heart?"
"Jesus will forgive you and you will got to Heaven"
"Great, but if I don't let Jesus into my heart, what will Hell be like?"
"It is in the centre of the earth - you would have read about how hot it is down there in your science books - it is not a very nice place"
"So how do we avoid going to hell?"
"By letting the Lord into your heart and asking for forgiveness of your sins. You don't want to go to hell do you?"
Ryan: "I am not afraid."
And so the conversation with this, the most fundamentalist of fundamentalist Christians, continued. We poked and prodded this gentleman for what we saw as holes in his argument but it was no good. His logic was too sound.
"How do you know the Bible is God's word, how do you know it is the truth?"
"Because the Bible says it is Gods word and therefore it is the truth" This guy was bread and butter for both the Richard Dawkins and John Cornwell types.
"But what about all the other religions, why can they not be the truth?"
"Because only the Bible professes to be God's word."
"What if you were born in the middle of Africa or Asia, or any other non-Christian part of the world - would you go to Hell without even knowing about the possibility of being allowed into Heaven?"
"I truly believe that if want to let Jesus into your heart then Jesus will find you"
"But where is the evidence that the bible is the sole truth? We are all educated, we have studied science and such, and there is a quite rigorous process to follow when it comes to proving something as fact. And that is simply not possible to do with the Bible"
"Have you actually read the bible?"
"Well, no"
"Then how can you say it is not God's word"
"Well, fair point, I guess we should at least read the bible before we can dismiss it as not being an entirely factual account. "
Perhaps he had us there, but after discussions about what heaven is like "You know about the Hubble telescope, Heaven is beyond where it can see", the importance of being baptized "Nowhere in the bible does it say you need to be baptized", and many, many references to verse from the bible (with the daughter by his side to facilitate with appropriate passages) it was time for the big question before he would let us go:
"So, will let Jesus into your hearts, will you let Him save you?"
"Yes, yes of course, now can we have a second helping of icecream cake?" No, I made that up, but that is perhaps what we should have said. We said no, we could not make such a decision on the spot, we would need time to mull this one over. But could he just be satisfied that he will have prompted much discussion amongst the group? Apparently not, but somehow we declined to be saved, and graciously declined the offer of a camp on the front lawn and breakfast in the morning.
Back on our bikes, and in the now dark, we made it maybe two miles down the road, just far enough to be out of sight before making camp for the night. He sure did prompt no shortage of discussion, but sadly for our Pastor he had no converts on this occasion. However, with Ben in charge of the Bible we were kindly given, who knows. I have already seen Ben reading the good book in many a spare moment and I sense a turning point is coming...
Yes, we fell right into his trap, which he openly admitted. If I send just one addenda to the Adventure Cycling Association for the Great Divide Route, it will be this one: "Mile 48.2 [or wherever it was]: Ranch house on left. Chicken sandwiches for all. No strings attached. Enjoy."
Or maybe not.
Following on from a couple of days in Pie Town where eating too much pie was the least of our indiscretions, the timing of our next cultural experience could not have been better. And in hindsight, given we were in the Southern US, this experience should have come as no surprise.
An hour or so away from our planned campsite for the night, we found ourselves in need of a top up of water to see us through the night and to the next water certainty, some fifty miles away. And after passing several windmills, all broken down, it was time to stop in at a ranch house. Passing by one uninviting residence, the next one looked just the ticket. Dropping in, I got the now familiar smiling welcome - and "yes you are most welcome to fill up your water, it tastes a little like gypsum or maybe sulphur but otherwise it it fine."
Within moments a young lady is at the door offering us cantaloupe, and yes that rock melon is delicious. With the five of us now swarming, the too-good-to-refuse offer to come in for a chicken sandwich is made - "there is plenty to go around" - how could we refuse such a generous offer? So while the dinner is being prepared, we sit outside talking to the helpful Granddad about our route, getting his local tips on what we can expect to find. A few grand children pop there head out the door every now and again, and all seems well in the world. Little do we know but the trap has been set, and the bait has proved to be more than palatable.
With the call for dinner made, we head in, to be greeted by three generations - with some of the family visiting it was quite the lively little residence. With the five of us getting a seat at the table along with the granddad and one of his son-in-laws, while the grandmother, mothers, and children sat away by themselves in the corner, it was quickly becoming clear we had made quite the far step to the right. The Granddad said Grace, and we tucked into our quite delicious chicken sandwiches over very brief small-talk about the ranching and such.
"So, are you church-going folk?" Bang, straight out with it. Trystan danced around the question while the rest of us muttered and mumbled nothing much.
And what follows is a very rough transcript which gives the gist of our two hour conversation with the Pastor of the local church:
"Well, then do you know you are going to heaven?"
"Um, well, no-one can know that"
"But I know I am going to heaven"
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because it is in the Bible, which is God's word, and if you accept Jesus into your hearts all your sins will be forgiven and you will know that you will go to heaven too. Let me quote from John, Chapter..." Or something to that effect.
"But I do good things in my life, I try to be good to people, is that not enough?"
"No, we are all sinners, and not letting Jesus into your heart is the greatest sin of all. If you will not let Jesus into your hearts you will go straight to hell".
"What if I murder someone and then let Jesus into my heart?"
"Jesus will forgive you and you will got to Heaven"
"Great, but if I don't let Jesus into my heart, what will Hell be like?"
"It is in the centre of the earth - you would have read about how hot it is down there in your science books - it is not a very nice place"
"So how do we avoid going to hell?"
"By letting the Lord into your heart and asking for forgiveness of your sins. You don't want to go to hell do you?"
Ryan: "I am not afraid."
And so the conversation with this, the most fundamentalist of fundamentalist Christians, continued. We poked and prodded this gentleman for what we saw as holes in his argument but it was no good. His logic was too sound.
"How do you know the Bible is God's word, how do you know it is the truth?"
"Because the Bible says it is Gods word and therefore it is the truth" This guy was bread and butter for both the Richard Dawkins and John Cornwell types.
"But what about all the other religions, why can they not be the truth?"
"Because only the Bible professes to be God's word."
"What if you were born in the middle of Africa or Asia, or any other non-Christian part of the world - would you go to Hell without even knowing about the possibility of being allowed into Heaven?"
"I truly believe that if want to let Jesus into your heart then Jesus will find you"
"But where is the evidence that the bible is the sole truth? We are all educated, we have studied science and such, and there is a quite rigorous process to follow when it comes to proving something as fact. And that is simply not possible to do with the Bible"
"Have you actually read the bible?"
"Well, no"
"Then how can you say it is not God's word"
"Well, fair point, I guess we should at least read the bible before we can dismiss it as not being an entirely factual account. "
Perhaps he had us there, but after discussions about what heaven is like "You know about the Hubble telescope, Heaven is beyond where it can see", the importance of being baptized "Nowhere in the bible does it say you need to be baptized", and many, many references to verse from the bible (with the daughter by his side to facilitate with appropriate passages) it was time for the big question before he would let us go:
"So, will let Jesus into your hearts, will you let Him save you?"
"Yes, yes of course, now can we have a second helping of icecream cake?" No, I made that up, but that is perhaps what we should have said. We said no, we could not make such a decision on the spot, we would need time to mull this one over. But could he just be satisfied that he will have prompted much discussion amongst the group? Apparently not, but somehow we declined to be saved, and graciously declined the offer of a camp on the front lawn and breakfast in the morning.
Back on our bikes, and in the now dark, we made it maybe two miles down the road, just far enough to be out of sight before making camp for the night. He sure did prompt no shortage of discussion, but sadly for our Pastor he had no converts on this occasion. However, with Ben in charge of the Bible we were kindly given, who knows. I have already seen Ben reading the good book in many a spare moment and I sense a turning point is coming...
Yes, we fell right into his trap, which he openly admitted. If I send just one addenda to the Adventure Cycling Association for the Great Divide Route, it will be this one: "Mile 48.2 [or wherever it was]: Ranch house on left. Chicken sandwiches for all. No strings attached. Enjoy."
Or maybe not.
Silver City, NM - Houdini the Desert Tiger, as promissed
Gibby, I can only imagine what Scotty would have done...but this isn't Survivor Man, and you'd have to get through way too much soft white fluff before getting any nutritious meat out of the little guy.
Pie Town, NM - Gettin Pied in Pie Town
Greetings from Pie Town New Mexico. The theme for blog my entries seem to follow directly as a result of a team mate pulling a red card. This red card came right out of left field as Grant the least likely of all of us, threw down his down with conviction. Unfortunately he does not remember his bold act as a result of over serving himself with Libations. Here is where I must end my description of the events as Grant views the story as defamation of character where as I only see it as the inflammation of character. OH-well another example of this eclectic group of individuals.
All that aside, what was only going to be a lunch stop in the middle of New Mexico turned into two days of good times spent with good people. The characters in this small mountainous hamlet include an old cowboy named Jim, a mother to all named Nita, a wondering soul named Meagan, a cook named Tye and the multitasking multi talented Pie maker named Cathy. Once again small town America, shows us its vibrancy in soul and character.
Originally a supply stop on the railway, one famed Pie Maker was responsible for the naming of this town by simply being really good at what he did, Pies. We were flooded with quotes like "Pie will set you free" and "in Pie we trust" and my favourite "Pie Town, a little slice of heaven". Nita who has an overwhelming motherly presence has taken it upon herself to provide housing and friendship for any and all travelers who are looking. So we stayed at her guest house which is known as the toaster house for its collection of derelict toasters. Many travelers have graced this house as testament to the guest log book. Interestingly many travelers do not sign there real names to the book, instead they use an alternate name or "trail name" usually bestowed upon an individual while they are on there journey or "tangent" from real life. Here is where I would like to re introduce our group of five.
Ben Lennon, so named for his amazing musical talents and candid sunglasses that just scream Yoko. While in Pie town I personally witnessed him communicating thru music a language I cannot understand, but have great respect for. Ben Lennon is constantly looking for peace, fighting the battle within.
Terminator or T1K. Formed from molten mercury, formerly known as Grant. Deadlines and schedules being of the utmost importance this gentleman is largely credited with getting the group this far down the trail. Mechanical in his movements and attitudes this man does make eye contact or change his cadence for anything. A hard nut to crack, the terminator has made great advances in making human contact.
Kroger or T-pain, who some of you may remember as Trystan. Logistics coordinator extraordinaire this man is on the ball. Often the lynch pin in holding down the group as one. Constantly oiling the machine this man keeps us rolling smoothly. From Bleeding dark places to aching knees this man knows the pain, and is OK with it. The Kroger name has come from his affinity for this name brand found throughout the U.S. From wound spray to cough drops and don't forget phone cards this guy is a company man(who knew).
Simon has desperately tried to attain the name of Money and I have asked to be called the Ice-Man. Unfortunately these handles have not stuck yet but we will continue our efforts in pushing our alter ego's.
Thanks Pie town for all the trail magic. "We came for the Pie and stayed for the Goat cheese" (sorry if that doesn't make sense, had to be there.)
Anyway thanks again for tuning in. I only write these entries because of the overwhelming response we have had from everybody. 100 hits a day according to the T1K, so keep on comin back as we wind down this little journey down to Mexico. Later
Ice-Man (or maybe just call me Bocephus, or perhaps Shithead or maybe just by my more common place surname. I don't care, just don't call me late for diner)
All that aside, what was only going to be a lunch stop in the middle of New Mexico turned into two days of good times spent with good people. The characters in this small mountainous hamlet include an old cowboy named Jim, a mother to all named Nita, a wondering soul named Meagan, a cook named Tye and the multitasking multi talented Pie maker named Cathy. Once again small town America, shows us its vibrancy in soul and character.
Originally a supply stop on the railway, one famed Pie Maker was responsible for the naming of this town by simply being really good at what he did, Pies. We were flooded with quotes like "Pie will set you free" and "in Pie we trust" and my favourite "Pie Town, a little slice of heaven". Nita who has an overwhelming motherly presence has taken it upon herself to provide housing and friendship for any and all travelers who are looking. So we stayed at her guest house which is known as the toaster house for its collection of derelict toasters. Many travelers have graced this house as testament to the guest log book. Interestingly many travelers do not sign there real names to the book, instead they use an alternate name or "trail name" usually bestowed upon an individual while they are on there journey or "tangent" from real life. Here is where I would like to re introduce our group of five.
Ben Lennon, so named for his amazing musical talents and candid sunglasses that just scream Yoko. While in Pie town I personally witnessed him communicating thru music a language I cannot understand, but have great respect for. Ben Lennon is constantly looking for peace, fighting the battle within.
Terminator or T1K. Formed from molten mercury, formerly known as Grant. Deadlines and schedules being of the utmost importance this gentleman is largely credited with getting the group this far down the trail. Mechanical in his movements and attitudes this man does make eye contact or change his cadence for anything. A hard nut to crack, the terminator has made great advances in making human contact.
Kroger or T-pain, who some of you may remember as Trystan. Logistics coordinator extraordinaire this man is on the ball. Often the lynch pin in holding down the group as one. Constantly oiling the machine this man keeps us rolling smoothly. From Bleeding dark places to aching knees this man knows the pain, and is OK with it. The Kroger name has come from his affinity for this name brand found throughout the U.S. From wound spray to cough drops and don't forget phone cards this guy is a company man(who knew).
Simon has desperately tried to attain the name of Money and I have asked to be called the Ice-Man. Unfortunately these handles have not stuck yet but we will continue our efforts in pushing our alter ego's.
Thanks Pie town for all the trail magic. "We came for the Pie and stayed for the Goat cheese" (sorry if that doesn't make sense, had to be there.)
Anyway thanks again for tuning in. I only write these entries because of the overwhelming response we have had from everybody. 100 hits a day according to the T1K, so keep on comin back as we wind down this little journey down to Mexico. Later
Ice-Man (or maybe just call me Bocephus, or perhaps Shithead or maybe just by my more common place surname. I don't care, just don't call me late for diner)
Silver City - New Mexico. Some pics
The first pic aside, here are a few from our time in New Mexico:
Found on the side of the road a few miles south of Doyleville Colorado, which is about 40 miles out of Salida. Tim and Wendy, aka Wings and Roots: awesome!
Yeah, I'm not sure either.
Ben Lennon
Sport camping at the front entrance of the El Malpais Ranger Station
Pie town: Simon displaying a lack of confidence in Trystan's barbecuing skills.
Pie town: Jim, cowboy - the real deal, and musician - the real deal too.
You come across a forest fire - what do you do? Go play in it of course.
New Mexico: Green
New Mexico: Hot and desolate
New Mexico: Wet and cool
New Mexico: Mines
New Mexico: Diverse.
Found on the side of the road a few miles south of Doyleville Colorado, which is about 40 miles out of Salida. Tim and Wendy, aka Wings and Roots: awesome!Yeah, I'm not sure either.Ben LennonSport camping at the front entrance of the El Malpais Ranger StationPie town: Simon displaying a lack of confidence in Trystan's barbecuing skills.Pie town: Jim, cowboy - the real deal, and musician - the real deal too.You come across a forest fire - what do you do? Go play in it of course.New Mexico: GreenNew Mexico: Hot and desolateNew Mexico: Wet and coolNew Mexico: MinesNew Mexico: Diverse.Friday, August 14, 2009
Grants, NM - Houdini the Desert Tiger
To my great dismay, I am not able to upload photos from this library, and in this case...a picture (or video is worth 1000 words)...but I may as well the story regardless, and then, I'll upload the images of Houdini-the-Desert-Tiger from Silver City in four days, I promise.
So after Grant's email with all the statistics including average heart rate, water consumption per degree per hour and spoke thermal expansion rates.... it is likely that female readership approval ratings have plummeted to levels reminiscent of G. W. Bush in 2007.
However, with my powers of prose, I hope to keep the final stragglers that have somehow held on and defied all odds.
So in Cuba, Grant decided to steal ahead and get a head start. And after some tall bottles of cold beer at the School Gazebo and some stories with a Texan, the rest of us headed off into the desert. But even at 5 pm, it was very hot for our Canadian blood, and riding was still a struggle. So we picked a good hill on the horizon, and committed to having a good break at the top.
Once we pulled over some 15 miles into the desert and wiped the sweat from our brows, we hear a "meow" and out runs the most threadbare, fluffy, dirty and scrawny little kitten that we've ever seen. Houdini, as he would soon be Christened, crossed the hot pavement and started trotting towards us as fast as his little legs could carry him....and in a paternal moment that hard-lining feminist sociologist may deny exists, Simon runs across the road, arms stretch completely enamoured yelling "kitty, kitty, kitty"....it was a breathtaking scene.
But little Houdini was terribly thirsty and even raced over to Ryan and he was relieving himself of the cold beer he had recently enjoyed, and so we fed this little guy as much water as his body could take and decided, and decided that he'd be coming with us.
And so he did. This little kitten travelled some 70 miles with us and was carried in Simon's handlebar bag, Bougie's vest and finally, into Bougie's rear pannier where his little head was sticking out like a golden retriever our a car window. On our first night with Houdini, he curled up into Simon's silk liner and spent most of the time pushing and pulling on it, happier that a pig in shit. It was a beautiful sight.
But, despite ideas of getting him cleaned up, and shots, and smuggling our little survivor over the border, we decided that we better see if we could find him a good home if possible. And as fate would have it, after our second day with Houdini happily riding in the pannier, we stopped at the bar for a much needed cold beer, and as it turns out, the bar had several desert cats that they fed daily....and so, with a parting "meow" and a couple a false escapes, we reluctantly parted with this little guy...it was a sad night after, and as we hammered into the truck stop buffet, few words were exchanged but the air was full of man-mourning.
Hang in there till you see this guy in action, I'll even try uploading a video...if you're lucky.
So after Grant's email with all the statistics including average heart rate, water consumption per degree per hour and spoke thermal expansion rates.... it is likely that female readership approval ratings have plummeted to levels reminiscent of G. W. Bush in 2007.
However, with my powers of prose, I hope to keep the final stragglers that have somehow held on and defied all odds.
So in Cuba, Grant decided to steal ahead and get a head start. And after some tall bottles of cold beer at the School Gazebo and some stories with a Texan, the rest of us headed off into the desert. But even at 5 pm, it was very hot for our Canadian blood, and riding was still a struggle. So we picked a good hill on the horizon, and committed to having a good break at the top.
Once we pulled over some 15 miles into the desert and wiped the sweat from our brows, we hear a "meow" and out runs the most threadbare, fluffy, dirty and scrawny little kitten that we've ever seen. Houdini, as he would soon be Christened, crossed the hot pavement and started trotting towards us as fast as his little legs could carry him....and in a paternal moment that hard-lining feminist sociologist may deny exists, Simon runs across the road, arms stretch completely enamoured yelling "kitty, kitty, kitty"....it was a breathtaking scene.
But little Houdini was terribly thirsty and even raced over to Ryan and he was relieving himself of the cold beer he had recently enjoyed, and so we fed this little guy as much water as his body could take and decided, and decided that he'd be coming with us.
And so he did. This little kitten travelled some 70 miles with us and was carried in Simon's handlebar bag, Bougie's vest and finally, into Bougie's rear pannier where his little head was sticking out like a golden retriever our a car window. On our first night with Houdini, he curled up into Simon's silk liner and spent most of the time pushing and pulling on it, happier that a pig in shit. It was a beautiful sight.
But, despite ideas of getting him cleaned up, and shots, and smuggling our little survivor over the border, we decided that we better see if we could find him a good home if possible. And as fate would have it, after our second day with Houdini happily riding in the pannier, we stopped at the bar for a much needed cold beer, and as it turns out, the bar had several desert cats that they fed daily....and so, with a parting "meow" and a couple a false escapes, we reluctantly parted with this little guy...it was a sad night after, and as we hammered into the truck stop buffet, few words were exchanged but the air was full of man-mourning.
Hang in there till you see this guy in action, I'll even try uploading a video...if you're lucky.
Grants - and welcome to New Mexico
Hello from Grants, New Mexico. This is in fact the third Grants we have passed through or by on this entire trip and I note we have not been through or near a single Trystan, Ben, Simon, or Ryan. Is this something to boast about? Probably not. The first in Montana was a dot in the map that we skirted around the side, and the second in Yellowstone was the biggest campground I have ever seen. This, the third Grants, population 11 thousand or so, is a boom/ bust mining and now services town, its survival appearing to be due to its location on the infamous Route 66. Aside from hotels, workshops, and food joints, sprawled along and around the highways which dominate, there does not seem to be a whole lot going on here.
Since our vacation from our vacation, one of the themes has been the high passes. Finally getting Marshall Pass out of the way (no pass has ever been so needlessly revered for so long), all the while the biggest of them all, Indiana, lurked in the background. As it turned out, Indiana was typical of the Colorado climbs, being of a steady gradient on good gravel roads, only a bit longer and loftier than the rest. However, it is the un-named passes that can often prove to be the nastiest of surprises - in this case the climb up to "Junction of FR27 and FR144" was the biggest, baddest, and yet coolest climb of the trip. Taking us from the Old-Mexico town of Abiquiu, set in red rock country, all the way up into the sub-alpine forests, some of the greenest of the entire journey, along roads which varied from gravel, to loose rock, to slickrock. This climb had it all, except for an abundance of water.
Shortly before entering New Mexico we were lucky enough (according to the guide book) to watch the black smoke belching tourist steam train of the Cumbres & Toltec Scenic Railroad come right past, complete with eardrum piercing whistle, as made its way back and forth between the states of Colorado and New Mexico. The penny-on-the-track trick was a necessity, though Trystan, in a display of wealth, put up an entire quarter.
The two-stage welcome to New Mexico: Entering New Mexico in the same way as we have entered most of the other states, i.e. on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, just looking at the scenery you would have thought you were still in Colorado. That is, except for the roads. Where washboarded gravel roads was the worst it generally got in Colorado, we were almost immediately met with ruts big enough to almost swallow bikes whole. We could only be thankfull we met these roads in the dry. The so absolutely poor condition of these roads actually made them a lot of fun to ride - except for the 1/2 mile pusher up a super steep loose rock section that was cruelly noted on the route discription as being a mile before it actually was.
Welcome to New Mexico stage-two came the next day, as we made a sweet decent down into the small village of El Rito. All of a sudden we were presented with barren red-rock country which to my geologically lay-mans eyes looked quite reminiscent of what we had seen on our Utah vacation from the vacation. Arriving in El Rito left no doubt. This quant little old-Mexico village was the real deal, complete with a tiny Mexican shack-like restaurant which ensured we were more than adequately fueled push on into the sunset.
This evening was also to be the first team sport-sleeping event. This came two nights after Ben, Simon, and Bougie had successfully sport-slept beside a park bench just metres away from the Platoro restaurant (about 40 paces in total required between the interval of dinner and breakfast for those three). On this evening, with the small town of Abiquiu still nearly 20 miles ahead, we took aim for the El Rito River which we would cross just a few miles shy of Abiquiu. Sadly the El Rito river turned out to be an unattractive silty torrent, though the lone beaver did not appear to mind. Our hopes for a good wash-up dashed, we set on into the fading light, finding an inviting lush paddock located just off the highway and conveniently behind a half open gate. Unfortunately this perfect spot was also perfect for the mosquitos, so back on the road we went, headed for the unknown of Abiquiu. In the now darkness, we blazed by Abiquiu (what sort of town does not have a main-drag?) and soon spotted a well-lit facility just off the highway. A quick recon by Bougie - we had found an elementary school - this third spot was to be just right! Lifting our bikes over the locked gates, we headed straight for the well-equiped playground. Simon was king of the castle (or maybe the night-watchman?), Bougie took the role of the park bench bum, and the rest of us spread ourselves around in similar fashion. Were the kids back in school yet? Thankfully no, so an uneventful exit was made (aside from our first encounters with the tyre loving, to be the bane of our existance in New Mexico, goat-heads, causing two punctures before we had even had breakfast).
Other features on New Mexico include a constant lack of water. Though perhaps I shouldn't complain about the dry too much - so far we have avoided the monsoon season - but looking at the forecast that looks about to change. The best and most reliable water sources appear to be well stocked caravan and RV types who we inevitably meet along the way.
Water was the reason for meeting Shaun, yet another fine person we have met along the way and vying for the number 1 spot of greatest and most helpful person we have met. The timing was perfect, it was getting late in the day and we still had ten or so miles to get to our intended camp site and water source - the Rio San Antonio River (which as it turned out was a filter-killing silty and uninviting stream, typical of what we are finding in NM). Ben and Simon up ahead, they stopped to talk to Shaun, who was sitting outside his caravan cooking dinner. Shaun was well supplied with water, so a restock was made. However this was only the start of this mans generocity. He then said "boys, I've got dinner for you too", or something to that effect, and brings back from his caravan a stack of military ration MRE meals. As we had planned yet another tuna/ pasta combo, this was more than well received. If that wasn't enough, as we waited for the MRE meals to cook, he hands us a gourmet sausage and tortilla off his bbq grill each. Then a gatorade followed by a couple of bags of popcorn. He must have known we were coming! After profuse thanks for his never-ending generocity, we were off on our way, and with no need to make it to a water source we were free to camp wherever we pleased - and a fine choice it was too - which also began an unbroken run of tentless nights.
The dominant wildlife of New Mexico is the snappy dog. Brown, white, big or small, these things sport of choice is snapping at the heels of the passer-by cyclist. While Ben and Simon have ditched their bear-spray as a means of weight reduction, mine remains intact and strapped to my bike frame, but for how much longer? The temptation is there...
Right now we really are into the business end of the trip, with just under 400 miles left to ride. As all of us have flights out of Phoenix Arizona (a 300 or so mile bus or shuttle ride away) on the 22nd, we have until the 20th to make it to Antelope Wells. Not a whole lot of time, but but not overly tight yet either. Our next stretch takes us to Silver City, over 200 miles away from Grants, with only the aptly-named Pie Town in between. Pie Town has a cafe which sells, you guessed it - pies (which will be breakfast on Saturday morning), but apart from that there is little else along this section. Plenty of planning is required for a stretch like this... it is a long way to go hungry!
Since our vacation from our vacation, one of the themes has been the high passes. Finally getting Marshall Pass out of the way (no pass has ever been so needlessly revered for so long), all the while the biggest of them all, Indiana, lurked in the background. As it turned out, Indiana was typical of the Colorado climbs, being of a steady gradient on good gravel roads, only a bit longer and loftier than the rest. However, it is the un-named passes that can often prove to be the nastiest of surprises - in this case the climb up to "Junction of FR27 and FR144" was the biggest, baddest, and yet coolest climb of the trip. Taking us from the Old-Mexico town of Abiquiu, set in red rock country, all the way up into the sub-alpine forests, some of the greenest of the entire journey, along roads which varied from gravel, to loose rock, to slickrock. This climb had it all, except for an abundance of water.
Shortly before entering New Mexico we were lucky enough (according to the guide book) to watch the black smoke belching tourist steam train of the Cumbres & Toltec Scenic Railroad come right past, complete with eardrum piercing whistle, as made its way back and forth between the states of Colorado and New Mexico. The penny-on-the-track trick was a necessity, though Trystan, in a display of wealth, put up an entire quarter.
The two-stage welcome to New Mexico: Entering New Mexico in the same way as we have entered most of the other states, i.e. on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, just looking at the scenery you would have thought you were still in Colorado. That is, except for the roads. Where washboarded gravel roads was the worst it generally got in Colorado, we were almost immediately met with ruts big enough to almost swallow bikes whole. We could only be thankfull we met these roads in the dry. The so absolutely poor condition of these roads actually made them a lot of fun to ride - except for the 1/2 mile pusher up a super steep loose rock section that was cruelly noted on the route discription as being a mile before it actually was.
Welcome to New Mexico stage-two came the next day, as we made a sweet decent down into the small village of El Rito. All of a sudden we were presented with barren red-rock country which to my geologically lay-mans eyes looked quite reminiscent of what we had seen on our Utah vacation from the vacation. Arriving in El Rito left no doubt. This quant little old-Mexico village was the real deal, complete with a tiny Mexican shack-like restaurant which ensured we were more than adequately fueled push on into the sunset.
This evening was also to be the first team sport-sleeping event. This came two nights after Ben, Simon, and Bougie had successfully sport-slept beside a park bench just metres away from the Platoro restaurant (about 40 paces in total required between the interval of dinner and breakfast for those three). On this evening, with the small town of Abiquiu still nearly 20 miles ahead, we took aim for the El Rito River which we would cross just a few miles shy of Abiquiu. Sadly the El Rito river turned out to be an unattractive silty torrent, though the lone beaver did not appear to mind. Our hopes for a good wash-up dashed, we set on into the fading light, finding an inviting lush paddock located just off the highway and conveniently behind a half open gate. Unfortunately this perfect spot was also perfect for the mosquitos, so back on the road we went, headed for the unknown of Abiquiu. In the now darkness, we blazed by Abiquiu (what sort of town does not have a main-drag?) and soon spotted a well-lit facility just off the highway. A quick recon by Bougie - we had found an elementary school - this third spot was to be just right! Lifting our bikes over the locked gates, we headed straight for the well-equiped playground. Simon was king of the castle (or maybe the night-watchman?), Bougie took the role of the park bench bum, and the rest of us spread ourselves around in similar fashion. Were the kids back in school yet? Thankfully no, so an uneventful exit was made (aside from our first encounters with the tyre loving, to be the bane of our existance in New Mexico, goat-heads, causing two punctures before we had even had breakfast).
Other features on New Mexico include a constant lack of water. Though perhaps I shouldn't complain about the dry too much - so far we have avoided the monsoon season - but looking at the forecast that looks about to change. The best and most reliable water sources appear to be well stocked caravan and RV types who we inevitably meet along the way.
Water was the reason for meeting Shaun, yet another fine person we have met along the way and vying for the number 1 spot of greatest and most helpful person we have met. The timing was perfect, it was getting late in the day and we still had ten or so miles to get to our intended camp site and water source - the Rio San Antonio River (which as it turned out was a filter-killing silty and uninviting stream, typical of what we are finding in NM). Ben and Simon up ahead, they stopped to talk to Shaun, who was sitting outside his caravan cooking dinner. Shaun was well supplied with water, so a restock was made. However this was only the start of this mans generocity. He then said "boys, I've got dinner for you too", or something to that effect, and brings back from his caravan a stack of military ration MRE meals. As we had planned yet another tuna/ pasta combo, this was more than well received. If that wasn't enough, as we waited for the MRE meals to cook, he hands us a gourmet sausage and tortilla off his bbq grill each. Then a gatorade followed by a couple of bags of popcorn. He must have known we were coming! After profuse thanks for his never-ending generocity, we were off on our way, and with no need to make it to a water source we were free to camp wherever we pleased - and a fine choice it was too - which also began an unbroken run of tentless nights.
The dominant wildlife of New Mexico is the snappy dog. Brown, white, big or small, these things sport of choice is snapping at the heels of the passer-by cyclist. While Ben and Simon have ditched their bear-spray as a means of weight reduction, mine remains intact and strapped to my bike frame, but for how much longer? The temptation is there...
Right now we really are into the business end of the trip, with just under 400 miles left to ride. As all of us have flights out of Phoenix Arizona (a 300 or so mile bus or shuttle ride away) on the 22nd, we have until the 20th to make it to Antelope Wells. Not a whole lot of time, but but not overly tight yet either. Our next stretch takes us to Silver City, over 200 miles away from Grants, with only the aptly-named Pie Town in between. Pie Town has a cafe which sells, you guessed it - pies (which will be breakfast on Saturday morning), but apart from that there is little else along this section. Plenty of planning is required for a stretch like this... it is a long way to go hungry!
Friday, August 7, 2009
Salida, CO - Babes blow knees
This entry comes from the town of Del Norte Colorado beside the famous Rio Grande river. I can say I am only writing this because of Trystan as I will explain. You see we have been forced to take a rest day because Trystan has over exerted himself trying to keep up with our new friends Loni and Annie. Machismo at it's purest, not to be out done by a girl even if they both are stronger and more competent at riding(sorry buddy). It all goes back to the bar last week in Salida when Simon gets talking to two strangers. Amazed that two attractive girls would even talk to him clad in spandex, he must of been even more amazed that they invited him back to there place to hang out. I assure you as amazed as he was by this gesture I was ten times more amazed that he mentioned this new plan to us, his friends as I surely would of said Peace to my amigos and gone off into the sunset with my new more attractive friends. As it were we all went over and had a fun filled night of ridiculous story telling and laughing. After going out with them for breakfast the next morning, we made our rendezvous with Tim and Wendy and our magical week in Moab(Mountain and Outdoor Adventure Base). One magical week later we were back in Salida, hoping to hang out a little longer. Thunder showers that never materialized were good enough of an excuse not to push on up to Marshall pass, giving us one more night. Tequilla, Whiskey and PBR's(america's finest beer) sent us into a ridiculous night of costumes, fires's and endless smores. Basically keeping the neighbors up into the wee early morn. Next day a little fuzzy eyed we had Marshall in our sights. Giving us a proper farewell from this fun little town the girls rode up with us which would take us a solid 3 hours to do. Little did we know it this would do more harm than good. Which brings me back to Trystan. For you see Trystan thought he could keep up with this new pace set by these incredible girls on there steel, stiffy single speed steeds. Being group photographer and also being the heaviest in gear also contributed in taking it's toll on the poor lad and by mid day he was complaining of soreness in the knees. Saying goodbye to our girls at the pass we cruised on out of a country I could easily call home. One day later and we are forced to rest as Trystan has used his red card issued to every team member in-case of the need to take a break from the game. I personally don't mind as the people here are friendly and the summit just behind the town allowed a successful ascent giving views of the mighty rockies that protrude right out of the plains. Tomorrow comes Indianna pass the largest of the entire route so wish us luck, hopefully we don't meet any cute girls on bikes in this town
Power to the Pedal
Power to the Pedal
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Moab, UT - A vacation within a vactaion
Hi i'm Simon
...So some of you probably think we're having fun...
That we're just downright loving criss-crossing the backbone of North America on pedal bikes!
up and down allll day long.
Yesterday, a local ignoramus even had the nerve to suggest that this may be "the trip of a lifetime."
Sort yourself out bro!
We're going on vacation.
So we hit Salida with a half-inch of callus on the backsides and as the diehard groupies will have noticed (those of you clicking 'refresh' on our spot tracker with greater frequency than 5clicks/hour) we headed west, sans bicyclettes, for greener (or rather redder) pastures. Moab, Utah. "The mountain biking capital of the solar system and you left your bikes behind?" you ask. I don't really have a good response for that other than that my ass is actually developing a semi-permanent bike saddle tattoo which is way not cool.
We have had the great fortune of spending almost a week in the small oasis of south central Utah, nestled among the La Sal mountains, that is Pack Creek Ranch (or Dude Ranch as is was to be affectionately renamed upon our testosterone-soaked arrival.) For six days we truly vacationed from a vacation, which despite my earlier complaints, is saying quite a lot. Thank you so much Mom, Dad, Tim, Wendy, Wings, Roots.
The photos below are by no means representative of our stay. You'll just have to use your imaginations to fill in the blanks.
Arches are the geological wonders that characterize the south west of Utah - they are the products of wind and time. They are made of sandstone. They are inanimate. This one attacked Bougie (Yes, a piece fell on his head - real-time geology folks.) Great trigger finger Trystan.
Dirty cyclists stoked on tan lines and the commencement of the vacation within the vacation (that ones gettin' old hey?)
...So some of you probably think we're having fun...
That we're just downright loving criss-crossing the backbone of North America on pedal bikes!
up and down allll day long.
Yesterday, a local ignoramus even had the nerve to suggest that this may be "the trip of a lifetime."
Sort yourself out bro!
We're going on vacation.
So we hit Salida with a half-inch of callus on the backsides and as the diehard groupies will have noticed (those of you clicking 'refresh' on our spot tracker with greater frequency than 5clicks/hour) we headed west, sans bicyclettes, for greener (or rather redder) pastures. Moab, Utah. "The mountain biking capital of the solar system and you left your bikes behind?" you ask. I don't really have a good response for that other than that my ass is actually developing a semi-permanent bike saddle tattoo which is way not cool.
We have had the great fortune of spending almost a week in the small oasis of south central Utah, nestled among the La Sal mountains, that is Pack Creek Ranch (or Dude Ranch as is was to be affectionately renamed upon our testosterone-soaked arrival.) For six days we truly vacationed from a vacation, which despite my earlier complaints, is saying quite a lot. Thank you so much Mom, Dad, Tim, Wendy, Wings, Roots.
The photos below are by no means representative of our stay. You'll just have to use your imaginations to fill in the blanks.
Arches are the geological wonders that characterize the south west of Utah - they are the products of wind and time. They are made of sandstone. They are inanimate. This one attacked Bougie (Yes, a piece fell on his head - real-time geology folks.) Great trigger finger Trystan.
Dirty cyclists stoked on tan lines and the commencement of the vacation within the vacation (that ones gettin' old hey?)
more moab
We rented some inflatable kayaks and hit some serious H-Core class 1/2 rapids. We ran some rapids standing up backwards, on one leg, pretending we were legendary Colorado River explorer and Civil War vet Maj. Powell. We were then faced with the question of whether we were able to do this because we were as H-Core as him or whether Cataract canyon was a significantly more technical stretch of river.
The party (40% geologists) mills about on La Sal peak, Tuk, spouting off unnecessary geo-jargon.
"Dude, this is a laccolith"
"NO DUDE, this is not a volcanic intrusion."
"UHH YEA, check the Sio2 volcanic magmatic rhyolitic stalactite super-fequency index."
......
this is why we are rarely approached by members of the opposite sex - this and lycra.
again, more moab
This is the latest addition to our group. His name is Ryan Bougie. He is attempting to ride Jack the goat. Well done Ryan.
* * *
And a quick note for the mysterious "Mom" of Trystan's who seems to be quite concerned with our riding mileage count. We promise we have nothing to hide.
A confession. Salida's streets are arranged in a grid like manner, with those running north-south labelled A-Z. Due to a rendez-vous and pick up at B street and a drop-off 6 days later at H street, we have clipped exactly 7 rural Colorado city blocks from the America Cycling Association's Great Divide Mountain Bike Route. We acknowledge this and with the Togwotee disaster fresh in our minds, we propose a second Cycle Master event on the front lawn at Marine Drive when schedules permit. The preservation of family honor is the highest of our priorities.
Salida, CO - Photos 8
Ok, so these two pics go with my story "the people you meet". That's the Como watering hole, and that shed...yes, the four of us spent two very sick nights in that shed behind the school house...but how could you take a tent over that mansion?
Salida, CO - Photos 7
And here's our newest addition to the team...on a glorified roadbike, the nerve.
Salida, CO - Photos 5
Look at the size of that rattlesnake! If we see a live one, Ben said he's packing it in right away...
Salida, CO - Photos 1
These are photos of Benbo, one with our inch of cream cheese and nutella, and the other blasting through a stream...
Salida, CO - The people you meet
Como. Population 24. This is the sort of town that you would completely miss in a 4-wheeled steel cage flying by at 100 kph. But when 5 dudes roll into a town like this on bikes, the experience is utterly different, in the best sort of way.
After quickly being let in on the town gossip, politics, and town history, we were received warmly and invited the next morning for pancakes and coffee. But at 10,000 ft the beer was calling (as a wager had been won), and the tired old tuna pasta could certainly wait. So after setting up camp in an old school yard, we headed down to the town watering hole to tuck into a round of pints, but quickly discovered that we didn’t have a reservation, and had to join the cue….to even be inside. What the fudge? OK, OK, so we settled to enjoy our first round on the lawn in the rain, semi shivering away. But the night was only to get better.
Inside, the live family band (literally a mom and pop and kids operation) was jamming to the dozen or so patrons. So once the establishment was ready for us, we headed in to be greeted warmly by the band. Sing-a longs ensued, hugs got passed around, and then the daughter of the lead singer belted out a good solo. The mom yelled out us five smelly boys at the bar: “this is my daughter, and I’ve gots a shotgun and know how ta use it!”. Ok mom, loud and clear.
But I want to talk about the legend that is Jason. Now, I met this character as he was enjoying a catch up on a bench with his sister. Right off the bat it became immediately apparent that this was one impressive guy: his 26 year old CV included 1800 nights camping for the boy scouts, his 4th generation status in Como, how he used to fly for the Air Force…and maybe even something about an Aeronautical Engineering degree. But what was most impressive, was that he had done a 300 km hike in three days! Now if you’ve done some serious hiking/tramping, you’ll know that a 30 km day is a big day, let alone 100. So, as we wandered away from the bar into the night towards the school, I was telling this to Bougie (our newest addition to the team). And being the most outdoorsy guy I know, he said, “that’s impossible!”. But, just as Bougie belted that out, Jason appears from the darkness and says, ‘it’s true, and it happened’. Startled we jumped back and started laughing. He told us he’d bring us a ‘night cap’ after our dinner which Grant had diligently left the bar early to prepare.
So, as promised, Jason rolled up to the schoolhouse at dark with a kettle of ‘family-secret’ hot chocolate for us. And as the hot chocolate flowed, we just started to learn more and more about this remarkable little town. Once the hot chocolate ran dry, most of the team opted for bed, but Bougie and I took his invite to see the old historic house and to have some more hot chocolate. And this house was something unbelievable, moreover, the arsenal of weapons that started to get passed around the table.
‘Have you ever seen a John Wayne movie?’…and after that question, the gun used in the movie came out followed by a flood of guns including mussel loaders, elephant guns, handguns…the works. Bougie and I were amazed at the presentation. After the hot chocolate was consumed, Jason showed us his shop containing a plethora of impressive projects that he was working on. Awestruck by his accomplishments to date, I asked him: “Jason, do you ever sleep?”….and he answered quite seriously: “I try not to”.
When Bougie and I came back to the school yard humming on belly’s full of hot chocolate, Ben was sick to his stomach and was doing his best to fertilize the lawn. At about 4 am, I was taken down by the same stomach bug and it became apparent by daybreak that with completely empty stomachs and with nauseous heads that the team wasn’t going to be moving that day. Grant decided to push on to Salida, and we agreed to meet the following night. But as fate would have it, he ended up getting the same bug the following day.
After quickly being let in on the town gossip, politics, and town history, we were received warmly and invited the next morning for pancakes and coffee. But at 10,000 ft the beer was calling (as a wager had been won), and the tired old tuna pasta could certainly wait. So after setting up camp in an old school yard, we headed down to the town watering hole to tuck into a round of pints, but quickly discovered that we didn’t have a reservation, and had to join the cue….to even be inside. What the fudge? OK, OK, so we settled to enjoy our first round on the lawn in the rain, semi shivering away. But the night was only to get better.
Inside, the live family band (literally a mom and pop and kids operation) was jamming to the dozen or so patrons. So once the establishment was ready for us, we headed in to be greeted warmly by the band. Sing-a longs ensued, hugs got passed around, and then the daughter of the lead singer belted out a good solo. The mom yelled out us five smelly boys at the bar: “this is my daughter, and I’ve gots a shotgun and know how ta use it!”. Ok mom, loud and clear.
But I want to talk about the legend that is Jason. Now, I met this character as he was enjoying a catch up on a bench with his sister. Right off the bat it became immediately apparent that this was one impressive guy: his 26 year old CV included 1800 nights camping for the boy scouts, his 4th generation status in Como, how he used to fly for the Air Force…and maybe even something about an Aeronautical Engineering degree. But what was most impressive, was that he had done a 300 km hike in three days! Now if you’ve done some serious hiking/tramping, you’ll know that a 30 km day is a big day, let alone 100. So, as we wandered away from the bar into the night towards the school, I was telling this to Bougie (our newest addition to the team). And being the most outdoorsy guy I know, he said, “that’s impossible!”. But, just as Bougie belted that out, Jason appears from the darkness and says, ‘it’s true, and it happened’. Startled we jumped back and started laughing. He told us he’d bring us a ‘night cap’ after our dinner which Grant had diligently left the bar early to prepare.
So, as promised, Jason rolled up to the schoolhouse at dark with a kettle of ‘family-secret’ hot chocolate for us. And as the hot chocolate flowed, we just started to learn more and more about this remarkable little town. Once the hot chocolate ran dry, most of the team opted for bed, but Bougie and I took his invite to see the old historic house and to have some more hot chocolate. And this house was something unbelievable, moreover, the arsenal of weapons that started to get passed around the table.
‘Have you ever seen a John Wayne movie?’…and after that question, the gun used in the movie came out followed by a flood of guns including mussel loaders, elephant guns, handguns…the works. Bougie and I were amazed at the presentation. After the hot chocolate was consumed, Jason showed us his shop containing a plethora of impressive projects that he was working on. Awestruck by his accomplishments to date, I asked him: “Jason, do you ever sleep?”….and he answered quite seriously: “I try not to”.
When Bougie and I came back to the school yard humming on belly’s full of hot chocolate, Ben was sick to his stomach and was doing his best to fertilize the lawn. At about 4 am, I was taken down by the same stomach bug and it became apparent by daybreak that with completely empty stomachs and with nauseous heads that the team wasn’t going to be moving that day. Grant decided to push on to Salida, and we agreed to meet the following night. But as fate would have it, he ended up getting the same bug the following day.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Salida, CO - Welcome aboard mate!
Hello, hi there thanks for taking the time to read my and my teammates writings. My name is Ryan Bougie and I am the most recent team mate to this unbelievable group of individuals pedaling for a common means. Here is my brief history which brought me to this group prior to our merging stories that you have been following along with in this blog.
October 2006. John Glynn-Morris brother to Trystan presents this idea that bro and him have been scheming of possibly riding this fabled trail through the divide lands of North America. The seed is planted.
December 2008. A holiday rendezvous with Trystan seals me to committing to this Big Epic Trip. Dreams will become reality.
June 2009. 3 weeks prior to departure I realize I will not be starting the trip as planned with the rest of the crew. Instead a last minute ski trip to Alaska presents itself to me promising babes and powder snow. Being a committed skier I could not let Alaska pass me up as I have been making pilgrimages there since Simon and I visited 4 years prior.
July 2009. Skiing temporarily out of my system I establish contact with the group by the middle of the month and make jet travel arrangements to join up.
July 21, 2009. I flew into Denver international with a schedule to ride 200km to meet the team at the Silverthorne Colorado library at 5 P.M on July 24. A hot sweaty day layover at L.A international and one missed transfer to Denver due to a misprinted ticket and I was finally touched down in the mile high city. Sometime after midnight I had unpacked and assembled my bicycle in front of the questioning eyes of many onlookers.
My first bit of luck was meeting an airport custodian who was more than happy to recycle my bike box for me as surely he was paid by the hour and for this special mission he would have to cross the airport long and far to deliver the precious goods to the compactor.
My second bit of luck came shortly after, as I was pedaling down the interstate away from the airport. Under the cover of darkness the night sky illuminated with the unmistakable glow of red and blue lights. I was being pulled over by the highway patrol. How is this luck you ask? The kind officer tells me to get in the back of his cruiser as he is going to escort me off the freeway and not ticket me, as driving on such surfaces is illegal in the state. He drops me in front of a 7-11 store where he suggests I purchase a map to get me where I need to go. I dare not mention Mexico as this man already thinks of me as a lunatic. One Red Bull, one chili dog and map for the city of Denver and presto 3 hours later I was again on the outskirts of town this time on the right side. Next day.
When my urban map ended I quickly got lost again and found myself at the most un-usual of side attractions. Red rocks amphitheatre is or was a natural acoustical outdoor theatre. I spent the morning scrambling and rambling amongst the beautiful red rock and marveling at the natural acoustics of the place. Back on the road with a fresh map I managed to avoid the interstate by following the old highway paralleling clear creek and its endless mob of commercial rafters floating by its crowded banks. Camping near its headwaters that evening I could see the next day’s objective of getting over the 1200 ft level of Loveland Pass which would bring me into the resort of keystone and the town of Silverthorne where my rendezvous was to take place. I fell asleep marveling at the visible amount of mining that has occurred in this area. One mountain I would later find out has collapsed in on itself 3 times from being “honeycombed” by mines.
The next day I reached 90km/hr coming down from the high pass that took a good chunk of the morning to ascend. That evening I caught a free outdoor concert given by a local musician of aboriginal descent. I also met some friendly locals Cindy and Helen who invited me to stay at there place that night. The meeting of the crew was ahead of schedule and under budget. Full of exuberance these boys look like riding machines. Thoughts of being able to keep up enter my thoughts. Cindy and Helen from the previous night were kind enough to invite 4 more smelly dudes into there home that night so we could have a BBQ and come together as a new team of 7. Seven for the following day all of us headed down the road to Breckenridge down a winding path. Magic does happen, and people like Cindy and Helen and the rest of my team being the sole cause. I look forward to all our stories following the same road from here on out. I hope you can continue to follow our progress whenever you feel the urge. Thanks for tuning in, until next time. Peace
October 2006. John Glynn-Morris brother to Trystan presents this idea that bro and him have been scheming of possibly riding this fabled trail through the divide lands of North America. The seed is planted.
December 2008. A holiday rendezvous with Trystan seals me to committing to this Big Epic Trip. Dreams will become reality.
June 2009. 3 weeks prior to departure I realize I will not be starting the trip as planned with the rest of the crew. Instead a last minute ski trip to Alaska presents itself to me promising babes and powder snow. Being a committed skier I could not let Alaska pass me up as I have been making pilgrimages there since Simon and I visited 4 years prior.
July 2009. Skiing temporarily out of my system I establish contact with the group by the middle of the month and make jet travel arrangements to join up.
July 21, 2009. I flew into Denver international with a schedule to ride 200km to meet the team at the Silverthorne Colorado library at 5 P.M on July 24. A hot sweaty day layover at L.A international and one missed transfer to Denver due to a misprinted ticket and I was finally touched down in the mile high city. Sometime after midnight I had unpacked and assembled my bicycle in front of the questioning eyes of many onlookers.
My first bit of luck was meeting an airport custodian who was more than happy to recycle my bike box for me as surely he was paid by the hour and for this special mission he would have to cross the airport long and far to deliver the precious goods to the compactor.
My second bit of luck came shortly after, as I was pedaling down the interstate away from the airport. Under the cover of darkness the night sky illuminated with the unmistakable glow of red and blue lights. I was being pulled over by the highway patrol. How is this luck you ask? The kind officer tells me to get in the back of his cruiser as he is going to escort me off the freeway and not ticket me, as driving on such surfaces is illegal in the state. He drops me in front of a 7-11 store where he suggests I purchase a map to get me where I need to go. I dare not mention Mexico as this man already thinks of me as a lunatic. One Red Bull, one chili dog and map for the city of Denver and presto 3 hours later I was again on the outskirts of town this time on the right side. Next day.
When my urban map ended I quickly got lost again and found myself at the most un-usual of side attractions. Red rocks amphitheatre is or was a natural acoustical outdoor theatre. I spent the morning scrambling and rambling amongst the beautiful red rock and marveling at the natural acoustics of the place. Back on the road with a fresh map I managed to avoid the interstate by following the old highway paralleling clear creek and its endless mob of commercial rafters floating by its crowded banks. Camping near its headwaters that evening I could see the next day’s objective of getting over the 1200 ft level of Loveland Pass which would bring me into the resort of keystone and the town of Silverthorne where my rendezvous was to take place. I fell asleep marveling at the visible amount of mining that has occurred in this area. One mountain I would later find out has collapsed in on itself 3 times from being “honeycombed” by mines.
The next day I reached 90km/hr coming down from the high pass that took a good chunk of the morning to ascend. That evening I caught a free outdoor concert given by a local musician of aboriginal descent. I also met some friendly locals Cindy and Helen who invited me to stay at there place that night. The meeting of the crew was ahead of schedule and under budget. Full of exuberance these boys look like riding machines. Thoughts of being able to keep up enter my thoughts. Cindy and Helen from the previous night were kind enough to invite 4 more smelly dudes into there home that night so we could have a BBQ and come together as a new team of 7. Seven for the following day all of us headed down the road to Breckenridge down a winding path. Magic does happen, and people like Cindy and Helen and the rest of my team being the sole cause. I look forward to all our stories following the same road from here on out. I hope you can continue to follow our progress whenever you feel the urge. Thanks for tuning in, until next time. Peace
Colorado – an overdue general update
After Rawlins, the out of control pick-up trucks, and some interesting culinary experiences which included nearly making an anxious pizza hut waitress cry, we were all pretty keen to make it into Colorado. Trystan and Simon, slightly less so (due to a light-hearted bet which may be divulged at some stage), which ensured we stayed one more night in Wyoming, a few miles inside the State border. This was the day we discovered the joy of finishing the riding earlier in the day – the extra couple of hours in the afternoon available to relax was golden… if only we had discovered this before day 30! Simon, with time to ponder, even produced the insightful and poetic comment straight from the heart, that … “the Aspen leaves dance in the sunlight like a million silver dollars.” With lines like that we need to get this man writing on the blog!
The next day saw us ride through to the bustling town of Steamboat Springs. The decision was made to take the suggested alternative route via the small settlement of Columbine (not that Columbine) mainly because Ben, Simon, and Trystan (but not me, not never!) were keen to avoid one particular long climb – so we got lots of smaller climbs instead. As we rode along yet another gravel road, in the middle of nowhere as usual, we came across a most impressive sight – the Three Forks Ranch. The main “ranch” house was bigger and more impressive than most of the mansions I have ever seen on TV or real life – complete with huge manicured grounds being worked on by an entire team of groundskeepers. Although no helicopters were sighted on this occasion, the scene was well made as a guided fisherman caught a trout right beside the entranceway bridge. As it turns out, a paltry USD$1500 is all you need to have a night at Three Forks.
Stopping at Columbine for lunch we met a Steamboat local who put us onto a happy hour at the local brew pub (most important question for anyone we meet on the trail is always regarding food or beer). Anyway, at this point I should say that we had resolved to arrive in Steamboat in time for dinner, as without fail if we arrive in town to early we end up spending our money on beer rather than food. So we had planned for an easy pace into Steamboat – a short off trail hike to delay our arrival was even considered. But on hearing of this happy hour that resolution went out the back door faster than Alberto’s relationship with Lance. Maybe it was the pita bread/ nutella/ cream cheese combo (which almost made one passer-by have a coronary just looking at it), maybe it was the second can of coke, or maybe it was the prospect of making the happy hour, but legs were morphed from jelly to steel for the remaining 35 miles into Steamboat, ensuring a thorough sampling of the local brewery’s product was possible. One thing that we repeatedly discover is that after riding all day, we go from being drinking lightweights to drinking featherweights. Silly but harmless activities usually ensue – but perhaps not always in keeping with being upstanding Great Divider role models!
With a cruisy rest day in Steamboat out of the way, we had two days to make it to our rendezvous with Bougie in Silverthorne. Near the end of the first day we sighted the Colorado River for the first time as we sat atop a huge valley. A great rough decent into the river valley far below followed with a swim in the suitable reward. We spent the night camping beside the Colorado – unfortunately we had an overly active railway to keep us company – I had my worst sleep of the journey to date.
Meanwhile Trystan and Simon slept surprisingly well – drugged up on cold relief tablets. With both down with a cold, and with the remaining 75 hilly miles to Silverthorne not being an attractive prospect, the crook ones and Ben decided to utilize the Grey Card – the right to take the highway due to illness. So at 10.30 that morning, the group split up for the first time for the entire trip to date. They rode the highway to Silverthorne to meet Bougie, while I took the designated route by myself. And the designated route turned out to be well worth it – with the sweetest five mile paved decent of my life, down the Ute Pass, coming appropriately near the end of the day. Five miles of no pedaling and no braking on a sweeping road with little traffic, all at a cruisy 30 – 40 mph. Road bike heaven if ever there was.
Arriving in Silverthorne (an interestingly sprawled modern town living off the back of nearby ski resorts), I rendezvous with the team, now including the long lost character that is Ryan Bougie! Within moments of meeting this professional outdoor adventurer I learn he has befriended a couple of the locals – no tents for us tonight boys! We were well taken care of by Helen and Cindy – we basically took over their apartment for the night – yet another fine example of the generous people we meet. A highlight for me was being able to watch the last couple of hours of the penultimate Tour de France stage live – with the finish atop the venerable Mt Ventoux - which went some way to making up for getting only glimpses of the tour via the internet up until then – and up to three days behind.
Leaving Silverthorne gave Mr Ultralight (Bougie) the chance to show off his rig for the first time. And with his touted mere eight pounds of gear (by comparison our trailers weight 7 kilograms unloaded) we all passed a critical eye over his system. Bougie is riding a tri-cross bike with little more than rear panniers – and not surprisingly he blazed us all on the first decent hill climb. It would appear one of the keys to success of the Bougie ultralight system is that he does not carry a tent – only a bivvy. I cannot imagine this is a particularly pleasant sleeping experience – but that does not matter. Because the second key for Bougie is to use the bivvy as little as possible. He has introduced to us the concept of “sport sleeping”, which I predict will take the adventure world by storm within the next five years - get in now so you can take the high ground of being an early adopter. Basically the idea of sport sleeping is that you sleep wherever you find suitable – and if it is the sort of place where you don’t want to get caught then all the better – just don’t get caught. But anyway, so far he has been successful and the bivvy has yet to make its inaugural appearance.
This run continued to Como – quite possibly the most interesting and memorable small settlement of the trip. We camped that night behind the local single-building school – with the bro’s, Trystan, and Bougie all sleeping in an old pump shed, alongside Jim - another great divide rider we had met. By this time we had already met a local couple who had invited us to breakfast, and had eyed up the pub for what should hopefully be a cheap beer (wrong in this case). So far so good – but the fireworks was yet to begin. But the full story of Como is one for Trystan to tell.
So with no-one except me keen to press on, for reasons Trystan will vividly explain, I decided to press onto Salida on my own. I had heard Salida is a town worth more than a cursory glance and I had spotted the opportunity of a full rest day there to explore – I could see no reason to stay in Como with the ill ones. At this point it is worth noting that I have been given the nick-name T1K or T1000. I had been led to believe that it was due to my robotic riding style – but the more I think about it, perhaps it has more to do with my at times apparent compassionless and unsympathetic nature. But I am just a man on a mission.
Before I left Como, I stopped in at Carle and Rita’s for that promised “toast and coffee”. And what a great decision that was. Toast and coffee turned out to be amazing blueberry pancakes and bacon with all the trimmings, and of course the coffee. It was a shame that I was the only rider to get to enjoy this fantastic breakfast – though on a positive note it did leave more pancakes for me. Carle and Rita, along with their good friends Paul and Aggie who also made it to this Sunday breakfast, all part-time Como locals, and all very well accomplished, (as just one example, Carle has climbed all 50-odd of Colorado’s “forteeners” (peaks over 14 thousand feet)) which ensured yet another very memorable example of local hospitality. Meanwhile, the rest of the crew were getting to know another Como local, Jason. But again, this one is Trystan’s blog domain.
On a mission to Salida, my secondary mission became apparent – to see how long I could stay dry! With close to 40 miles still left in the day the first of the thunderstorms began its chase. With a steady uphill it looked like it was going to make the catch, but the combination of a tailwind, the arrival of the crest of the hill, a slight change in route direction, and a strong motivation to stay dry, this storm which came within a half mile had lost my scent and headed off into the distance. And so this pattern was to continue for the next couple of hours, as I was at times almost surrounded by full-on thunderstorms as they made pack-like attacks. On more than one occasion, just when I though I was headed for the waterworks the route would make a convenient change in direction. Luck appeared to be on my side, but how long could it continue? In the end I made it to within 15 miles of Salida – with 13 of those being a huge 3000 ft decent. Unfortunately, the rain which was heaviest at the top of the pass, ensured this seemingly endless decent had to be taken with more care and restraint than usual.
Arriving at the doorstep of the Simple Hostel in Salida, looking appropriately hard-core with mud head to toe, I was thankfully welcomed in with open arms. This cool little hostel has a core clientele of hikers and bikers, which ensured plenty of interesting conversation with like-minded people. So there I was, in Salida, with a full rest day ahead of me and full of possibility. I had checked Bougie’s spot and they had not left Como – I will be seeing them late tomorrow at the earliest. What to do with this day ahead of me? I was even considering doing some rare bob-less single-track riding – the locals swear by their Crest Trail and for once it looked like I could get a chance to sample the cream of the local riding. What could go wrong?
At 6.30 the next morning, I knew exactly what could go wrong. Despite crossing my fingers, touching wood, staying away from black cats, and perhaps more importantly trying to practice good hygiene, now I too was down for the count with a stomach bug. My rest day took on a new meaning, as I spent a good deal of it on a couch or on the bed. While a disappointing way to spend a day in Salida, I had to be thankful that I was in Salida and not in Como – else we may never leave! My hopes were raised by seeing Bougie’s spot on the move – not only by the fact that I would see them in Salida tonight but also because it meant everyone was well enough to ride again – so this bug must be short lived. And so the crew did arrive in Salida that night, in a much improved state of health. Bougie’s bivvy-less run was to continue, as Simon befriended yet some more locals, with a night on a back lawn the result.
All this was a couple of days ago now. You may have noticed the Spot has done something a little unexpected – a malfunction perhaps? It will all come out in the wash, just not quite yet. In the mean time, Trystan has some of his own words to put up, along with another wicked round of pics, and it sounds like Simon and Bougie are going to make what hopefully won’t be one-off appearances – so more to come!
The next day saw us ride through to the bustling town of Steamboat Springs. The decision was made to take the suggested alternative route via the small settlement of Columbine (not that Columbine) mainly because Ben, Simon, and Trystan (but not me, not never!) were keen to avoid one particular long climb – so we got lots of smaller climbs instead. As we rode along yet another gravel road, in the middle of nowhere as usual, we came across a most impressive sight – the Three Forks Ranch. The main “ranch” house was bigger and more impressive than most of the mansions I have ever seen on TV or real life – complete with huge manicured grounds being worked on by an entire team of groundskeepers. Although no helicopters were sighted on this occasion, the scene was well made as a guided fisherman caught a trout right beside the entranceway bridge. As it turns out, a paltry USD$1500 is all you need to have a night at Three Forks.
Stopping at Columbine for lunch we met a Steamboat local who put us onto a happy hour at the local brew pub (most important question for anyone we meet on the trail is always regarding food or beer). Anyway, at this point I should say that we had resolved to arrive in Steamboat in time for dinner, as without fail if we arrive in town to early we end up spending our money on beer rather than food. So we had planned for an easy pace into Steamboat – a short off trail hike to delay our arrival was even considered. But on hearing of this happy hour that resolution went out the back door faster than Alberto’s relationship with Lance. Maybe it was the pita bread/ nutella/ cream cheese combo (which almost made one passer-by have a coronary just looking at it), maybe it was the second can of coke, or maybe it was the prospect of making the happy hour, but legs were morphed from jelly to steel for the remaining 35 miles into Steamboat, ensuring a thorough sampling of the local brewery’s product was possible. One thing that we repeatedly discover is that after riding all day, we go from being drinking lightweights to drinking featherweights. Silly but harmless activities usually ensue – but perhaps not always in keeping with being upstanding Great Divider role models!
With a cruisy rest day in Steamboat out of the way, we had two days to make it to our rendezvous with Bougie in Silverthorne. Near the end of the first day we sighted the Colorado River for the first time as we sat atop a huge valley. A great rough decent into the river valley far below followed with a swim in the suitable reward. We spent the night camping beside the Colorado – unfortunately we had an overly active railway to keep us company – I had my worst sleep of the journey to date.
Meanwhile Trystan and Simon slept surprisingly well – drugged up on cold relief tablets. With both down with a cold, and with the remaining 75 hilly miles to Silverthorne not being an attractive prospect, the crook ones and Ben decided to utilize the Grey Card – the right to take the highway due to illness. So at 10.30 that morning, the group split up for the first time for the entire trip to date. They rode the highway to Silverthorne to meet Bougie, while I took the designated route by myself. And the designated route turned out to be well worth it – with the sweetest five mile paved decent of my life, down the Ute Pass, coming appropriately near the end of the day. Five miles of no pedaling and no braking on a sweeping road with little traffic, all at a cruisy 30 – 40 mph. Road bike heaven if ever there was.
Arriving in Silverthorne (an interestingly sprawled modern town living off the back of nearby ski resorts), I rendezvous with the team, now including the long lost character that is Ryan Bougie! Within moments of meeting this professional outdoor adventurer I learn he has befriended a couple of the locals – no tents for us tonight boys! We were well taken care of by Helen and Cindy – we basically took over their apartment for the night – yet another fine example of the generous people we meet. A highlight for me was being able to watch the last couple of hours of the penultimate Tour de France stage live – with the finish atop the venerable Mt Ventoux - which went some way to making up for getting only glimpses of the tour via the internet up until then – and up to three days behind.
Leaving Silverthorne gave Mr Ultralight (Bougie) the chance to show off his rig for the first time. And with his touted mere eight pounds of gear (by comparison our trailers weight 7 kilograms unloaded) we all passed a critical eye over his system. Bougie is riding a tri-cross bike with little more than rear panniers – and not surprisingly he blazed us all on the first decent hill climb. It would appear one of the keys to success of the Bougie ultralight system is that he does not carry a tent – only a bivvy. I cannot imagine this is a particularly pleasant sleeping experience – but that does not matter. Because the second key for Bougie is to use the bivvy as little as possible. He has introduced to us the concept of “sport sleeping”, which I predict will take the adventure world by storm within the next five years - get in now so you can take the high ground of being an early adopter. Basically the idea of sport sleeping is that you sleep wherever you find suitable – and if it is the sort of place where you don’t want to get caught then all the better – just don’t get caught. But anyway, so far he has been successful and the bivvy has yet to make its inaugural appearance.
This run continued to Como – quite possibly the most interesting and memorable small settlement of the trip. We camped that night behind the local single-building school – with the bro’s, Trystan, and Bougie all sleeping in an old pump shed, alongside Jim - another great divide rider we had met. By this time we had already met a local couple who had invited us to breakfast, and had eyed up the pub for what should hopefully be a cheap beer (wrong in this case). So far so good – but the fireworks was yet to begin. But the full story of Como is one for Trystan to tell.
So with no-one except me keen to press on, for reasons Trystan will vividly explain, I decided to press onto Salida on my own. I had heard Salida is a town worth more than a cursory glance and I had spotted the opportunity of a full rest day there to explore – I could see no reason to stay in Como with the ill ones. At this point it is worth noting that I have been given the nick-name T1K or T1000. I had been led to believe that it was due to my robotic riding style – but the more I think about it, perhaps it has more to do with my at times apparent compassionless and unsympathetic nature. But I am just a man on a mission.
Before I left Como, I stopped in at Carle and Rita’s for that promised “toast and coffee”. And what a great decision that was. Toast and coffee turned out to be amazing blueberry pancakes and bacon with all the trimmings, and of course the coffee. It was a shame that I was the only rider to get to enjoy this fantastic breakfast – though on a positive note it did leave more pancakes for me. Carle and Rita, along with their good friends Paul and Aggie who also made it to this Sunday breakfast, all part-time Como locals, and all very well accomplished, (as just one example, Carle has climbed all 50-odd of Colorado’s “forteeners” (peaks over 14 thousand feet)) which ensured yet another very memorable example of local hospitality. Meanwhile, the rest of the crew were getting to know another Como local, Jason. But again, this one is Trystan’s blog domain.
On a mission to Salida, my secondary mission became apparent – to see how long I could stay dry! With close to 40 miles still left in the day the first of the thunderstorms began its chase. With a steady uphill it looked like it was going to make the catch, but the combination of a tailwind, the arrival of the crest of the hill, a slight change in route direction, and a strong motivation to stay dry, this storm which came within a half mile had lost my scent and headed off into the distance. And so this pattern was to continue for the next couple of hours, as I was at times almost surrounded by full-on thunderstorms as they made pack-like attacks. On more than one occasion, just when I though I was headed for the waterworks the route would make a convenient change in direction. Luck appeared to be on my side, but how long could it continue? In the end I made it to within 15 miles of Salida – with 13 of those being a huge 3000 ft decent. Unfortunately, the rain which was heaviest at the top of the pass, ensured this seemingly endless decent had to be taken with more care and restraint than usual.
Arriving at the doorstep of the Simple Hostel in Salida, looking appropriately hard-core with mud head to toe, I was thankfully welcomed in with open arms. This cool little hostel has a core clientele of hikers and bikers, which ensured plenty of interesting conversation with like-minded people. So there I was, in Salida, with a full rest day ahead of me and full of possibility. I had checked Bougie’s spot and they had not left Como – I will be seeing them late tomorrow at the earliest. What to do with this day ahead of me? I was even considering doing some rare bob-less single-track riding – the locals swear by their Crest Trail and for once it looked like I could get a chance to sample the cream of the local riding. What could go wrong?
At 6.30 the next morning, I knew exactly what could go wrong. Despite crossing my fingers, touching wood, staying away from black cats, and perhaps more importantly trying to practice good hygiene, now I too was down for the count with a stomach bug. My rest day took on a new meaning, as I spent a good deal of it on a couch or on the bed. While a disappointing way to spend a day in Salida, I had to be thankful that I was in Salida and not in Como – else we may never leave! My hopes were raised by seeing Bougie’s spot on the move – not only by the fact that I would see them in Salida tonight but also because it meant everyone was well enough to ride again – so this bug must be short lived. And so the crew did arrive in Salida that night, in a much improved state of health. Bougie’s bivvy-less run was to continue, as Simon befriended yet some more locals, with a night on a back lawn the result.
All this was a couple of days ago now. You may have noticed the Spot has done something a little unexpected – a malfunction perhaps? It will all come out in the wash, just not quite yet. In the mean time, Trystan has some of his own words to put up, along with another wicked round of pics, and it sounds like Simon and Bougie are going to make what hopefully won’t be one-off appearances – so more to come!
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Salida - time to tone down this blog a little
How do you tone down a blog with a wit to rival that of The Simpsons? With statistics, facts and figures, that's how. I have been keeping records to rival that of Wisden's and I have decided now is the right time to publicise some of this information. So here goes:
By the miles:
Canada: 243 miles in 5 riding days, averaging 49 miles per riding day.
Montana (plus part day in Idaho): 808 miles in 13 riding days, averaging 58 miles.
Wyoming: 544 miles in 9 riding days, averaging 68 miles.
Colorado (to Salida): 255 miles in 4 riding days, averaging 63 miles.
Total riding miles to date: 1850 miles, which is close to double the point to point distance from Banff to Salida, CO which is 989 miles.
Shortest riding day: 11.8 miles (day 1)
Longest riding day: 88 miles (day 20: Lima, Montana to Mack's Inn, Idaho)
(To date five rest days)
By the elevations:
Canada: Average daily cumulative ascent of 2168 ft
Montana: Average 3625 ft
Wyoming: Average 3393 ft
Colorado: Average 4140 ft
Smallest climbing day: 1200ft (day 1)
Biggest climbing day: 6040 ft (day 33, Radium to Silverthorne, CO).
Total ascent: 105000 ft.
That is (from sea level): 3.6 Mt Everest's, 11.4 Mt Ruapehu's, or 80.3 Te Mata Peak's.
Lowest Elevation: 2582 ft (Eureka, Montana - a few miles inside the US border)
Loftiest Elevation: 11482 ft (Boreas Pass, near Breckinridge, CO).
Mechanical incidents:
Flat tyres:
1) A few miles before Lincoln, MT (Trystan).
2: A few miles short of Como, CO (Bougie - 30 miles into his GDR)
3: The exact same spot - Simon.
Chains:
Near new chains to start the trip.
News chains for all bikes at Butte MT (600 mile mark)
New chains (except for Simon, super chain cleaner he is) at Steamboat Springs CO (1500 mile mark)
Broken stuff:
1. Stripped pedal thread of crank (Simon)
2. Snapped rear rack (Grant)
Bent stuff:
1. Chain (Ben)
2. Rear derailler hangers (The bro's, multiple times!).
3. Bob trailer dropout (The bro's)
Others (the softer stuff):
Bagged Fourteeners: None
Spills: 1. Trystan loosing it on a highway/ gravel road intersection
Food:
Biggest breakfast: Colter Bay Village Buffet
Best trail lunch: Pita bread/ Nutella/ Cream Cheese piled as thick as you please
Biggest pasta dinner: 1400 grams (between four)
Worst bug: Those big black flies - maybe the horse fly? These things will hunt you down from a mile away just to draw your blood. A close second: the mosquito. Should be first due to sheer prevailance.
Other bugs:
Colds: Simon then Trystan.
24 hr stomach virus: Ben, Trystan, Grant (one day later), Ryan (two days after that)
Best riding day: Pinedale to near South Pass City (a misnomer). Seventy-eight miles on a day which began at midday - a good tailwind (opposite to the prevailing) and riding atop the Continental divide on a good dirt road for most of the day with views to both sides made for a totally unexpected hum-dinger.
Worst riding day: Riding from A&M Reservoir to Rawlins. Leaving the oasis in the desert, we were met with endless flat, sparse countryside on a flat, straight road running as far as the eye could see for much of the day - with a headwind to boot - and with the reward being a night in Rawlins!
Best Town: Steamboat Springs CO: We had a rest day here and could have taken two. This is a resort town but its cowboy underbelly keeps things nicely in check. Hitting the local brew pub two nights in a row for happy hour helped too.
Worst Town: I think you already know...
By the miles:
Canada: 243 miles in 5 riding days, averaging 49 miles per riding day.
Montana (plus part day in Idaho): 808 miles in 13 riding days, averaging 58 miles.
Wyoming: 544 miles in 9 riding days, averaging 68 miles.
Colorado (to Salida): 255 miles in 4 riding days, averaging 63 miles.
Total riding miles to date: 1850 miles, which is close to double the point to point distance from Banff to Salida, CO which is 989 miles.
Shortest riding day: 11.8 miles (day 1)
Longest riding day: 88 miles (day 20: Lima, Montana to Mack's Inn, Idaho)
(To date five rest days)
By the elevations:
Canada: Average daily cumulative ascent of 2168 ft
Montana: Average 3625 ft
Wyoming: Average 3393 ft
Colorado: Average 4140 ft
Smallest climbing day: 1200ft (day 1)
Biggest climbing day: 6040 ft (day 33, Radium to Silverthorne, CO).
Total ascent: 105000 ft.
That is (from sea level): 3.6 Mt Everest's, 11.4 Mt Ruapehu's, or 80.3 Te Mata Peak's.
Lowest Elevation: 2582 ft (Eureka, Montana - a few miles inside the US border)
Loftiest Elevation: 11482 ft (Boreas Pass, near Breckinridge, CO).
Mechanical incidents:
Flat tyres:
1) A few miles before Lincoln, MT (Trystan).
2: A few miles short of Como, CO (Bougie - 30 miles into his GDR)
3: The exact same spot - Simon.
Chains:
Near new chains to start the trip.
News chains for all bikes at Butte MT (600 mile mark)
New chains (except for Simon, super chain cleaner he is) at Steamboat Springs CO (1500 mile mark)
Broken stuff:
1. Stripped pedal thread of crank (Simon)
2. Snapped rear rack (Grant)
Bent stuff:
1. Chain (Ben)
2. Rear derailler hangers (The bro's, multiple times!).
3. Bob trailer dropout (The bro's)
Others (the softer stuff):
Bagged Fourteeners: None
Spills: 1. Trystan loosing it on a highway/ gravel road intersection
Food:
Biggest breakfast: Colter Bay Village Buffet
Best trail lunch: Pita bread/ Nutella/ Cream Cheese piled as thick as you please
Biggest pasta dinner: 1400 grams (between four)
Worst bug: Those big black flies - maybe the horse fly? These things will hunt you down from a mile away just to draw your blood. A close second: the mosquito. Should be first due to sheer prevailance.
Other bugs:
Colds: Simon then Trystan.
24 hr stomach virus: Ben, Trystan, Grant (one day later), Ryan (two days after that)
Best riding day: Pinedale to near South Pass City (a misnomer). Seventy-eight miles on a day which began at midday - a good tailwind (opposite to the prevailing) and riding atop the Continental divide on a good dirt road for most of the day with views to both sides made for a totally unexpected hum-dinger.
Worst riding day: Riding from A&M Reservoir to Rawlins. Leaving the oasis in the desert, we were met with endless flat, sparse countryside on a flat, straight road running as far as the eye could see for much of the day - with a headwind to boot - and with the reward being a night in Rawlins!
Best Town: Steamboat Springs CO: We had a rest day here and could have taken two. This is a resort town but its cowboy underbelly keeps things nicely in check. Hitting the local brew pub two nights in a row for happy hour helped too.
Worst Town: I think you already know...
Thursday, July 23, 2009
A concerned email from my 'Mom'.... Author Unknown
Dear Trystan
I don’t mind telling you how much your father and I have enjoyed sharing your awesome blog with the majority of our friends and neighbours, and we want you to know how very proud we are of you. Rodney has even seen fit to mention the details of your adventure to some of his patients, and several were so inspired that they made complete and miraculous recoveries.
It has been my personal understanding that the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route is the longest off-pavement trail in the world, so I must admit that we were somewhat taken aback when you traveled those three miles of interstate highway into Butte, Montana. Given the prevailing weather conditions at the time, however, I thought that it might have been a prudent decision for you to get into town as quickly as possible. Your father is in disagreement with me on this point, maintaining that had you had the forethought to ride on the shoulder of the interstate, it would have qualified as unpaved. Personally, I think this is a technicality, but the Adventure Cycling Association has taken his side, so I will defer on this particular issue. For now.
In any event, I cannot begin to convey to you the dismay and anguish that your ride up Togwotee Pass in the pilot vehicle has caused for your family in general, and us, as your loving parents, in particular. Is it really necessary to remind you that the essence of this, or any, bicycle trip is the actual riding of the bicycle, itself? Both Rodney and I have studied the maps in detail. There appears to be a narrow game trail that you could have utilized to detour around the road construction site, via Presho, South Dakota, thence through Fort Morgan, Colorado, finally arriving back up at the lee side of Togwotee Pass, thereby completely avoiding the road construction and the associated ride in the pilot vehicle. Son, we have missed a considerable amount of sleep trying to convince ourselves that you did not miss that detour on purpose.
We were concerned about your ride in the pilot vehicle to the extent that we felt it necessary to call Caitlin home and have her render a legal decision on the matter. Caitlin is in full agreement with our position. Furthermore, Caitlin has a bill of $10,623.47 for her services, which does include your family-member discount, awaiting you upon your return. Rodney has also taken the liberty to discuss, in detail, the entire sordid event with the pastor. The pastor is, at present, hesitant to come right out and admit that this will result in your being sent straight to Hell, but he has, at least, inferred that you seem to be well on your way. We have also noticed that the neighbours now appear to be snubbing us, and we attribute this entirely to your shameful ride in the pilot vehicle. Also, as an aside, Tim and Wendy have taken this especially hard; they now refuse to leave their house, and are no longer answering their phone.
As your mother, I realize that errors in judgment, even those as unfathomable as your abysmally poor decision to accept the ride in the pilot vehicle, just, well, happen. Predictably, I have been in constant contact with several newspapers and television stations as your trip progressed. Understandably, there has now been an irrepressible uproar among the readership and viewership (and, I might add, a few street riots--no fatalities, yet). It appears to be the consensus of the news crew that has taken up more-or-less-permanent residence on our front lawn that it is not entirely too late to salvage at least minor fragments of your reputation and restore some semblance of our family honour. With our help, there may be hope. But not much. We have a plan.
Please return to Rawlins, Wyoming, also known as, “The Jewel of Wyoming,” posthaste and forthwith. Upon your arrival, you will find that we have reserved extended lodging for you at the town’s least expensive motel, and had it charged to your overlimited credit card. We have rented three stationary exercise bikes, which have been strategically positioned on the dirt next to the unshaded outdoor swimming pool (the one that has been conveniently drained for the summer months). Upon your arrival in Rawlins, you, Simon, and Ben are to mount these exercise bicycles and pedal them a minimum of 4,400 km before resuming your trip on the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route. Although I realize that this will probably add, at a minimum, an additional two months of hard pedaling, and that it is likely that you will subsequently incur the loss of your job, friends (including those of the female persuasion you have had flock multitudinously to your side during your trip), and any semblance of respectability, there appears to be no other reasonable way for you to set things right. Grant, of course, being a New Zealand citizen, is exempt due to the sovereignty issue, so we have rented (also at your expense) a semi-comfortable lawn chair for him from whence he may observe your penance while pelting you three criminals with two-for-a-dollar nut bars as he keeps the blog current.
As your mother, I rightfully expect you to take the obligations of your vacation seriously, and endeavor to remove this unbearable stigma you have forced on your good family name. Mind you, there is no pressure, but Caitlin assures us that the resultant necessity of removing you from our will would present no untoward difficulties.
Looking forward to seeing you, hopefully, before Christmas. If you hurry.
XO
Mum
I don’t mind telling you how much your father and I have enjoyed sharing your awesome blog with the majority of our friends and neighbours, and we want you to know how very proud we are of you. Rodney has even seen fit to mention the details of your adventure to some of his patients, and several were so inspired that they made complete and miraculous recoveries.
It has been my personal understanding that the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route is the longest off-pavement trail in the world, so I must admit that we were somewhat taken aback when you traveled those three miles of interstate highway into Butte, Montana. Given the prevailing weather conditions at the time, however, I thought that it might have been a prudent decision for you to get into town as quickly as possible. Your father is in disagreement with me on this point, maintaining that had you had the forethought to ride on the shoulder of the interstate, it would have qualified as unpaved. Personally, I think this is a technicality, but the Adventure Cycling Association has taken his side, so I will defer on this particular issue. For now.
In any event, I cannot begin to convey to you the dismay and anguish that your ride up Togwotee Pass in the pilot vehicle has caused for your family in general, and us, as your loving parents, in particular. Is it really necessary to remind you that the essence of this, or any, bicycle trip is the actual riding of the bicycle, itself? Both Rodney and I have studied the maps in detail. There appears to be a narrow game trail that you could have utilized to detour around the road construction site, via Presho, South Dakota, thence through Fort Morgan, Colorado, finally arriving back up at the lee side of Togwotee Pass, thereby completely avoiding the road construction and the associated ride in the pilot vehicle. Son, we have missed a considerable amount of sleep trying to convince ourselves that you did not miss that detour on purpose.
We were concerned about your ride in the pilot vehicle to the extent that we felt it necessary to call Caitlin home and have her render a legal decision on the matter. Caitlin is in full agreement with our position. Furthermore, Caitlin has a bill of $10,623.47 for her services, which does include your family-member discount, awaiting you upon your return. Rodney has also taken the liberty to discuss, in detail, the entire sordid event with the pastor. The pastor is, at present, hesitant to come right out and admit that this will result in your being sent straight to Hell, but he has, at least, inferred that you seem to be well on your way. We have also noticed that the neighbours now appear to be snubbing us, and we attribute this entirely to your shameful ride in the pilot vehicle. Also, as an aside, Tim and Wendy have taken this especially hard; they now refuse to leave their house, and are no longer answering their phone.
As your mother, I realize that errors in judgment, even those as unfathomable as your abysmally poor decision to accept the ride in the pilot vehicle, just, well, happen. Predictably, I have been in constant contact with several newspapers and television stations as your trip progressed. Understandably, there has now been an irrepressible uproar among the readership and viewership (and, I might add, a few street riots--no fatalities, yet). It appears to be the consensus of the news crew that has taken up more-or-less-permanent residence on our front lawn that it is not entirely too late to salvage at least minor fragments of your reputation and restore some semblance of our family honour. With our help, there may be hope. But not much. We have a plan.
Please return to Rawlins, Wyoming, also known as, “The Jewel of Wyoming,” posthaste and forthwith. Upon your arrival, you will find that we have reserved extended lodging for you at the town’s least expensive motel, and had it charged to your overlimited credit card. We have rented three stationary exercise bikes, which have been strategically positioned on the dirt next to the unshaded outdoor swimming pool (the one that has been conveniently drained for the summer months). Upon your arrival in Rawlins, you, Simon, and Ben are to mount these exercise bicycles and pedal them a minimum of 4,400 km before resuming your trip on the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route. Although I realize that this will probably add, at a minimum, an additional two months of hard pedaling, and that it is likely that you will subsequently incur the loss of your job, friends (including those of the female persuasion you have had flock multitudinously to your side during your trip), and any semblance of respectability, there appears to be no other reasonable way for you to set things right. Grant, of course, being a New Zealand citizen, is exempt due to the sovereignty issue, so we have rented (also at your expense) a semi-comfortable lawn chair for him from whence he may observe your penance while pelting you three criminals with two-for-a-dollar nut bars as he keeps the blog current.
As your mother, I rightfully expect you to take the obligations of your vacation seriously, and endeavor to remove this unbearable stigma you have forced on your good family name. Mind you, there is no pressure, but Caitlin assures us that the resultant necessity of removing you from our will would present no untoward difficulties.
Looking forward to seeing you, hopefully, before Christmas. If you hurry.
XO
Mum
If you want start tracking us....
Our fifth team member has loose ties with Mi6 and will be carrying a Spot GPS tracking device....watch him meet us in Silverthorne, CO (he's coming from Denver)...and head south...
http://share.findmespot.com/shared/faces/viewspots.jsp?glId=0fc2kkFJm9SqDPONlGMy5JQoeMp9y2K1S
http://share.findmespot.com/shared/faces/viewspots.jsp?glId=0fc2kkFJm9SqDPONlGMy5JQoeMp9y2K1S
Steamboat Springs, CO - A scene right from the Dukes of Hazzard
So, this trip is about hills. And lots of them. We struggle up mountain passes, and then get sweet rides down into the next valley...and then repeat, well, pretty much.
But even with tens of thousands of feet of climbing under our belts, these climbs can still require a couple of Snickers bars to see us through to victory, and sometimes a little extra something-something (to distract the mind from the burning sensation in the legs and the sweat on the brow) in the form of sweet, sweet music.
And so, a couple days ago, as we were climbing up a steep gravel road nearing the crest of a veritable hill, Ben is in the lead, and Bro'ing down on is Pod, game face on, and spinning hard. A hundred or so meters behind, the rest of us were were climbing pretty close together when Simon yells: "Trucks, RELAX". Now, at this point I should let you in on one of the most commonly used word of this trip, and 'relax' can be applied to pretty much anything, cars, hair-doos, stop signs, ducks....and every time it is used, it is pretty much a guaranteed belly-bursting laugh from all. Anyways, I digress, so as Simon commands these trucks barreling towards us to slow down, Grant and I look up to see what he's on about...and it's not a pretty sight.
And if you've seen the cinematographic masterpiece, the Dukes of Hazzard, you'd know exactly what I'm of about. But if not, picture two beat up pickup trucks in back state Wyoming, one being towed by the other....seemingly racing toward us... As the trucks showed no sign of slowing, Ben snaps out of his musical trance, and looks up and jumps off his bike and bolts to the side of the road. The rear truck slams into the front truck, and knocks it into the ditch and keeps barreling right for us farther down the hill, narrowly missing Ben.
We all follow Ben's lead, and run to the side of the hill as this fine piece of degraded rusty steel flies past us and comes to a halt only after the bottom of the hill. We stare, jaws dropped, as the truck door opens and this kid jumps out, swears, and majestically kicks the driver's door and then the ground...before marching his way back up the hill...in what looked to be a venerable temperament.
With adrenaline pumping through our veins faster than nitro in a boy-racer's car, we jump back up on the bikes to ride to the crashed truck...fists clenched around the handlebars with "you almost killed us!" speeches bubbling just below the surface. But to our disbelief, these...errr, hicks (sorry, no adequate synonym) were completely disinterested in us, and were inspecting the damage to the broken tail light and talking in their eloquent drawl about 'them brakes failin...'. Ben, with the look of rage in his eyes, was ready to explode. But, they just weren't interested, and didn't really say anything to us....thus avoiding striking a match on the inevitable powder keg that was Ben.
We just decide to leave it behind, ride to the top of the hill in disbelief, and sink our teeth into our bagels lathered in cream cheese and grape jam, asking each other, "did that actually happen?".
But even with tens of thousands of feet of climbing under our belts, these climbs can still require a couple of Snickers bars to see us through to victory, and sometimes a little extra something-something (to distract the mind from the burning sensation in the legs and the sweat on the brow) in the form of sweet, sweet music.
And so, a couple days ago, as we were climbing up a steep gravel road nearing the crest of a veritable hill, Ben is in the lead, and Bro'ing down on is Pod, game face on, and spinning hard. A hundred or so meters behind, the rest of us were were climbing pretty close together when Simon yells: "Trucks, RELAX". Now, at this point I should let you in on one of the most commonly used word of this trip, and 'relax' can be applied to pretty much anything, cars, hair-doos, stop signs, ducks....and every time it is used, it is pretty much a guaranteed belly-bursting laugh from all. Anyways, I digress, so as Simon commands these trucks barreling towards us to slow down, Grant and I look up to see what he's on about...and it's not a pretty sight.
And if you've seen the cinematographic masterpiece, the Dukes of Hazzard, you'd know exactly what I'm of about. But if not, picture two beat up pickup trucks in back state Wyoming, one being towed by the other....seemingly racing toward us... As the trucks showed no sign of slowing, Ben snaps out of his musical trance, and looks up and jumps off his bike and bolts to the side of the road. The rear truck slams into the front truck, and knocks it into the ditch and keeps barreling right for us farther down the hill, narrowly missing Ben.
We all follow Ben's lead, and run to the side of the hill as this fine piece of degraded rusty steel flies past us and comes to a halt only after the bottom of the hill. We stare, jaws dropped, as the truck door opens and this kid jumps out, swears, and majestically kicks the driver's door and then the ground...before marching his way back up the hill...in what looked to be a venerable temperament.
With adrenaline pumping through our veins faster than nitro in a boy-racer's car, we jump back up on the bikes to ride to the crashed truck...fists clenched around the handlebars with "you almost killed us!" speeches bubbling just below the surface. But to our disbelief, these...errr, hicks (sorry, no adequate synonym) were completely disinterested in us, and were inspecting the damage to the broken tail light and talking in their eloquent drawl about 'them brakes failin...'. Ben, with the look of rage in his eyes, was ready to explode. But, they just weren't interested, and didn't really say anything to us....thus avoiding striking a match on the inevitable powder keg that was Ben.
We just decide to leave it behind, ride to the top of the hill in disbelief, and sink our teeth into our bagels lathered in cream cheese and grape jam, asking each other, "did that actually happen?".
Monday, July 20, 2009
Rawlins, WY - Potentially the armpit of the world...
If you are from Rawlins, and you are reading this blog, I apologize. But your town needs a little loving, in a serious way.
After some pretty epic long days , we are in this destitute desert town scratching our heads...well actually, the Bros are collapsed asleep in the hotel room, and I'm stealth-ing some internet at a hotel that we could not afford, while grant is at the one next door..I know, rebels without a cause.
We have just come our off a stretch of landscape called the Great Basin, and it was indeed, many things, but I don't think a candid interview with any of us yesterday afternoon would have involved the word 'great'. You see, when you run low of food, you just get grumpy and slow. But when you run low/out of water in a desert after crossing a completely dried up river bed that is allegedly a 'reliable water source', the mind starts going to dangerous and dark places....the vultures start circling, you start seeing mirages, a coyote howls in the distance...and that damn Spanish Guitar Solo plays slowly in your head, over, and over, and over...getting slower with every repeat.
After just shy of 90 miles and almost 8 hours in the saddle, we finally came to our Oasis. A reservoir in the middle of the desert, with green wiggy underwater vegetation and frog spawn that was no deterrent to us. The four of us were draped over at the water's edge drinking as fast as we could. Were it not for the water filter, it would have been easy to imagine us being filmed from afar by National Geographic, with that solemn commentary: "Watch as the four wild beasts replenish their depleted fluid sources...unbeknown to them, below the water, the great serpent waits patiently...".
I've got some fine ice cold, gas station purchased, Busch to tuck into...and I better wake up the Bro's. In other news, we are to be joined by our fifth (and final) member, Mr. Ryan Bougie, who just finished a ski tour in Alaska, and is going to ride from Denver, to meet us in Silverthorne, CO on Friday. Mr. Adventure himself...
After some pretty epic long days , we are in this destitute desert town scratching our heads...well actually, the Bros are collapsed asleep in the hotel room, and I'm stealth-ing some internet at a hotel that we could not afford, while grant is at the one next door..I know, rebels without a cause.
We have just come our off a stretch of landscape called the Great Basin, and it was indeed, many things, but I don't think a candid interview with any of us yesterday afternoon would have involved the word 'great'. You see, when you run low of food, you just get grumpy and slow. But when you run low/out of water in a desert after crossing a completely dried up river bed that is allegedly a 'reliable water source', the mind starts going to dangerous and dark places....the vultures start circling, you start seeing mirages, a coyote howls in the distance...and that damn Spanish Guitar Solo plays slowly in your head, over, and over, and over...getting slower with every repeat.
After just shy of 90 miles and almost 8 hours in the saddle, we finally came to our Oasis. A reservoir in the middle of the desert, with green wiggy underwater vegetation and frog spawn that was no deterrent to us. The four of us were draped over at the water's edge drinking as fast as we could. Were it not for the water filter, it would have been easy to imagine us being filmed from afar by National Geographic, with that solemn commentary: "Watch as the four wild beasts replenish their depleted fluid sources...unbeknown to them, below the water, the great serpent waits patiently...".
I've got some fine ice cold, gas station purchased, Busch to tuck into...and I better wake up the Bro's. In other news, we are to be joined by our fifth (and final) member, Mr. Ryan Bougie, who just finished a ski tour in Alaska, and is going to ride from Denver, to meet us in Silverthorne, CO on Friday. Mr. Adventure himself...
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Pinedale, WY - Photos 6
Alright, I didn't lug three kilograms of camera equipment just to take pictures of Ben's underwhelming biceps, so here are a couple of shots of some of the stunning landscapes we've been seeing. Also, this is my rebuttal for the Tilley hat, excessive sunscreen, two lenses and my unflattering tight black ninja suit...so just because the babes aren't jumping all over me now (although I did get a nice sunscreen comment last night), these might help. So please, if you are of the female persuasion, I'd like some encouragement....something in the order of "Jeez Trystan, you could have taught Ansel Adams a few things"...or something to modest like that it will make it all worth it...alright ladies, hold back, hold back.
Pinedale, WY - Photos 5
Ok, I'm not one for comments on photos...but a couple of things.
This is what happens when you let 4 stinky boys with bike gear into a hotel room, and that champion-breakfast was cooked but yous truly and devoured but all. Those Tater-Tots (or Power Nuggets) are key to our ragging success.
This is what happens when you let 4 stinky boys with bike gear into a hotel room, and that champion-breakfast was cooked but yous truly and devoured but all. Those Tater-Tots (or Power Nuggets) are key to our ragging success.
Pinedale - an update
Right, before we leave cowboy town one last chance to give a progress update.
We have had some pretty big days lately, often consecutively. From Lima (like the bean) we did an almost 90 mile day through to the little tourist resort of Mack's Inn. As this was the plan, we knew we had to start the day off in style and having the motel facilities meant we were able to get a little creative. Or to be a little more truthful, it gave Trystan the chance to be creative (I should point out I am the master of the oatmeal however). The biggest cooked breakfast of the trip (to date) and we were all set for the big one. And pound out the miles we did on those long flat (ish) dirt roads, all the way to Mack's Inn for a night with the RV's. With that 90 miler under the belt, 60 milers now seem somewhat ordinary!
From Mack's Inn we decided to detour from the route (a decision which took a little getting used to for me) and headed up the highway to West Yellowstone. From there we entered Yellowstone, though a entrance to rival any international border, and from there we got to play tourist for the next couple of days. That day saw us ride through to Grant's Village (nearish the southern entrance), another 80 mile day though all paved. Yellowstone is tourism central - they even have an overpass to get to the main attraction - Old Faithful. And what a tourist attraction it was - a good couple of thousand people to watch just one showing of Old Faithful - which blows every 90 minutes. This geyser is supposed to blow every 90 minutes +/- 10, but old faithful was playing games on this occasion and was both late and unspectacular. Leaving chief tourist of the day, Trystan a.k.a. Captain Sunscreen, a.k.a The Black Ninja, in disbelief. Dragging Trystan away, yet another thunderstorm rolled in, leaving us ducking for cover in the visitor centre, where we got to watch a ranger recruitment video... I mean tourism video... until the power failed. The winds brought in with this storm was fierce - the huge dust cloud and falling tree right next to the visitor centre leaving no doubt. That night the best storm to date hit around midnight - it was great - passing directly overhead - lying there in our tents safe as listening and watching the most intense of thunder and lightning.
From Gran't Village it was a straight forward 40 miler to Colter Bay Village - right on Jacksons Lake in full view of the Tetons. Today's ride saw us rejoin the route at Flagg Ranch, but not before playing dodgems with and endless stream of American trucks and RVs for 20 odd miles.
We took a rest day in Colter Bay - another tourist mecca which left us craving to get back into the back blocks. The rest day turned out to be just that - after our intention to hire a canoe and paddle Jackson Lake was thwarted by quite extreme restrictions on how far we were allowed to take the canoes. So plenty of reading and lounging beside the lake - which is pretty much my idea of a good rest day anyway.
We eyed the breakfast buffet at the restaurant and decided that the next morning was the day to redeem ourselves for the Holland Lake effort. Strategies were implemented - which included a light but stretching meal the night before. Arriving at 7.30am with our game faces on, and it was all on. There was no room for failure here - the mission was to eat like never before. And unfortunately that is exactly what we did. Breakfast sausages, bacon, eggs, enchiladas, french toast, and that was just the cooked section. Just about rolling out of the restaurant some time later, and it became obvious we had overdone it. Not able to move, we were only able to make a 9am start and the first couple of hours were not pleasant. So unpleasant that one team member (to remain un-named) resorted to removing the top enchilada from the digestive system - a strategic move that was described as "one of the most satisfying things I have done in a long time" which in his mind overcame the shame of the barf. One other team member noted French Toast on his top tube - but swears that "micro-vomits" do not count. In some ways our overeating experiment was rather successful - we did not eat again until well into the afternoon. The most disappointing aspect of this day was having to take a ride in a pilot vehicle up the last section of Togwotee Pass. Togwotee was to be the single biggest climb of the trip to date - and for that reason (along with its cool name) we were looking forward to knocking it off. In fact this climb and the 3000ft ascent up Union Pass later in the day was one of the main motivators for the Breakfast Experiment. But anyway, a 6 mile trip in the pilot vehicle was required - which was the first time any of us (aside from Trystan's hitch hike) had been in (or on) a motor vehicle since leaving Banff - a bit of a shame to end that streak. The day ended atop the Union Pass - our first campsite above 9000ft. The spot was magic, aside from the mozzies - which have been a constant presence on this trip - but the swarms up there were positively torturous and made for some interesting new dance moves to rival the robot/ garden sprinkler/ the fireman/ chainsaw and may have to be passed onto some of the locals back home...
Friday, July 17, 2009
Pinedale, WY - Photos 4
So, errrrr, while I wait for the photos to upload, let me tell you about the most important part of this trip... food, and lots of it. We eat a lot. Probably in the order of 3 - 6 chocolate/nut bars per day each (depending on how big breakfast was. Here's our typical menu:
Breakfast: Porridge (a huge pot full with lots of sugar, and some sort of dried fruit)
Snacks: Lots of chocolate bars, GORP, the odd apple and banana to keep the scurvy at bay
Lunch: Bagels/tortillas/pita bread with PB/Jam/Nutella/Cream Cheese
Dinner: Pasta (pretty much always) with soup mix and Tuna/Sausage/Hotdogs
Desert: Marsh mellows/Chocolate bars
....so we are eating as many calories as we can, and it is absolutely necessary. Bad moods are directly correlated to the last time the victim ate.
But, being master eaters, one thing we have not yest mastered is the Buffet....see the next story.
A character building day
Wednesday 8th July. This character building day began as any good character building day should: Cold and rain arrived right before leaving camp at the top of the Continental Divide - which ensured us and our bikes were cold and muddy within the first five minutes of the day.
From here, the character building day took a turn for the worse - the weather warmed and things were starting to look a bit easy. But we knew we had the renowned Fleecer ridge ascent/ descent to come which we knew would ensure a good amount of character building remained.
As we started the climb towards Fleecer Ridge, shortly before midday the situation improved with the arrival of the worst thunderstorm to date, sending heavy hard-hitting hail along with intense thunder and lightning our way. Keen not to end our character building day early due to a mishap of the electrical kind, we took shelter and took the opportunity to take lunch (getting efficient we are).
Once again we were headed for Fleecer Ridge - with only a 0.5 mile climb up a steep but otherwise straightforward looking climb remaining - or so we thought. The damp track turned out to be unrideable, with drive train-clogging mud forcing us into the grass to the side of the track. Huffing and puffing we pushed our bikes up this ridge, pushed and pushed and pushed some more, all good character building stuff. For a good solid hour or so. All for a 0.5 mile climb?
When we had nearly climbed Fleecer mountain we had a rethink. Something was just not quite right. Having thought that we had to climb the entire ridge to go around the other side of the mountain we had somewhat blindly pushed well beyond our route - by almost 1000ft of bike and bob pushing! Yes, quite the character building day. Taking a positive spin, we got a neat 5 minute downhill to make up for our hour it took to make our mistake.
After tackling the ridiculously steep Fleecer Ridge downhill, we had a mid-afternoon coffee stop at Wise River in our sites and less than five miles away. But this character building day was not to be over quite yet - with the third thunderstorm bringing yet more hail our way and sending us running for cover yet again. But back on our bikes we got, and with the prize for completion being "coffee on IV" we were even able to push on another ten miles to end the day in glorious sunshine.
Pinedale
Pinedale has a great library with free internet so time to put us some more pics:
Why wouldn't you celebrate being in the middle of absolutely nowhere?
With 6 grams of protein per bar the two-for-a-dollar nut bars got the thumbs up from Captain Protein... and me. Forty-eight if you are wondering.
Captain Sunscreen doing a great tourist impression at Yellowstone.
Yellowstone - Old Faithful blows every 90 minutes - this was the crowd for just one viewing.
First motor vehicle ride since leaving Banff over 1000 miles and three weeks ago.
This was a beaut campsite spot at over 9000ft on the Union Pass. Unfortunately the mosquitos thought so too.
Pinedale, WY - Photo's 1
So, I've been a little slack since the Grizz encounter, and have not been able to write due to Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. However, rest assured I'm on the recovery, and I will start with uploading lots of photo's...and with a bit of luck, I'll even toss some words on the screen, should the library allow it...
Sunday, July 12, 2009
five from Simon
Ben and Trystan chillin
Mark and Trystan
Paddling on Holland Lake
Grizzly centre of photo
Trystan descending the same chute
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Lima - some pics
We are staying in a motel at Lima tonight (second in three days!!) so I have a chance to upload a few photos. I would have to say my point and shoot, along with my photography skills, don't really do this trip justice. Here's hoping Trystan and Simon can put up some of theirs.
By tomorrow night we will be very close to leaving Montana for a very brief stint cutting across the corner of Idaho. Then its into Wyoming and straight into Yellowstone and the Tetons - we will be taking a couple of days off the bike in here to explore.
Big Sky Montana
The bro's bro-ing down and peacing out all at the same time
Not always this green
We had a good run of dollar power bars
Not all our campspots have been idyllic
This is a Bute Pasty. Hours upon hours of fuel in there.
Yep we are supposed to be way down there. Looking on the bright side, the view from up top would have been great if it had been a nice day!
Whoever cut this track was not familar with the concept of switchbacks
Bob and son Kevin, nearing the end of their epic ride from south to north
Meeting Thomas, Julie (and friend) from Ramlbers HB (my cycling club) on the other side of the world! They are two months into an 18 month world tour.
Enjoying beer and wine with Mark and Cheleena atop the Continental Divide on the evening of 4th of July
Hopefully someone gets the chance to fill you in on our "character building day" from a couple of days ago - it was a pretty crazy day.
By tomorrow night we will be very close to leaving Montana for a very brief stint cutting across the corner of Idaho. Then its into Wyoming and straight into Yellowstone and the Tetons - we will be taking a couple of days off the bike in here to explore.
Rooseville - green card here I come... Ben also got through
The cherries at the Bayne's Lake market were pretty good. Apparently the cream buns less so.
Big Sky Montana
The bro's bro-ing down and peacing out all at the same time
Not always this green We had a good run of dollar power bars
Not all our campspots have been idyllic
Grizzly country for sure
Even resupplying water can be a team exercise
This is a Bute Pasty. Hours upon hours of fuel in there.Yep we are supposed to be way down there. Looking on the bright side, the view from up top would have been great if it had been a nice day!
Whoever cut this track was not familar with the concept of switchbacks
Bob and son Kevin, nearing the end of their epic ride from south to north
Meeting Thomas, Julie (and friend) from Ramlbers HB (my cycling club) on the other side of the world! They are two months into an 18 month world tour.Enjoying beer and wine with Mark and Cheleena atop the Continental Divide on the evening of 4th of JulyWednesday, July 8, 2009
Butte–iful timing
We have just had our first night in a hotel in the town of Butte, which was in fact our first night outside of our tents, and the timing could not have been better. Having not had a hot shower for a full week, our bikes in dire need of TLC, and the salivating prospect of the long awaited Butte Pasty, we had good reasons to look forward to Butte, Montana (the biggest city we pass through on entire trip, an unmistakable mining town of pop. 33 thousand). But by then of yesterdays ride, we were absolutely overjoyed.
The day was supposed to be a fairly straight forward run of 47 miles. An easier day to give our legs a bit of a break. It was not to be. The two mile climb to start the day turned out to be the toughest of the trip to date. When we wern’t trying to pedal our granny gear we were pushing our bikes through and over boulders, ruts, and mud. It was awesome. We thought we had been through the hardest part of the day, but after a great lunch at a Mexican Café in small town Basin (I’m pretty sure the café owner was Forest Gump’s mother), the thunder clouds soon rolled in. For the previous couple of days we had got lucky – skirting around or behind these storms but today we went full frontal. Rain turned into heavier rain, which turned into hail, which turned into bigger, heavier hail. But we pressed on, for Butte was surely to be a haven worth the effort.
But possibly the worst was yet to come. The last three miles into Butte was a speedy downhill run on the interstate – with this section in the process of being resealed. The downpour, combined with the resealing residue, combined to make a spray which ensured we arrived at the bike shops door, bikes covered, trailers covered, clothes covered, and worst of all us covered in this sticky black residue. What hotel owner would let us into their rooms in this state?
Fortunately, with a prior tip and some help which I will cover later, we had arrived at the doorstep of a bike shop called The Outdoorsman, owned by Rob Leipheimer, brother of Levi (I expect that tid-bit to mean zilch for most of you – hint – Tour de France). Fortunately Rob is crazy about bikes and maybe even crazier about great divide riders, and he welcomed us right in, trashed bikes and all. But what about the accommodation? “Well my father owns the hotel right though the other side of the shop here and I can go see what sort of deal I can get for you”. So with our hotel in the same building as the bike shop, hot showers, hot pool, and hot tub, we were set! And after liberal use of the bike shops degreaser we actually resembled human beings of some respectability again, if only for a short while.
The day was supposed to be a fairly straight forward run of 47 miles. An easier day to give our legs a bit of a break. It was not to be. The two mile climb to start the day turned out to be the toughest of the trip to date. When we wern’t trying to pedal our granny gear we were pushing our bikes through and over boulders, ruts, and mud. It was awesome. We thought we had been through the hardest part of the day, but after a great lunch at a Mexican Café in small town Basin (I’m pretty sure the café owner was Forest Gump’s mother), the thunder clouds soon rolled in. For the previous couple of days we had got lucky – skirting around or behind these storms but today we went full frontal. Rain turned into heavier rain, which turned into hail, which turned into bigger, heavier hail. But we pressed on, for Butte was surely to be a haven worth the effort.
But possibly the worst was yet to come. The last three miles into Butte was a speedy downhill run on the interstate – with this section in the process of being resealed. The downpour, combined with the resealing residue, combined to make a spray which ensured we arrived at the bike shops door, bikes covered, trailers covered, clothes covered, and worst of all us covered in this sticky black residue. What hotel owner would let us into their rooms in this state?
Fortunately, with a prior tip and some help which I will cover later, we had arrived at the doorstep of a bike shop called The Outdoorsman, owned by Rob Leipheimer, brother of Levi (I expect that tid-bit to mean zilch for most of you – hint – Tour de France). Fortunately Rob is crazy about bikes and maybe even crazier about great divide riders, and he welcomed us right in, trashed bikes and all. But what about the accommodation? “Well my father owns the hotel right though the other side of the shop here and I can go see what sort of deal I can get for you”. So with our hotel in the same building as the bike shop, hot showers, hot pool, and hot tub, we were set! And after liberal use of the bike shops degreaser we actually resembled human beings of some respectability again, if only for a short while.
Butte – 1000km down
We knew our updates would be sporadic – and that is proving to be the case. It has been a wee while since the last update from Trystan, and even longer since the full update from Fernie. So time to update you on our progress.
We are now over 1000km into our trip and progress is going great – knocking out 60 plus mile days with regularity. Planning and efficiency has improved leaps and bounds - we set our target for the day and we usually meet it - if not exceed it. We have had a good run with gear but we are not getting complacent. And we have successfully managed some sore knees and joints.
From Fernie we managed to cross the border on the same day, finishing in Eureka, Montana - knocking out 71 miles including the border crossing. Aside from that highlight, a Saturday Market at a middle-of-nowhere spot called Bayne's Lake was a welcome early lunch of fresh fruit and popcorn.
From Eureka we did another big day - over 60 miles and 5000ft of climbing to finish at Red Meadow Lake - a beautiful spot even with a Grizzly for company. Aside from the killer climb to end that day, the highlight was definitely the navigation. Earlier in the day I had given Trystan my best "don't question me" look regarding a navigation decision which I was supremely confident about - only to be politely told why I was oh so clearly wrong. Later that same day Ben and Trystan blew past a quite obvious turn, riding an extra 5 miles and leaving Simon and I wondering what had happened.
Monday 29 saw us have a great easy downhill ride into Whitefish - a town which sits by another very attractive lake. A visit to the renowned Glacier Cyclery proved worthwhile with a wee bit of work being done. We also met a pair of Grandfathers riding the trail - we subsequently passed them four times due to the location of our campsites and timing of a rest day. Instead of staying the night beside Whitefish Lake as recommended we decided to press on - keen to get a bit closer to our rest day at Holland Lake two days down the track. The chosen spot at Columbia falls was a bit of a miss - an RV campground at the back of an industrial park. Still, we got our first hot shower since Fernie.
The following day was another 65 miler to another cracker lake - this one was Swan Lake. Paying for the campground gave us the right to access the lake for a swim (!!) but as we move south the water temperatures have been getting warmer and the dip was well worth it. "Two Feather" the park ranger, was one of the personalities which we will not forget in a hurry, even giving us the promised marshmallows (the biggest we have ever seen) for the campfire which we never lit.
And to yet another lake, this time Holland Lake for our eagerly anticipated rest day. With sore legs, Holland Lake was an idyllic spot to reach after what had seemed like a hard day at work in the saddle. After being given a campsite "just for bikers" right on the waters edge and away from the RV's, we headed for the lodge for a beer and a "just for bikers" grilled ham and cheese sandwich. An invite for a buffet breakfast was well received after 10 days on the trot of oatmeal. We were in heaven. What could go wrong? After whetting our appetites all evening for the feast which lay ahead, which included Simon almost doing the unthinkable by considering not finishing his KD dinner, we were mentally and physically prepared for gluttony. Trystan and I took a slightly different strategy to Ben and Simon - we shamelessly piled our plates while they went for the multiple rounds philosophy. This would have been fine except they were refused a second round, leaving them feeling rather short changed. Any attempts at sweet talk were met with a cold response and only after a later "peacing" did we thankfully leave on good terms.
Other highlights of the rest day was Trystan's unsuccessful hitch-hike back to Swan Lake in search of his misplaced wallet (unsuccessful but it has since been located and is on its way back thankfully). Actually that wasn't much of a hilight - missing out on a planned hike. Meanwhile Ben, Simon and I hired a canoe and created a new multisport adventure event. The legs were: 1) paddle to end of lake beside stream entrance. 2) Hike upstream towards the waterfall in your choice of bare feet or crocs. 3) When you can get no further, go bush-whacking through dense forest, head straight uphill looking for the trail, finishing with a 45 degree scree slope climb, still in bare feet or crocs. 4) find trail and finish hike to waterfall. 5) reflect on the view and a job only half complete. 6) head back down the trail until you get to an appropriately close spot to the lake edge. 7) Ditch any gear you are carrying an swim 300 meters back to the canoe. 8) Get in canoe, retrieve gear, and and head back to the start all within the two hours allotted time. Great fun!
The following day took us to Ovando - a small town, pop 71, a pub, cafe, B&B, general store, and fishing shop, all "downtown", not to mention school and baseball field. The trail riding on this day was quite spectacular, with an epic climb and decent through the "Grizzly Basin" (none seen today). Keen to make Seally Lake for a late lunch, we bumped into two great divide riders riding in the opposite direction - a father and son combo Bob and Kevin. We stopped and chatted non-stop for a half hour. If it wasn't for our hunger and thirst, and the hot, dry dusty trail we were on, I am sure we could have talked for hours. After an unspectacular and prolonged lunch stop at Seally Lake it was off to Ovando, pop 71, a pub, cafe, B&B, general store, and fishing shop, all "downtown". After a satisfying and ridiculously inexpensive pub dinner with the locals prepping for 4th of July celebrations, we took our campsite on the Ovando baseball field, as offered by the locals. This was a lovely spot - perfect for disc, and best of all you could peg your tent where it landed... Until 3 in the morning when the irrigation system comes on. With the bro's tenting fly-less they were in action rather quickly. Somehow Trystan managed to place his tent away from the waterworks. Meanwhile I was wearing ear plugged and slept through most of it - even with a blast of the irrigation jet every few moments. When I finally awoke to the noise - a couple of moments to figure out what was going on, I too made a well timed dash to relocate my tent. Which was fine, until about 15 minutes later when the those sprinklers turned off and the sprinklers on the new spot came on... And the locals swore they weren't in on it...
The 4th of July took us through a small town called Lincoln - bustling with activity in preparation for the celebrations. a strained group decision (I will admit I was not keen to stay) saw us carry on and finish the night atop the Continental Divide, at 7000ft. The spot was absolutely amazing, but we had the help of quite possibly the nicest couple on earth - Mark and Cheleena. After getting a bit location-confused, Mark and Cheleena came along the trail in there 4wd, their timing impeccable. To cut the story short - they pointed us in the right direction, then had a couple of drinks with us, and gave us a bottle of wine, and Mark even made the call to the bike shop in Butte to let them know we were coming. Amazing people. And to think they were getting the best side of the deal by meeting and chatting to us, a bunch of great divide riders!
A few other bits and pieces: On the whole the weather has been outstanding. After a couple of cool, wet days to start the trip we have been met with multiple bluebird days - hot, clear, and quite calm. Only in the last couple of days have we seen some thunderstorm activity.
Food: Oatmeal and hot chocolate is the breakfast staple. we go through a pound of hot chocolate in four rounds! Lunches of flat breads with PB/ nutella/ jam/ honey may require an overhaul soon. Dinners of pasta an tuna are the other staple. We do try and make the most of our location when we can - and have been having a few pub meals and the like. Arriving in Butte has been a culinary experience of sorts - Denny's for dinner, cheap beers, my first and last Twinky, and then fruitloops for breakfast this morning. Amazing.
We are now over 1000km into our trip and progress is going great – knocking out 60 plus mile days with regularity. Planning and efficiency has improved leaps and bounds - we set our target for the day and we usually meet it - if not exceed it. We have had a good run with gear but we are not getting complacent. And we have successfully managed some sore knees and joints.
From Fernie we managed to cross the border on the same day, finishing in Eureka, Montana - knocking out 71 miles including the border crossing. Aside from that highlight, a Saturday Market at a middle-of-nowhere spot called Bayne's Lake was a welcome early lunch of fresh fruit and popcorn.
From Eureka we did another big day - over 60 miles and 5000ft of climbing to finish at Red Meadow Lake - a beautiful spot even with a Grizzly for company. Aside from the killer climb to end that day, the highlight was definitely the navigation. Earlier in the day I had given Trystan my best "don't question me" look regarding a navigation decision which I was supremely confident about - only to be politely told why I was oh so clearly wrong. Later that same day Ben and Trystan blew past a quite obvious turn, riding an extra 5 miles and leaving Simon and I wondering what had happened.
Monday 29 saw us have a great easy downhill ride into Whitefish - a town which sits by another very attractive lake. A visit to the renowned Glacier Cyclery proved worthwhile with a wee bit of work being done. We also met a pair of Grandfathers riding the trail - we subsequently passed them four times due to the location of our campsites and timing of a rest day. Instead of staying the night beside Whitefish Lake as recommended we decided to press on - keen to get a bit closer to our rest day at Holland Lake two days down the track. The chosen spot at Columbia falls was a bit of a miss - an RV campground at the back of an industrial park. Still, we got our first hot shower since Fernie.
The following day was another 65 miler to another cracker lake - this one was Swan Lake. Paying for the campground gave us the right to access the lake for a swim (!!) but as we move south the water temperatures have been getting warmer and the dip was well worth it. "Two Feather" the park ranger, was one of the personalities which we will not forget in a hurry, even giving us the promised marshmallows (the biggest we have ever seen) for the campfire which we never lit.
And to yet another lake, this time Holland Lake for our eagerly anticipated rest day. With sore legs, Holland Lake was an idyllic spot to reach after what had seemed like a hard day at work in the saddle. After being given a campsite "just for bikers" right on the waters edge and away from the RV's, we headed for the lodge for a beer and a "just for bikers" grilled ham and cheese sandwich. An invite for a buffet breakfast was well received after 10 days on the trot of oatmeal. We were in heaven. What could go wrong? After whetting our appetites all evening for the feast which lay ahead, which included Simon almost doing the unthinkable by considering not finishing his KD dinner, we were mentally and physically prepared for gluttony. Trystan and I took a slightly different strategy to Ben and Simon - we shamelessly piled our plates while they went for the multiple rounds philosophy. This would have been fine except they were refused a second round, leaving them feeling rather short changed. Any attempts at sweet talk were met with a cold response and only after a later "peacing" did we thankfully leave on good terms.
Other highlights of the rest day was Trystan's unsuccessful hitch-hike back to Swan Lake in search of his misplaced wallet (unsuccessful but it has since been located and is on its way back thankfully). Actually that wasn't much of a hilight - missing out on a planned hike. Meanwhile Ben, Simon and I hired a canoe and created a new multisport adventure event. The legs were: 1) paddle to end of lake beside stream entrance. 2) Hike upstream towards the waterfall in your choice of bare feet or crocs. 3) When you can get no further, go bush-whacking through dense forest, head straight uphill looking for the trail, finishing with a 45 degree scree slope climb, still in bare feet or crocs. 4) find trail and finish hike to waterfall. 5) reflect on the view and a job only half complete. 6) head back down the trail until you get to an appropriately close spot to the lake edge. 7) Ditch any gear you are carrying an swim 300 meters back to the canoe. 8) Get in canoe, retrieve gear, and and head back to the start all within the two hours allotted time. Great fun!
The following day took us to Ovando - a small town, pop 71, a pub, cafe, B&B, general store, and fishing shop, all "downtown", not to mention school and baseball field. The trail riding on this day was quite spectacular, with an epic climb and decent through the "Grizzly Basin" (none seen today). Keen to make Seally Lake for a late lunch, we bumped into two great divide riders riding in the opposite direction - a father and son combo Bob and Kevin. We stopped and chatted non-stop for a half hour. If it wasn't for our hunger and thirst, and the hot, dry dusty trail we were on, I am sure we could have talked for hours. After an unspectacular and prolonged lunch stop at Seally Lake it was off to Ovando, pop 71, a pub, cafe, B&B, general store, and fishing shop, all "downtown". After a satisfying and ridiculously inexpensive pub dinner with the locals prepping for 4th of July celebrations, we took our campsite on the Ovando baseball field, as offered by the locals. This was a lovely spot - perfect for disc, and best of all you could peg your tent where it landed... Until 3 in the morning when the irrigation system comes on. With the bro's tenting fly-less they were in action rather quickly. Somehow Trystan managed to place his tent away from the waterworks. Meanwhile I was wearing ear plugged and slept through most of it - even with a blast of the irrigation jet every few moments. When I finally awoke to the noise - a couple of moments to figure out what was going on, I too made a well timed dash to relocate my tent. Which was fine, until about 15 minutes later when the those sprinklers turned off and the sprinklers on the new spot came on... And the locals swore they weren't in on it...
The 4th of July took us through a small town called Lincoln - bustling with activity in preparation for the celebrations. a strained group decision (I will admit I was not keen to stay) saw us carry on and finish the night atop the Continental Divide, at 7000ft. The spot was absolutely amazing, but we had the help of quite possibly the nicest couple on earth - Mark and Cheleena. After getting a bit location-confused, Mark and Cheleena came along the trail in there 4wd, their timing impeccable. To cut the story short - they pointed us in the right direction, then had a couple of drinks with us, and gave us a bottle of wine, and Mark even made the call to the bike shop in Butte to let them know we were coming. Amazing people. And to think they were getting the best side of the deal by meeting and chatting to us, a bunch of great divide riders!
A few other bits and pieces: On the whole the weather has been outstanding. After a couple of cool, wet days to start the trip we have been met with multiple bluebird days - hot, clear, and quite calm. Only in the last couple of days have we seen some thunderstorm activity.
Food: Oatmeal and hot chocolate is the breakfast staple. we go through a pound of hot chocolate in four rounds! Lunches of flat breads with PB/ nutella/ jam/ honey may require an overhaul soon. Dinners of pasta an tuna are the other staple. We do try and make the most of our location when we can - and have been having a few pub meals and the like. Arriving in Butte has been a culinary experience of sorts - Denny's for dinner, cheap beers, my first and last Twinky, and then fruitloops for breakfast this morning. Amazing.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Whitefish, MT - Man vs. Wild
OK, so probably the best way to tell this story is in a Dan Brown, third person omniscient tone reminiscent of the calibre of books found a the checkout counter at the grocery store....
.......................
Trystan had been the last one up the long a desolate gravel road that day the the alpine lakes. After several medicated doses of Power Bars and Hot Tamales, the valiant rider finally joined his team mates, who were in much better condition than he, but still looking pretty spent after their third 100 + km day in a row. Not only was Trystan physically exhausted, he was also in a terrible mood. He thought to himself: "The only way to shake this thing is to climb that peak and catch the magic hour lighting on Glacier National Park".
And so, as the boys (Grant, Simon, and Ben) started to prepare for an evening of relaxing, Trystan had one goal on his mind: get to the top. And so he put on his new light hikers, long pants and rain jacket to be ready for any conditions he may encounter in the next couple of hours. Being well aware of the cougar and bear risk, he armed himself with his can of bear spray and a soft tattered water bottle, which could be lethal in a pillow fight. Trystan consulted his tree planting team mates to establish the best line up the peak. He was warned that the bush would be thick, and the challenges would be great, but he knew he had to press to the top to let the mountain tame his bad mood.
As he climbed up the steep slope through scree, thorns, shrub, wildflowers, and pine trees all intermixed like a confusing Jambalaya his brother was renound for making, the views of the surrounding Montana wilderness just kept getting better. But just like the beads of sweat pouring off his brow, Trystan could not help the feeling that he was being watched by a very large cat. With every snap of a twig, his body would surge with adrenaline. This was man versus wild, mountain versus bad mood...and it was not yet decided who would come out victorious.
At 8:00 pm, just as agreed upon, Trystan gave off his Turner-wide "cooo-eee" near the top of the peak and Simon responded back from the valley far below as planned. Trystan could now see many of the proud peaks of Glacier National Park, and the scramble had thus far been a success. Realizing that he was getting low on water, he took some snow and packed it into his water bottle. He knew that his meandering accent would not be the ideal path back down, and that instead he should scramble across the decaying shale bluff, and follow a steep, avalanche chute back down that only had low bush to get through...
..................
At the same time, back at the camp down below, a lone fisherman was casting away into the tranquill lake lake. He had seen this party of mountain bikers struggle up the hill earlier that evening; they seemed young, naive, but full of promise and adventure. As he was looking across the lake and into one of the lush green avalanches chutes, he saw that familiar brown movement far off the distant. He knew it well, and it could only be one thing: Grizzly.
He quickly summoned the boys from away from the campfire and pointed out the great beast slowly wandering across the chute, and Simon took a fast picture. They nervously laughed in amazement, and thought, Trystan doesn't know that bear is there, imagine if he decided to pick that same line down....
....................
Meanwhile Trystan, ever cognisant of the falling sun eager to kiss the horizon, started to pick up his pace down the mountain. He had had some close calls with the rock face, but was now in a position to grab the small growing pines as he briskly headed down towards camp. He gave a small "cooo-eee" to let the boys know he was OK, and because of the sharp acoustics off the lake below, he could hear their barely audible voices off in the distant. He could have sworn they said something about him.
......................
Back at the camp, the boys had just told a group of moterbikers about their sighting moments ago. Grant pointed out to the group the chute where they had just seen the bear, but as they all looked up, they couldn't see the bear anymore, just a distant grey shape that could only be their mates jacket...in exactly the same spot they had just seen the bear. Grant then let out a yell, that would have sounded distincly similar to 'fire truck' in the crisp Montana air.
........................
As Trystan stopped to hold his weight against a pine tree, he heard a ruffle to his right across the chute, the hair on the back of his neck crept up and he was filled with a primordial instinctive feeling and then time just stopped.
...............
Meanwhile, back at the camp, as the boys were getting ready to prepare their well-earned tuna and pasta dinner, they looked into the campfire, and were full of excitement about having just spotted a full sized grizzly...close enough to see but far enough to be of any real concern, but little did they realize, that at that exact moment, trystan was starring right into the deep black eyes of a this same bear.
..............
And then there it was, Trystam frozen solid, he could not speak. The bear, equally startled was motionless too. All that separated these two creatures was some 20 metres of shrub. Trystan knew that grizzlies have been clocked at 60 kph, and that an encounter could be less than two seconds away. But as every aspect of Trystan's mind was brought to the immediate present, the bear acted first...and quickly turned the other way and charged through the bush at full speed.
The photographer in Trystan superseded the survivor, and he reached for his camera, but all he got was a futile video of some shrubs crashing and parting as the bear retreated away...
With blood rushing through his veins like a boxer entering the ring, all Trystan could think now was "get back to the camp, now".
.......................
Trystan had been the last one up the long a desolate gravel road that day the the alpine lakes. After several medicated doses of Power Bars and Hot Tamales, the valiant rider finally joined his team mates, who were in much better condition than he, but still looking pretty spent after their third 100 + km day in a row. Not only was Trystan physically exhausted, he was also in a terrible mood. He thought to himself: "The only way to shake this thing is to climb that peak and catch the magic hour lighting on Glacier National Park".
And so, as the boys (Grant, Simon, and Ben) started to prepare for an evening of relaxing, Trystan had one goal on his mind: get to the top. And so he put on his new light hikers, long pants and rain jacket to be ready for any conditions he may encounter in the next couple of hours. Being well aware of the cougar and bear risk, he armed himself with his can of bear spray and a soft tattered water bottle, which could be lethal in a pillow fight. Trystan consulted his tree planting team mates to establish the best line up the peak. He was warned that the bush would be thick, and the challenges would be great, but he knew he had to press to the top to let the mountain tame his bad mood.
As he climbed up the steep slope through scree, thorns, shrub, wildflowers, and pine trees all intermixed like a confusing Jambalaya his brother was renound for making, the views of the surrounding Montana wilderness just kept getting better. But just like the beads of sweat pouring off his brow, Trystan could not help the feeling that he was being watched by a very large cat. With every snap of a twig, his body would surge with adrenaline. This was man versus wild, mountain versus bad mood...and it was not yet decided who would come out victorious.
At 8:00 pm, just as agreed upon, Trystan gave off his Turner-wide "cooo-eee" near the top of the peak and Simon responded back from the valley far below as planned. Trystan could now see many of the proud peaks of Glacier National Park, and the scramble had thus far been a success. Realizing that he was getting low on water, he took some snow and packed it into his water bottle. He knew that his meandering accent would not be the ideal path back down, and that instead he should scramble across the decaying shale bluff, and follow a steep, avalanche chute back down that only had low bush to get through...
..................
At the same time, back at the camp down below, a lone fisherman was casting away into the tranquill lake lake. He had seen this party of mountain bikers struggle up the hill earlier that evening; they seemed young, naive, but full of promise and adventure. As he was looking across the lake and into one of the lush green avalanches chutes, he saw that familiar brown movement far off the distant. He knew it well, and it could only be one thing: Grizzly.
He quickly summoned the boys from away from the campfire and pointed out the great beast slowly wandering across the chute, and Simon took a fast picture. They nervously laughed in amazement, and thought, Trystan doesn't know that bear is there, imagine if he decided to pick that same line down....
....................
Meanwhile Trystan, ever cognisant of the falling sun eager to kiss the horizon, started to pick up his pace down the mountain. He had had some close calls with the rock face, but was now in a position to grab the small growing pines as he briskly headed down towards camp. He gave a small "cooo-eee" to let the boys know he was OK, and because of the sharp acoustics off the lake below, he could hear their barely audible voices off in the distant. He could have sworn they said something about him.
......................
Back at the camp, the boys had just told a group of moterbikers about their sighting moments ago. Grant pointed out to the group the chute where they had just seen the bear, but as they all looked up, they couldn't see the bear anymore, just a distant grey shape that could only be their mates jacket...in exactly the same spot they had just seen the bear. Grant then let out a yell, that would have sounded distincly similar to 'fire truck' in the crisp Montana air.
........................
As Trystan stopped to hold his weight against a pine tree, he heard a ruffle to his right across the chute, the hair on the back of his neck crept up and he was filled with a primordial instinctive feeling and then time just stopped.
...............
Meanwhile, back at the camp, as the boys were getting ready to prepare their well-earned tuna and pasta dinner, they looked into the campfire, and were full of excitement about having just spotted a full sized grizzly...close enough to see but far enough to be of any real concern, but little did they realize, that at that exact moment, trystan was starring right into the deep black eyes of a this same bear.
..............
And then there it was, Trystam frozen solid, he could not speak. The bear, equally startled was motionless too. All that separated these two creatures was some 20 metres of shrub. Trystan knew that grizzlies have been clocked at 60 kph, and that an encounter could be less than two seconds away. But as every aspect of Trystan's mind was brought to the immediate present, the bear acted first...and quickly turned the other way and charged through the bush at full speed.
The photographer in Trystan superseded the survivor, and he reached for his camera, but all he got was a futile video of some shrubs crashing and parting as the bear retreated away...
With blood rushing through his veins like a boxer entering the ring, all Trystan could think now was "get back to the camp, now".
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Fernie - Now for some photos
I'm lugging the 'hubble telescope' as Grant calls it, so I had better make use of the images and put a couple up...
Fernie - "Burn That Guy!!!"
Ok, so that is by far the best line of the trip so far. So Yesterday, we popped our 100 km-in-a-day mark, and it felt mighty good (the legs though, a little less so I must confess).
So the day was winding down as Grant was frantically searching for a Bob trailer, and the days final planned destination was receding faster than my hairline. But with a pretty quick climb on some nice gravel and paved roads (in stark contrast to the axle-bending, rack-snapping, ball-breaking, crank peeling potholes and boulders encountered earlier along the route) things were looking up.
While pouring over the map, Simon, with that look that only a seasoned tree planter can generate, looks at us and says "Fernie, we can do this". While Grant was cautiously encouraging this cavalier enthusiasm, the steady headwinds were howling by and cancelling out any downhill or nice-road advantage that we had. But we decided the luxury of camping in the same place for two nights was incentive enough...to say nothing, that is, of the cold beers and pub feed that we had steadily centred in the front of our minds.
So, we did make it to Fernie. And it would not have been possible with some serious 'drafting' and well co-ordinated teamwork. This is the technique whereby the guy at the front is giving-er pretty hard (and taking all the headwind), and the others sitting in a row right behind, are saving their energy for their turn.
So anyways, as we are descending into the outskirts of Fernie, I'm at the front of the group spinning away with my trailer and the rest of the clan in tow...and then this roadie (on a nice fast road bike) with a muscle shirt pulls out from tributary road, say, 400 m ahead and starts tearing into it. Then, Ben just explodes out from behind me and screams (in 16% enthusiastic and 84% full-on rage tone) "Burn that guy!!!". And so the race was on. We were already moving a a pretty good pace of 17 mph (on fully loaded mountain bikes I might add) and then we start accelerating 18, 19, 20, 21, 22...up to 23 mph... and we're gaining.
A couple minutes later Ben starts draughting off this guy, and then has the nerve to dig deeper and pass. Then Simon passes. Then Grant gets neck-and-neck, and I think this guy must have seen Grants trailer and that was enough for him...he flexes his arms, drops his head and says 'I'LL set the pace" and tears off into the distance. It was a moral victory indeed and we slow right down and half collapse. Riding into Fernie, all we had on our mind was food and beer. A job well done.
So the day was winding down as Grant was frantically searching for a Bob trailer, and the days final planned destination was receding faster than my hairline. But with a pretty quick climb on some nice gravel and paved roads (in stark contrast to the axle-bending, rack-snapping, ball-breaking, crank peeling potholes and boulders encountered earlier along the route) things were looking up.
While pouring over the map, Simon, with that look that only a seasoned tree planter can generate, looks at us and says "Fernie, we can do this". While Grant was cautiously encouraging this cavalier enthusiasm, the steady headwinds were howling by and cancelling out any downhill or nice-road advantage that we had. But we decided the luxury of camping in the same place for two nights was incentive enough...to say nothing, that is, of the cold beers and pub feed that we had steadily centred in the front of our minds.
So, we did make it to Fernie. And it would not have been possible with some serious 'drafting' and well co-ordinated teamwork. This is the technique whereby the guy at the front is giving-er pretty hard (and taking all the headwind), and the others sitting in a row right behind, are saving their energy for their turn.
So anyways, as we are descending into the outskirts of Fernie, I'm at the front of the group spinning away with my trailer and the rest of the clan in tow...and then this roadie (on a nice fast road bike) with a muscle shirt pulls out from tributary road, say, 400 m ahead and starts tearing into it. Then, Ben just explodes out from behind me and screams (in 16% enthusiastic and 84% full-on rage tone) "Burn that guy!!!". And so the race was on. We were already moving a a pretty good pace of 17 mph (on fully loaded mountain bikes I might add) and then we start accelerating 18, 19, 20, 21, 22...up to 23 mph... and we're gaining.
A couple minutes later Ben starts draughting off this guy, and then has the nerve to dig deeper and pass. Then Simon passes. Then Grant gets neck-and-neck, and I think this guy must have seen Grants trailer and that was enough for him...he flexes his arms, drops his head and says 'I'LL set the pace" and tears off into the distance. It was a moral victory indeed and we slow right down and half collapse. Riding into Fernie, all we had on our mind was food and beer. A job well done.
Fernie - Bob success!
About 20 calls later, from the phone of the kind people at the Elkford Chamber of Commerce, and I had a Bob on its way by overnight courier from Calgary to Fernie. Thanks to Doug from Bow Cycles in Calgary, the courier service, and Straightline Bicycles Fernie, I had the new Bob trailer less than 24 hours after my frantic hunt begun. How great is that? Even better we are now enjoying a well deserved rest day in Fernie. But the boys can update you on that. In the mean time here are some of those elusive photos. Sorry if they don't enlarge when you click on the pics... I am not sure why.
Roadtripping
Soon to leave Banff. In such a hurry in fact that we missed the obligatory pic in front of the Banff castle.
Campsite - day 1. A late start, cold and a bit wet, a mechanical break down, and an illegal location. But we were on our way and it was great! Note the size of the tent the bro's are sharing.
The view from camp. Perhaps Trystan or Ben will explain the geology?
Can't make it too easy for the bears
Parallel parking
Water stop. No need to filter here.
Trystan looking the part
Sometimes the scenery is just really too tough to look at
Simon and Ben being brotherly
Moods were as high as the sky was blue
You can't do this at home
The climb to Elk Pass was not always straight forward
Unless today was your day off towing the trailer.
My bike not long before rack failure. You can actually see the rack is bent already! No wonder looking at that load. Broke for the better I'd say.
An friendly dog? No, just a curious wolf.
Can you pick up some milk on your way home?
Caught in the moment?
From Rockies to coal mines all in one day Friday, June 26, 2009
Elkford - The adventure does not disappoint
Last time I said I would see you in Alberta. Well, we actually crossed back into BC yesterday, at the same time as making our first Continental Divide crossing - Elk Pass.
Right now I am sitting on a computer in Elkford - after making an early morning dash from our campsite 16 miles out. My mission is to find a third Bob trailer fast (to be reffered here on is as Bob - or Beast of burden). I will tell you why soon, but in the mean time I will update you on the trip to date - while I wait for shops to open at 10am - what is that all about?
We wanted an adventure and we expected an aventure, and to date this journey has delivered in spades. From late night and last minute prep, repacking, mechanical issues, magnificent scenery, variable weather, and finding our feet as bike-packing adventurers, it has been an action packed three or so days. I think I have already have the outline of the first three chapters of my own personal guide to bike touring - funny it will look much the same as all the others. Read on.
The road trip to Banff began with an epic breakfast (it was Trystan's birthday), and we were finally on the road shortly after eight. It was a tight squeeze inside, and I half expected to hear four bikes go tumbling off the back. The scenry along the way was a great tast for things to come - though the devistation of the pine forests due to the pine beetle was quite evident and it is a sad sight. We found a campsite just out of Banff which gave us our last hot shower for a few days.
We wanted to be away quite early the next morning - not only to get on the trail, but also to see Caitlin off on her way back to Vancouver in good time. We failed miserably. A three mile ride into Banff all loaded up and kitted out and a total repack and rethink of gear was required [first chapter of touring guide]. Extra clothes, camera lenses, double ups of toiletries, extra reading material, and more, was all sent home with Caitlin, who finally was able to leave shortly after midday, which must have meant a return to Vancouver after midnight. What a star.
Delays sending our bounce box and grocery shop meant we finally made the trail by 3pm. In planning this trip I had somewhat optimistically hoped (as a best case scenario) we could get to Banff mid afternoon on Sunday, hitch our trailers, and do ten miles before the official Monday start! Anyway, setting off in light rain, with heavily laden Bobs (me and Ben), and with Trystan and Simon enjoying relative freedom, we were put almost immediately into the total rugged wilderness of the Canadian Rockies. They are superb. The laden trailers combine with rear rack proved quite a handful (light steering, impossible on the steeper climbs) but a repack the next day to put weight lower down, along with eating some of the weight (thee days of food is heavy!) relieved this somewhat.
Ten miles into our intented 17 mile day, and our first breakdown. Simon's pedal had unthreaded and in doing so stripped the crank thread. He was down to one pedal. We got lucky though, with Canmore being a 6 mile (I am quickly getting used to this alternative measurement, though unfortuately miles take a long time to pass) almost entirely downhill ride/ one legged coast from our campsite. Which incidentally we found out the next morning was illegal. Dispite the calamity, and setting up camp in not the nicest weather, spirits were high.
Trystan and Simon set off to Canmore on Tuesday morning, on a mission for a new crank. They got this, but by the time Ben and I met up with them, 7 miles down the trail at the agreed meeting point, it was again 3pm! Dispite the late start we pushed through 35 miles for the day, including an especially steep climb, cool single track, a brief navigational error, more brilliant scenery, and some great decents. We did not find a good campsite until 8pm - by which time we were cold and hungry, and some of us a little grumpy! We decided we would make an effort to have earlier finished were possible. It is amazing what a good meal can do to the mood though - and we went to bed in high spirits and with great ideas flowing.
Day three, yesterday, we were greeted with a frost which quickly turned into a warm and quite brillant day. Ben and I finally handed over the Bob's to Trystan and Simon - I was quick to point out to Trystan that he was carrying two days less of food. Wide open roads and decents made an easy start to the day and we chewed through some miles quite quckly. On starting the climb to Elk pass we rode on paved bike double track (what the hell - this is BF nowhere?) and we gained a false impression our first divide crossing would be a gimmie. A stop at the Boulton Creek trading post for icecreams and we were all fueled for the climb to the top. We were greeted with two crazy steep, longish climbs, and I can tell you I was enjoying being Bob-less right then! A muddy decent over the otherside ensured we looked like hard-core mountain bikers by the days end. We joked that we could have taken a road over the top - but as it turns out it is a 200 mile drive from one side of the pass to the other.
Progress was good, and we managed a 53 mile day. But mechanical number two struck. I had a rear rack that was mounted to the seatpost - you will see a photo at some stage - to carry a few lighter things. The rack, which is cantilevered, is not a great solution, but was a necessity due to lack of rack mounts on my (and Trystan's bike) and also not going to the trouble of fabricating a proper solution beforehand. On top of the poor design, the weight distribution was poor, making the bike front end difficult to manage. So anyway. I was enjoying a nice decent yesterday afternoon, hitting about 30mph. I unweighted for a pothole at the bottom but this was quickly followed by a horrible noise from the rear of the bike. Coming to a halt, I find my rack broken nearly in two. I unceremoniously dispose of the rack in frustration, but fortunately we have redundant carrying capacity. Map inspections - a new rack in Fernie or wait to Whitefish - can we get that far? What better rack solution can we come up with - the first one lasted all of 80 miles after all. There were options, and possible solutions. But the best solution become evident when we inspected Trystan's identical rack. A crack in the same spot and his rack's lifespan will be short too. The third Bob became the obvious choice - by the time we spend up on racks that may or may not work we could have bought another Bob. Plus the Bob will improve bike handling no-end. We do loose our "freedom" days, but our loads will be lighter, and all in all should help us get to Mexico faster. So right now I am trying to find that Bob. Either in Fernie, which we should hit tomorrow morning, or perhaps get one couriered further ahead.
Despite all this, we remain roughly on schedule. Granted we had some fat in the schedule for the first section, which we new would be required for one reason or other. We will hit Fernie tomorrow morning, and quite likely stay the night there. The border crossing should be sometime late Saturday or early Sunday.
I have yet to see a bear yet. Apparently a grizzly walked through a campsite yesterday morning near where we passed through though. I have seen plenty of deer, a moose, and even a curious wolf. None of which seem to concerned about the precence of cyclists.
Unfortunately I cannot post any photos right now. I will try to post some in Fernie tomorrow. There are some killer shots, Trystan's might have to wait a while, but the pics off my point-and-shoot will be a good start. Hopefully Trystan will put an update on too, and Ben and Simon might even make their maiden appearances and you will be able to get the Canadian perspective.
Better get back to the Bob hunt.
Grant
Right now I am sitting on a computer in Elkford - after making an early morning dash from our campsite 16 miles out. My mission is to find a third Bob trailer fast (to be reffered here on is as Bob - or Beast of burden). I will tell you why soon, but in the mean time I will update you on the trip to date - while I wait for shops to open at 10am - what is that all about?
We wanted an adventure and we expected an aventure, and to date this journey has delivered in spades. From late night and last minute prep, repacking, mechanical issues, magnificent scenery, variable weather, and finding our feet as bike-packing adventurers, it has been an action packed three or so days. I think I have already have the outline of the first three chapters of my own personal guide to bike touring - funny it will look much the same as all the others. Read on.
The road trip to Banff began with an epic breakfast (it was Trystan's birthday), and we were finally on the road shortly after eight. It was a tight squeeze inside, and I half expected to hear four bikes go tumbling off the back. The scenry along the way was a great tast for things to come - though the devistation of the pine forests due to the pine beetle was quite evident and it is a sad sight. We found a campsite just out of Banff which gave us our last hot shower for a few days.
We wanted to be away quite early the next morning - not only to get on the trail, but also to see Caitlin off on her way back to Vancouver in good time. We failed miserably. A three mile ride into Banff all loaded up and kitted out and a total repack and rethink of gear was required [first chapter of touring guide]. Extra clothes, camera lenses, double ups of toiletries, extra reading material, and more, was all sent home with Caitlin, who finally was able to leave shortly after midday, which must have meant a return to Vancouver after midnight. What a star.
Delays sending our bounce box and grocery shop meant we finally made the trail by 3pm. In planning this trip I had somewhat optimistically hoped (as a best case scenario) we could get to Banff mid afternoon on Sunday, hitch our trailers, and do ten miles before the official Monday start! Anyway, setting off in light rain, with heavily laden Bobs (me and Ben), and with Trystan and Simon enjoying relative freedom, we were put almost immediately into the total rugged wilderness of the Canadian Rockies. They are superb. The laden trailers combine with rear rack proved quite a handful (light steering, impossible on the steeper climbs) but a repack the next day to put weight lower down, along with eating some of the weight (thee days of food is heavy!) relieved this somewhat.
Ten miles into our intented 17 mile day, and our first breakdown. Simon's pedal had unthreaded and in doing so stripped the crank thread. He was down to one pedal. We got lucky though, with Canmore being a 6 mile (I am quickly getting used to this alternative measurement, though unfortuately miles take a long time to pass) almost entirely downhill ride/ one legged coast from our campsite. Which incidentally we found out the next morning was illegal. Dispite the calamity, and setting up camp in not the nicest weather, spirits were high.
Trystan and Simon set off to Canmore on Tuesday morning, on a mission for a new crank. They got this, but by the time Ben and I met up with them, 7 miles down the trail at the agreed meeting point, it was again 3pm! Dispite the late start we pushed through 35 miles for the day, including an especially steep climb, cool single track, a brief navigational error, more brilliant scenery, and some great decents. We did not find a good campsite until 8pm - by which time we were cold and hungry, and some of us a little grumpy! We decided we would make an effort to have earlier finished were possible. It is amazing what a good meal can do to the mood though - and we went to bed in high spirits and with great ideas flowing.
Day three, yesterday, we were greeted with a frost which quickly turned into a warm and quite brillant day. Ben and I finally handed over the Bob's to Trystan and Simon - I was quick to point out to Trystan that he was carrying two days less of food. Wide open roads and decents made an easy start to the day and we chewed through some miles quite quckly. On starting the climb to Elk pass we rode on paved bike double track (what the hell - this is BF nowhere?) and we gained a false impression our first divide crossing would be a gimmie. A stop at the Boulton Creek trading post for icecreams and we were all fueled for the climb to the top. We were greeted with two crazy steep, longish climbs, and I can tell you I was enjoying being Bob-less right then! A muddy decent over the otherside ensured we looked like hard-core mountain bikers by the days end. We joked that we could have taken a road over the top - but as it turns out it is a 200 mile drive from one side of the pass to the other.
Progress was good, and we managed a 53 mile day. But mechanical number two struck. I had a rear rack that was mounted to the seatpost - you will see a photo at some stage - to carry a few lighter things. The rack, which is cantilevered, is not a great solution, but was a necessity due to lack of rack mounts on my (and Trystan's bike) and also not going to the trouble of fabricating a proper solution beforehand. On top of the poor design, the weight distribution was poor, making the bike front end difficult to manage. So anyway. I was enjoying a nice decent yesterday afternoon, hitting about 30mph. I unweighted for a pothole at the bottom but this was quickly followed by a horrible noise from the rear of the bike. Coming to a halt, I find my rack broken nearly in two. I unceremoniously dispose of the rack in frustration, but fortunately we have redundant carrying capacity. Map inspections - a new rack in Fernie or wait to Whitefish - can we get that far? What better rack solution can we come up with - the first one lasted all of 80 miles after all. There were options, and possible solutions. But the best solution become evident when we inspected Trystan's identical rack. A crack in the same spot and his rack's lifespan will be short too. The third Bob became the obvious choice - by the time we spend up on racks that may or may not work we could have bought another Bob. Plus the Bob will improve bike handling no-end. We do loose our "freedom" days, but our loads will be lighter, and all in all should help us get to Mexico faster. So right now I am trying to find that Bob. Either in Fernie, which we should hit tomorrow morning, or perhaps get one couriered further ahead.
Despite all this, we remain roughly on schedule. Granted we had some fat in the schedule for the first section, which we new would be required for one reason or other. We will hit Fernie tomorrow morning, and quite likely stay the night there. The border crossing should be sometime late Saturday or early Sunday.
I have yet to see a bear yet. Apparently a grizzly walked through a campsite yesterday morning near where we passed through though. I have seen plenty of deer, a moose, and even a curious wolf. None of which seem to concerned about the precence of cyclists.
Unfortunately I cannot post any photos right now. I will try to post some in Fernie tomorrow. There are some killer shots, Trystan's might have to wait a while, but the pics off my point-and-shoot will be a good start. Hopefully Trystan will put an update on too, and Ben and Simon might even make their maiden appearances and you will be able to get the Canadian perspective.
Better get back to the Bob hunt.
Grant
Sunday, June 21, 2009
The holiday is over and the adventure begins
As I write this it is 9 on Saturday night and we are committed to leaving at 5am tomorrow for our ten or so hour road trip to Banff. As Trystan has already explained Caitlin has come to the rescue in a big way - a days driving for us really is quite something. Caitlin, you are officially awesome.
I wish I could tell you that we are all packed up and ready to go and have just enjoyed a great bbq dinner with Trystan's, and Ben & Simon's family and friends, but that is far from the truth. Well the packing part anyway. The final feast was everything it should have been - a relaxing dinner and if it wasn't totally obvious before it became abundantly clear then that there will be many people closely following our progress on both sides of the Pacific, with no shortage of anticipation to keep us motivated along the way.
But now to more pressing matters. Yesterday the crew assembled - and at what better location than MEC - the greatest outdoor gear shop I have ever seen in my life. With the three page gear list in one hand and the credit card sitting itchy in the pocket the store did not stand a chance. Two return visits were required, with a brief interlude at the bike shop which was conveniently placed across the street. And yes, we all bought a can of bear spray each.
Right now the Glynn-Morris lounge is a bomb site and we have several hours of work to do before we will be ready to hit the road. The power tools are a constant background noise as rack extenders get fabricated in haste. Trailers will no doubt be packed and repacked to make sure everything fits - don't forget the food has to go in there too! And then somehow we will make the gear plus the five of us all fit into the Subaru. It will happen, but I suspect sleep might be measured in minutes rather than hours tonight.
Before I go I should make mention of the week I have had in Vancouver. Trystan, utilising all his logistics coordination skills, arranged for his uni friend Caroline to "adopt a kiwi" for the week. This became two kiwis when a week before the trip I learnt of another Taupo local Andrew coming to Vancouver on the very same flight. From the moment we were whisked away from the airport to leaving in far too much of a hurry on Friday the hospitality was top notch. I had close to a week to play tourist with Andrew, and a very recent addition to Vancouver, Emma, and we had a great time checking out the city - including biking Stanley Park, a climb up the Grouse Grind and an encounter with (caged) grizzly's. We even made it out to Whistler. To the disappointment of many we did not make it to the aquarium - which is apparently a must see especially now that they have a new baby... or something like that. And I cannot not mention Paige's dinner party - excellent. They do things pretty well here in Vancouver. All in all, terribly relaxing and but now it time to stop gushing and get stressing. See you somewhere in Alberta.
What's with these Friday nights!?
I think if you are the sort of person that is looking to spend 2 months in Lycra, then perhaps spending two Friday nights in row packing gear is a not such a bad thing.
Yesterday was crazy. I went out to the ferries and picked up Simon and Ben. We then met up with Grant at MEC (only the greatest store in the planet). Initially we had our carefully though out lists in hand, diligently going through each one by one...but then the 'museum-legs' started setting in (I know you know what I'm talking about) and it started to get confusing: we just started grabbing stuff willy-nilly, and saying she'll be right' like the good honorary Kiwi's. Speaking of, yesterdays highlight was when the checkout lady asked where Grant and I were from, and I gave my standard 'yeah, I have a pretty messed up Canadian accent, eh?', and then just pointed to Grant and informed her that Grant was from Aussie...and I did so completely sincerely. Brilliant!
I must now take this time to pay my tributes to the early death of one of our members: I am sad to report the passing of Bougie's potentially-unfaithful Land Rover. This M.A.S.H. era steed has been removed from the trip plans. Bougie got it checked out by the mechanic, and the mechanic must have been a bit soft or something s as he said that it was not fit for the road, something trivial about the clutch, transmission and brakes being totally completely and shot...I'm sure we would have been fine though....
But as one door closes another one opens, and my wonderfull sister Caitlin will be doing the unthinkable tomorrow. Driving some 1200 km to take up to the trailhead in Banff, and then turning the Subaru around, and heading right back...now that's love.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Bikes and bits
Trystan has done a top job introducing the background to this epic adventure, the trip vision, and the team. Now it is my turn to introduce you to the stuff that really counts – gear and gear philosophy. After all this is the real reason we do this sort of stuff - it is the perfect excuse to go out and buy more gear!
Bear with me if this gets a little technical in places as I fill the top half of this blog page with great stuff about bikes and trailers.
The trail will be predominantly off the paved road and is often rough or badly corrugated, not to mention remote. For this reason bikes suitable for off road are a must. For most of us that means a good reliable and sturdy mountain bike. But for Ryan, adventurer extraordinaire, this means a cross bike (a bike that looks much like a road bike but with beefier wheels, tyres and brakes). We all mulled and researched and mulled some more over bikes. At first it seemed that a full suspension bike was the best way to go. Then we started to hook onto the idea of riding 29ers (the latest mtb fad with road bike size rims) which roll a bit better over the rougher stuff. I also seriously considered a carbon hardtail. In the end both Trystan and I settled on standard 26” hardtail (front suspension only) steel framed (retro-cool) mountain bikes. Ben and Simon will be riding 29” alloy hardtails. And Ryan has his Specialized Tri-cross.
Staying with the NZ bikes for just a moment. Many thanks must go to the Top Gear team www.topgearcycles.co.nz , especially Mark and Nigel, who run hands-down the best bike shop in Taupo. Always offering great advice and outstanding service, and hooking Trystan up with a killer deal on his Jamis Dragon Pro bike – a Reynolds 853 steel beauty looking resplendent in pearl white and ghost [fancy name for baby] blue. Also many thanks to Oli of RoadWorks fame www.oli.co.nz , for a killer set of wheels and his knowledgeable advice; and Paul of Essence Bicycles www.essencebicycle.co.nz , who distributes the Cotic brand in NZ – and I have found out for myself why these Cotic bikes have such a strong following!
Bike selection wasn’t quite as simple as described above – because so far I have neglected to mention another, very important element of this trip. This trip is not supported, and as such we will have to carry pretty much all our gear – clothes, tents, sleeping bag and other camping equipment, water, up to 3-4 days of food, bike spares and tools, and the odd heavily scrutinised luxury. So how to carry all this gear?
Racks and panniers are the most common means of carrying gear for bike touring. However, as far as the GDR goes, advice seems to lean towards towing a trailer for a whole host of reasons. The most common and best regarded is the BOB Yak trailer, and this is what we have ended up with. If the idea of towing a trailer sounds weird, have a look here to see what they are all about: http://www.bobgear.com/trailers .The Bob can carry up to 70 pounds of gear, and attaches at the rear dropout of just about any bike. On the other hand, panniers work best on bikes designed to take them – which excludes most modern mountain bikes. Test rides of the Bob over the local W2K (Whakaipo Bay to Kinloch) trail, loaded with firewood and rocks no less, proved to be a pleasant surprise with the trailer not overly detracting from the experience and feeling of freedom of riding a bike (though they are not gravity cheating devices by any stretch of the imagination!).
Taking into account we will be travelling quite light, and we can try and squeeze in longer days where necessary as to carry less supplies, we will be able to get away with one trailer between two. Trystan and I will be sharing one, Ben and Simon another. Ryan, Mr Ultralight, is going to show us that a trailer is actually unnecessary and carry everything he needs on his bike - I haven’t even met this guy yet but I sure admire his style. The trailer sharing will clearly result in some interesting day-to-day group dynamics. We hope that the burden of towing a trailer for two will be more than offset by the feeling of freedom the remainder of the time. Being able to swap trailers at (mutually agreed) will, will no doubt lead to some interesting and creative bartering on the trail. The trailer-less bike will never be totally burden-free though - to give us a bit more trailer space each bike will also have a rear rack which will be used to carry some of the bulkier/ lighter items.
I must mention one more thing which I think is pretty cool: The drift box (bounce box). This is a nifty device used by adventurers like ourselves to post items ahead on the trail. It involves posting stuff to ourselves at post offices along the trail. If we don’t open a box it is even free to forward onto the next post office of choice. The biggest downside of this technique is making sure we get to the post office when it is open – which is far from guaranteed in the small towns we will be passing through. We will be using the drift box to post the likes of critical spares, hard to come by food, new reading material – that sort of thing. I have already bought a weighty quantity of Whittakers chocolate for just this purpose.
So that is the brief (really, it is, believe me) summary of our bikes and load carrying gear. There is plenty of other stuff to talk about, like spares, camping equipment, food, and safety measures – but that can be left for another day.
Bear with me if this gets a little technical in places as I fill the top half of this blog page with great stuff about bikes and trailers.
The trail will be predominantly off the paved road and is often rough or badly corrugated, not to mention remote. For this reason bikes suitable for off road are a must. For most of us that means a good reliable and sturdy mountain bike. But for Ryan, adventurer extraordinaire, this means a cross bike (a bike that looks much like a road bike but with beefier wheels, tyres and brakes). We all mulled and researched and mulled some more over bikes. At first it seemed that a full suspension bike was the best way to go. Then we started to hook onto the idea of riding 29ers (the latest mtb fad with road bike size rims) which roll a bit better over the rougher stuff. I also seriously considered a carbon hardtail. In the end both Trystan and I settled on standard 26” hardtail (front suspension only) steel framed (retro-cool) mountain bikes. Ben and Simon will be riding 29” alloy hardtails. And Ryan has his Specialized Tri-cross.
Staying with the NZ bikes for just a moment. Many thanks must go to the Top Gear team www.topgearcycles.co.nz , especially Mark and Nigel, who run hands-down the best bike shop in Taupo. Always offering great advice and outstanding service, and hooking Trystan up with a killer deal on his Jamis Dragon Pro bike – a Reynolds 853 steel beauty looking resplendent in pearl white and ghost [fancy name for baby] blue. Also many thanks to Oli of RoadWorks fame www.oli.co.nz , for a killer set of wheels and his knowledgeable advice; and Paul of Essence Bicycles www.essencebicycle.co.nz , who distributes the Cotic brand in NZ – and I have found out for myself why these Cotic bikes have such a strong following!
Bike selection wasn’t quite as simple as described above – because so far I have neglected to mention another, very important element of this trip. This trip is not supported, and as such we will have to carry pretty much all our gear – clothes, tents, sleeping bag and other camping equipment, water, up to 3-4 days of food, bike spares and tools, and the odd heavily scrutinised luxury. So how to carry all this gear?
Racks and panniers are the most common means of carrying gear for bike touring. However, as far as the GDR goes, advice seems to lean towards towing a trailer for a whole host of reasons. The most common and best regarded is the BOB Yak trailer, and this is what we have ended up with. If the idea of towing a trailer sounds weird, have a look here to see what they are all about: http://www.bobgear.com/trailers .The Bob can carry up to 70 pounds of gear, and attaches at the rear dropout of just about any bike. On the other hand, panniers work best on bikes designed to take them – which excludes most modern mountain bikes. Test rides of the Bob over the local W2K (Whakaipo Bay to Kinloch) trail, loaded with firewood and rocks no less, proved to be a pleasant surprise with the trailer not overly detracting from the experience and feeling of freedom of riding a bike (though they are not gravity cheating devices by any stretch of the imagination!).
Taking into account we will be travelling quite light, and we can try and squeeze in longer days where necessary as to carry less supplies, we will be able to get away with one trailer between two. Trystan and I will be sharing one, Ben and Simon another. Ryan, Mr Ultralight, is going to show us that a trailer is actually unnecessary and carry everything he needs on his bike - I haven’t even met this guy yet but I sure admire his style. The trailer sharing will clearly result in some interesting day-to-day group dynamics. We hope that the burden of towing a trailer for two will be more than offset by the feeling of freedom the remainder of the time. Being able to swap trailers at (mutually agreed) will, will no doubt lead to some interesting and creative bartering on the trail. The trailer-less bike will never be totally burden-free though - to give us a bit more trailer space each bike will also have a rear rack which will be used to carry some of the bulkier/ lighter items.
I must mention one more thing which I think is pretty cool: The drift box (bounce box). This is a nifty device used by adventurers like ourselves to post items ahead on the trail. It involves posting stuff to ourselves at post offices along the trail. If we don’t open a box it is even free to forward onto the next post office of choice. The biggest downside of this technique is making sure we get to the post office when it is open – which is far from guaranteed in the small towns we will be passing through. We will be using the drift box to post the likes of critical spares, hard to come by food, new reading material – that sort of thing. I have already bought a weighty quantity of Whittakers chocolate for just this purpose.
So that is the brief (really, it is, believe me) summary of our bikes and load carrying gear. There is plenty of other stuff to talk about, like spares, camping equipment, food, and safety measures – but that can be left for another day.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
The Adventure Cycling Association
Here's the link to where the original idea spawned, and some more information on the route etc...Were been using their maps, guidebook and publications to get geared up...so to speak.
http://www.adventurecycling.org/routes/greatdivide.cfm
http://www.adventurecycling.org/routes/greatdivide.cfm
The Trip VISION
Being a pretty large group, it became pretty evident that coming up with some sort of 'vision' would be pretty important, so communally, we came up with and agreed on one to stick by for the trip...so here it is:
- Four leave Banff, five arrive in Antelope wells in the allotted time
- To always realize that the team is stronger than the individual and to stick together and support each other through the trip
- To soak up the opportunity to be living the dream in the outdoors
- To have good times with good people and meet some characters along the way
- To take advantage of being in the Great Divide by not only cycling through, but by taking epic side trips, having cultural experiences etc.
- To ride sufficiently long days to allow for the above to happen in the allotted time
- To grow individually and as a crew and to answer those unanswerable questions
- To leave with a ton of stories to tell your grand kids on a rocking chair
- To leave the trip wanting to undertake more BET’s (Big Epic Trips)
- To promote self-propelled adventures
- To get a picture of Grant (our token Kiwi) with a bear
- Four leave Banff, five arrive in Antelope wells in the allotted time
- To always realize that the team is stronger than the individual and to stick together and support each other through the trip
- To soak up the opportunity to be living the dream in the outdoors
- To have good times with good people and meet some characters along the way
- To take advantage of being in the Great Divide by not only cycling through, but by taking epic side trips, having cultural experiences etc.
- To ride sufficiently long days to allow for the above to happen in the allotted time
- To grow individually and as a crew and to answer those unanswerable questions
- To leave with a ton of stories to tell your grand kids on a rocking chair
- To leave the trip wanting to undertake more BET’s (Big Epic Trips)
- To promote self-propelled adventures
- To get a picture of Grant (our token Kiwi) with a bear
Introducing Trystan
Trystan, or Twisty, is the Godfather. Sort of like those mafia circles where nobody knows each other except for the head guy...yeah, just like that. As the team is spread across the Pacific, nobody knows everybody...except for this guy... feel the power already?On the trip, Trystan is the go-to guy for taking photos, and lots of them. Described by a concerned team member as the 'Hubble Telescope', Trystan's camera equipment will be pretty crazy... but it's a small price to pay for sensational 'hero shots'.
Likes: the elusive Swedish Tramping Team, smiley faces, mountains, Denny's, Americans
Dislikes: Soapy dishes, burnt porridge, bad moods, corned beef, Vegemite
Introducing Ryan
Ryan, of 'Bougie', is a walking example of living-the-dream. This man's CV includes walking to Mexico from Canada on the PCT, biking across Canada and pretty my always finding epic adventures. In fact, Bougie will be joining late, somewhere in Wyoming as he's skiing back country on big terrain in Alaska.On the trip, Bougie is the go-to guy for ingenuity and getting back to the basics. Bougie goes ultralight and promises to teach the group to cook dinner with a beer can, antifreeze and a pot...
Likes: Skies, snow, mountains, beer cans, his truck, 'paperwork'
Dislikes: Bad attitudes, snowmobiles, j-rooting.
Introducing Simon
Simon, or Simmons, is an international man of mystery. While being terrible at 'staying in touch', answering emails and pretty much anything involving communication, this guy prides himself by unplugging from the grid...so to speak. In addition, I'm not sure if anyone on the planet can thrive on cramming as well as Simon can, but we'll let his transcript speak for itself...most people don't hit triple-digit percentages.On the trip, Simmons is the go-to guy for ditching the bike, and climbing up...mountains. Just look at those glasses. Simmons will re-define the boundaries of the 'rest day.
Likes: Other redheads, freckles, Tricycles, trees, test tubes
Dislikes: The sun, his cousin's farts, Dutch ovens, email, neighbourhood bullies
Monday, June 8, 2009
Introducing Ben
Ben is a chick magnet. This is the only man who can successfully pull off pink jeans, and the ladies love it.On the trip, Ben or Benbo, is our go-to guy for babes. Ben is in charge of picking up 43 year old cougars named 'Thelma' in back-state Montana...Ben is also our source of music. When it all turns to custard, Ben will carefully unwrap his harminica and play like Bobby D. to take the edge off the situation...
Likes: pink jeans, hemp, things that make sound, couches and red wine...
Dislikes: Back country skiing, having his buttons pushed, having his dad take photo's of him in embarassing situations.. 'Peace! Dad...'
Introducing Grant
Grant was born to ride, loves riding, loves wheels, cogs, bits and Bobs...as long as there are hills to climb, Grant will be happy.On the trip Grant is our go-to guy for bike maintenance, tuning, etc...anything to do with our rides, this is our guy.
Likes: Road bikes, mountain bikes, nice bikes, dark chocolate, the Saturday newspaper, routine, order, efficiency, bears (although he's never seen one...yet)
Dislikes: Stacked up dishes, crappy bikes, his flatmate...
The Journey of 3000 miles must begin with one single entry...
My name is Trystan, and this trip is my brainchild....
But in all seriousness, it's a bit challenging and daunting to begin a blog, a shameful rant sent into cyberspace...to be read by...errr...anyone? Regardless though, I suppose, as with any good story, one must start at the beginning...
The idea for this trip was born just over 5 years ago, in the small Sherpa village of Phortse at 4000 m elevation, in the Solokumbu region of Nepal. I was teaching English at the time with my brother at a small elementary school there during the pre-monsoon season. Some of the climbers heading to Base Camp camp would have stopped off at the guesthouse where we were staying, and one of them must have dropped of a yuppie copy of Outside Magazine. And on one fateful May afternoon, after a long day teaching undoubtedly subsidized by coconut cookies and milk tea, I stumbled upon this magazine, and more specifically, an article outlining the 5 greatest bike trips of all time. That is when I first read about the Great Divide Mountain bike route: the longest off-pavement route in the world, that follows the spine of the Rocky Mountains from Banff, Alberta through BC, Montana, Wyoming, Colorado and finishes in Antelope Wells, New Mexico...some 4400 kms and 60,000 m of cumulative elevation gain later.
The Trip promptly made it to the 'List of Must-Do Adventures' in the back of my journal, where it lay dormant through an Engineering Degree, some work in the Arctic, Vancouver and travelling in New Zealand, until a Saturday afternoon in November of this past year. Over a casual beer with my Kiwi flatmate Grant, I casually pitched him the idea of embarking on this trip as he had been getting itchy to spread his wings in an 'overseas' trip, but he wanted to do something epic, crazy and memorable. Something a little different than the standard Overseas Experience, or OE as they say here...
But I had been pitching this trip to various people over the past couple of years, and there was always the 'yeah, that would be epic', or 'can you imagine?' or 'are you crazy?'...but this time was different, Grant said 'I'm in', and I knew he was serious. Now I should add that Kiwi's are a pretty 'straight-up' people, and they call a spade a spade, so I knew he was rock solid. I should also add, that while Grant had been racing as a roadie for years, my debut into the word of cycling happened just some 4 months prior and everything about me screamed 'hack'. What I lacked in riding experience though, I knew I could make up in wilderness experience.
So we had a team of two. And we had the will. And everything else just fall into place right? But wait a tick, oh yeah, we were both working full time as engineers for a power company, how could we take that amount of time off? And again, in typical Kiwi fashion Grant pitched the idea to his boss immediately on the Monday morning...for my Canadian personality though, it wasn't quite so easy. Asking my boss seemed as embarrassing as asking out a really hot girl, one that you knew the chances were stacked against you...but, with a bit of gumption it just sort of came out and with a bit of time, we were both given conditional-'go-ahead' which we were (are) very grateful for.
So then, a couple questions still needed to be answered, first off, when? We knew it had to be in the North American summer, and the preferred direction seemed to be south....so we'd have to leave late enough to allow for most of the snow to melt in the high passes of Colorado, but not leave too late by hitting the derailleur-breaking sticky bad weather in New Mexico. So we planned for July-August as the ideal time....
And then, how long should we take? After a bit of research, the route has been raced in 15 days and change, and the 'suggested' riding days by the guidebook is about 67...so, we knew we didn't want to race it, but we had limited time at our disposal, and we wanted to plan for lots of 'rest days' to climb mountains, go fishing and do other things to take advantage of the surrounds....so we narrowed in on about 50 riding days and 10ish rest days.....making for average days of about 90 kms with a little over 1000 metres of climbing....yikes. But, as they say in NZ ...'she'll be right'.
And finally, who else? Other potentials were my good friend Pablo and my brother John, neither of which could make the timing of this adventure in the end. But my two cousins Simon and Ben were both keen as...and so was a good friend Ryan....So with 2 to start, and potential numbers up to 7, the final number is now at 5 (we'll, 4-1/2 but I'll get to that).
So just who are these jokers that think they can do this anyways? Stay tuned to find out....
But in all seriousness, it's a bit challenging and daunting to begin a blog, a shameful rant sent into cyberspace...to be read by...errr...anyone? Regardless though, I suppose, as with any good story, one must start at the beginning...
The idea for this trip was born just over 5 years ago, in the small Sherpa village of Phortse at 4000 m elevation, in the Solokumbu region of Nepal. I was teaching English at the time with my brother at a small elementary school there during the pre-monsoon season. Some of the climbers heading to Base Camp camp would have stopped off at the guesthouse where we were staying, and one of them must have dropped of a yuppie copy of Outside Magazine. And on one fateful May afternoon, after a long day teaching undoubtedly subsidized by coconut cookies and milk tea, I stumbled upon this magazine, and more specifically, an article outlining the 5 greatest bike trips of all time. That is when I first read about the Great Divide Mountain bike route: the longest off-pavement route in the world, that follows the spine of the Rocky Mountains from Banff, Alberta through BC, Montana, Wyoming, Colorado and finishes in Antelope Wells, New Mexico...some 4400 kms and 60,000 m of cumulative elevation gain later.
The Trip promptly made it to the 'List of Must-Do Adventures' in the back of my journal, where it lay dormant through an Engineering Degree, some work in the Arctic, Vancouver and travelling in New Zealand, until a Saturday afternoon in November of this past year. Over a casual beer with my Kiwi flatmate Grant, I casually pitched him the idea of embarking on this trip as he had been getting itchy to spread his wings in an 'overseas' trip, but he wanted to do something epic, crazy and memorable. Something a little different than the standard Overseas Experience, or OE as they say here...
But I had been pitching this trip to various people over the past couple of years, and there was always the 'yeah, that would be epic', or 'can you imagine?' or 'are you crazy?'...but this time was different, Grant said 'I'm in', and I knew he was serious. Now I should add that Kiwi's are a pretty 'straight-up' people, and they call a spade a spade, so I knew he was rock solid. I should also add, that while Grant had been racing as a roadie for years, my debut into the word of cycling happened just some 4 months prior and everything about me screamed 'hack'. What I lacked in riding experience though, I knew I could make up in wilderness experience.
So we had a team of two. And we had the will. And everything else just fall into place right? But wait a tick, oh yeah, we were both working full time as engineers for a power company, how could we take that amount of time off? And again, in typical Kiwi fashion Grant pitched the idea to his boss immediately on the Monday morning...for my Canadian personality though, it wasn't quite so easy. Asking my boss seemed as embarrassing as asking out a really hot girl, one that you knew the chances were stacked against you...but, with a bit of gumption it just sort of came out and with a bit of time, we were both given conditional-'go-ahead' which we were (are) very grateful for.
So then, a couple questions still needed to be answered, first off, when? We knew it had to be in the North American summer, and the preferred direction seemed to be south....so we'd have to leave late enough to allow for most of the snow to melt in the high passes of Colorado, but not leave too late by hitting the derailleur-breaking sticky bad weather in New Mexico. So we planned for July-August as the ideal time....
And then, how long should we take? After a bit of research, the route has been raced in 15 days and change, and the 'suggested' riding days by the guidebook is about 67...so, we knew we didn't want to race it, but we had limited time at our disposal, and we wanted to plan for lots of 'rest days' to climb mountains, go fishing and do other things to take advantage of the surrounds....so we narrowed in on about 50 riding days and 10ish rest days.....making for average days of about 90 kms with a little over 1000 metres of climbing....yikes. But, as they say in NZ ...'she'll be right'.
And finally, who else? Other potentials were my good friend Pablo and my brother John, neither of which could make the timing of this adventure in the end. But my two cousins Simon and Ben were both keen as...and so was a good friend Ryan....So with 2 to start, and potential numbers up to 7, the final number is now at 5 (we'll, 4-1/2 but I'll get to that).
So just who are these jokers that think they can do this anyways? Stay tuned to find out....
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