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
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
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?".
Sunday, July 19, 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...
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