Kiss the Midwest

Iowa #4!

2009-10-26T07:11:00.000-07:00

It's pretty enthralling to be in a small town full of hawkeye fans these days...the black and the gold exploding out like fireworks. The Hawkeyes are 8-0 for the first time in their long college football history and ranked 4 in the weekly ratings, coming from behind it seems like every week. I don't know what's happened, I've been pretty ambilvilent in regards to sports since I stopped playing them, but lately I've found myself not being able to sit I'm so damn wound up, stomach turning wanting to look away! Where did all that come from? It was a real good game Saturday as they beat Michigan State on the last play of the game, I'm feelin like a Hawkeye!

Had a great time down in Dyersville visiting the Field of Dreams. We got there and there were some kids playing catch! I ran over to the minivan and asked their dad to borrow a glove, he gave me what I assumed to be that "aren't you a little old to be trick or treating" look.

He did let me use the glove though, and as Em and Joan took pics of the grandstands I ran out to left field full sprint. Already feeling like the only kid in the freshman locker room with chest hair I cringed as I saw the younger brother take a pop fly off the tip of his glove and pop! right in his eye...a good thump...he kept wanting to cry but I kept patting him on the back "you're allright, let me look at that...oooh that's gonna be black. Your tough" I will embarrassingly admit that I was worried he'd run in and cry and get us in trouble and we'd have to quit! Like we done somethin wrong! Everything was ok though and we got a good game of catch in and even some ground balls in the infield. Felt good to be on the ole diamond!

We took some Corn Stalk shots and went on our way.

We then went over to Joan's co-worker's family homestead. Claire jr. was waiting there with her purse that was an old binocular case and a star wars light saber at the corner of the old farm waiting for us on the lonely Iowa 2 lane backroad. She must be 9 years old and real sweet, showed us her cats in the laundry basket. Cindy is her mother, and Cindy's parents Claire and Merle live in the house that was originally lived in by Claire's parents. Claire Sr. hugged us and led us down to the basement to show off her summer bounty which happens all at the end of summer, they laughingly refer to it as "divorce week".

LISTEN!

Canned Goods - Greg Brown

I guess Merle loved gardening but would love to leave the canning up to the mrs. Anyway she had the booty down there! From the diced tomatoes to the tomato salsa to the tomato sauce. They had peas and beans and everything in between...pickled beets, raspberry jam, carrots, etc. They shared the tricks they use to get the kids involved, and made me plug my ears as they shared the tricks they use to make their men feel useful too (I knew it musta been good, little Claire was giggling and giving me a look of pity). They had a big box of potatoes that will last them through the winter and enough fresh apple cider and rum to keep em warm.

After Merle led us through the garden we piled in the van and waved to Claire sr. and went over to their friend Ted's cottage and studio. He's a wild welder, wood worker, artist, bohemian, metal artifact collector etc. I was in the corner of his cabin next to the pot belly stove looking for a poker stick to stoke the fire, as he asks me across everyone "you like weapons?" I turn around to him holding what I believed to be the poker for which he let me know was an ancient ritual staff forged in Africa. He then showed me a samurai sword he forged...took it out of the sheath his buddy made for him, it was awesome! The cottage was full of neat iron work, tools, muskets, candle holders etc. His son was getting the fire in the fire place stoked with black walnut for a little cooking later in the evening with some friends. Ted told us some pretty funny stories of the friends he has that are revolutionary war re-en-actors. They come over and stay at the cottage every summer when they are in town for the mountain man rendezvous http://www.fortbridgerrendezvous.net. He said he'll come over to the cottage and the family's are in all their regalia; the men are outside cooking a full turkey over the fire looking like pilgrims, the women are in the house knitting in the rocking chairs, the teenagers are outside shooting bows and arrows, and the kids are at the table playing with wood blocks! Then they say, "ah let's go shoot some muskets!"

This story makes a little more sense when we go take a tour of his welding shop where he and 3 or 4 employees make metal art pieces and commissioned furniture. He walked us through and showed off the old tools and machinery. Huge hydraulic metal pounders from the turn of the century, old coal/wood cast iron stove that heats the metal working shop (probably 2000 sq. ft.). In the wood shop he had tools I have never seen, like the big "multi-tool". It was run by a big electric motor with huge belts that ran each individual tool...the table saw (to adjust blade height you needed to raise and lower the table), pull lever at floor to engage another belt which ran the band saw, do it again to engage belt that runs planer, again to engage the joiner. The thing was probably 8 ft. long by 5 ft. wide and was from the early nineteens. His shop was cool!

Whoa! We're in Iowa!

2009-10-23T19:37:00.000-07:00

Been here in Marion, IA for a few weeks now. Emily's dad drove out the 12 hours to Casper to capture us from the blistery weather. We said our goodbyes to Carla, T.A, and the cat crew and went on our way. Of course the drive through Nebraska was in the 50's and sunny, we already missed the road. All along we have looked forward to arriving in Iowa and watching the big screen t.v and the glowing leaves fall from the ash and maple trees. Gary and Joanie have kept us at least a little busy with some projects around the house, meanwhile Em and I try to figure out what's next. As I write this, and listen to the literary narrator tell the little story, "figuring out what's next" sounds awful romantic, doesn't it? I hear the wonder and unknown in that phrase, gets me all fuzzy inside. It seems stress of the unknown though is sometimes as persistent as the need for more mystery. Feeling really happy to have some projects to work on. Planning to go to Dyersville tommorrow to see some country and check out the field of dreams diamond, and cook chili and watch the undefeated Iowa Hawkeye football team play Michigan state (on the bigscreen). Monday We will drive to Iowa City and Fairfield to look at the Maharishi University of Management (mum.edu), I have been interested in learning TM (Transcendental Meditation) for a few years now, and am excited to see a university that utilizes it as a foundational component to the curriculums.

HitchBiking in Wyoming

2009-10-04T11:08:00.000-07:00

This post should be a thank you to all the folks in Wyoming that have been helping us out: Bastion, Chuck and Karin, Reed, Ben, Chris, TA and Carla, that one guy that I can't remember the name of, and probably more to come as we haven't made it out of Wyoming yet. We've been hit with a small bit of challenging weather since arriving in Jackson, WY and are still moving forward (to race the snow) but with less bike power and more rides in big Toyota Trucks.

When we arrived into Jackson we were sweaty and in shorts but within the following 24 hours the temperature dropped to un-bikable conditions. We had been warned since about mid-Idaho that we were going to see some weather so we had already planned to bunk up in Jackson for a couple or few days. On our second day in Jackson the foothills that surrounded us collected a cover of fresh snow, the first snow of the season. Cold to bike near but even worse that we were supposed to be headed up and over a 9000 ft. pass, Togwotee about 60 miles from Jackson. The temperature in Jackson was running between 20 and 40 but up on the pass the daytime highs were running 20 or below.

After the first snow we tried to make a quick "run" for it -- as there were rumors of a second round of wintery weather headed our way. We were actually beginning to joke about wintering over in Jackson -- seems like a touristy job would be easy to come by. But we refused to give up and made a push on bike in our wintery gear. I froze.

About 20 miles into the ride I had lost feeling in my toes; not a biker-friendly condition. We ended up 35 miles out of Jackson at an RV Park just outside of Moran Junction hoping to get a ride over the pass from a friendly motorist. But the rumor was that the east side of the pass was icy and snowy so there wasn't a whole lot of traffic headed in our direction. After 2 hours of Fox news Kiel made the call back to some folks in Jackson, Chuck and Karin, to see if their offer still stood. Chuck was working at the clinic out by the Junction so he stopped by the RV Park and drove us back the 30 miles or so to Jackson. We were really grateful to be headed away from the RV Park although it was hard to backtrack. While Chuck was driving us back to a warm home, Karin was in the kitchen whipping up a warm soup meal for us to feast on. As if the drive back to Jackson, the warm house to call home for the night, the kind company, and the soup were not already enough... Karin also had Pumpkin Cheesecake to offer Kiel -- he had been talking about pumpkin pie and pie in general for the last month.

Further, just to point out the extreme kindness of those who we meet on the road, Chuck packed us up in the morning (forgoing his daily morning Elk hunt) and took us up to the Hatchet Resort where we would wait for a ride over the pass after breakfast and a coffee. It took us an hour of thumbing before a young man, Reed, pulled over to get gas and offered us a ride all the way to Dubois. The pass was a mess... gritty, slushy, all torn up for construction, and cold. Reed's car felt like the right place to be.

We got to Dubois and had a quick lunch with Reed before attempting to get a ride in for the day. But by the time we were actually along our way on the road the day was getting old. We put in a short ride, maybe only about 5 miles before we decided that we might've embarked on a foolish mission. We were pretty certain that we couldn't camp out comfortably for the night and the closest REAL city was Riverton, still 60 or more miles away. We pulled up a spot on the side of the highway and re-evaluated our decision to leave Dubois -- to go back or to stick our thumbs out again? In the spirit of trying to beat the weather we decided to committ to 20 minutes of hitching... if we were not successful we would head back to the safety of the small cowboy town, Dubois where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid hid out from the law.

Lucky for us we were rescued by an older man, Ben, on his way to a Pool competition in Riverton. He was quite the character, a champion storyteller and pool competitor (apparently). As we were hopping in the car Kiel asked Ben why he had decided to pick us up (Ben had driven by, then turned around to come back to us)... Ben's answer was short, "Get in the car, I'll tell you a story." His story started with words that questioned our pressence in the car, "...I hate bikers..." OH?? Ben is a truck driver and he drives one of the most challenging routes in possibly the nation, over Togwotee Pass which offers poor visibility, super windy roads, and obstacles like us -- bikers. He told us the story of a time when he nearly hit a biker during a questionably icy day -- the biker was riding in the road instead of on the shoulder.

The ride was a pleasant one though. Ben got us safely all the way into Riverton and we were grateful.

Jackson, WY to Riverton, WY Not sure how many miles... maybe 130 or more...

Waking up in Riverton was good. We knew that there wasn't much between Riverton and Casper, WY so we needed to cruise out as quickly as possible -- another 120 mile day that we couldn't bike all of unless the conditions were perfect. We got another late start -- we had to wait until you couldn't see frost on the ground. Around 10 am we got out window to leave so we headed north to Shoshoni. Kiel had read the other day that Shoshoni had the BEST Malt Shop so he was counting down the miles and minutes until we rolled into town. We were happy to be back out on our bikes and in the country.

22 Miles of pedalling led us into town and we hunted down this Malt shop. First we found that the whole main street of town had been boarded up and shut down -- it was a tragic looking site, the beginnings of a ghost town (we hear that we will be seeing more of this soon). In fact the building that used to contain the malt shop had been closed down too -- the malt shop had moved down the street to a dingy un-inspired fast food looking joint down the road. We stopped despite the exterior and enjoyed a couple of treats... no malts though so the verdict is still out, but they had posted on the wall their record high malt sales as 729 in one summer day in 2005, must be doin something right.

After eating we started to make our way west towards Casper. We didn't have a whole lot of hours to make 100 miles but we decided to put a couple of hours of biking in before trying to hitch. I guess we only made it about 15 miles, in a headwind, before Kiel's rear tire blew a flat (the count is Kiel:2 Emily:4 ... but we had been doing so good since Oregon). While stopped for repairs I stuck out my thumb... we knew we would be hitching soon enough, might as well give it a try while we look in need while making repairs. The trick worked :) The first real line of traffic brought us Chris and his big ol' truck. We popped our bikes into the truck and ignored the flat for the time being.

The second blessing about Casper, besides being carted there in a car so easily, was that we had a home lined up with TA and Carla thanks to my brother. And we are hanging out again -- as is the theme with Wyoming and potentially the rest of our trip, we'll see. It's been about a week since we have put in any serious biking so we're beginning to go a little stir-crazy.

But tomorrow we are going to hit the road again. It looks like we will have about a 4-Day window until another Rain/Snow storm somewhere in central Nebraska. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that it will be our last one until we arrive safely and warmly in Marion, IA.

on the trails we traverse
roads paved and reflecting bounding raindrops and stop lights, flashing
underneath clouds the clandestine covers
we sink in as two trapped travellers
stuck in the mud of gods back yard
but life aint that hard
just our minds that might make it so
and as we lean to and fro
to avoid rolling over rumble strips
she puts her finger on my rambling lips and asks me to shut up...
with a kiss
oh the wind and the rain
and in the comfort of our tent is a miraculous event
but up on the tetons its all glistening white and shining of a feeling burning fresh and alive.
them "race goats" sure glad to be alive
Today we were alive
as the coldness crept in all over us
but it will never escape us
love has been poured all over us

two little feet to get me 'cross the mountain
two little feet to carry me away into the woods
two little feet, big mountain, and a
cloud comin' down cloud comin' down cloud comin' down

I hear the voice of the ancient ones
chanting magic words from a different time
well there is no time there is only this rain
there is no time, that's why I missed my plane

John Muir walked away into the mountains
in his old overcoat a crust of bread in his pocket
we have no knowledge and so we have stuff and
stuff with no knowledge is never enough to get you there
it just won't get you there

a culture exploded into knickknacks and memories
Eagle and Bear trinkets I don't think it's good
old man what am I trying to say it's a
it's a messed up world but I love it anyway

two little feet to get me 'cross the city
my little hand to knock upon your door
my little thing for your little thing
and a big love to lift us up once more to the mountain
lift us up

tumble us like scree let us holler out our freedom like a
like a wolf across a valley like a kid lost in a game
no time no name gonna miss that plane again
and I'm gonna stay here with you baby and kiss you to a good dream
I'm goin' kiss you
kiss you like you like it

I got two little feet to get me across the mountain
two little feet to carry me away into the woods
two little feet big mountain and a
cloud comin' down cloud comin' down cloud comin' down

D | Fm | G | A

Two Little Feet - Greg Brown

but now we watch from behind this house's windows at the wind and the rain
the grey wet roads arent beckoning us anymore
with a constant wind at 12 mph this is the 5th windiest city in america

(http://web2.airmail.net/danb1/usrecords.htm)

We are holed up again
waiting for weather to let us pass
i feel like a sailor intrepid in an unknown harbor watching white caps and wondering what is safe in a world of unknowns, when do you go out in the waves and allow the wind to be your way. We have been left to be the sole judges of our own decisions in such matters as our own level of comfort amidst potentially uncomfortable circumstances, an interesting endeavor knowing our own judgements to be not only a subjective opinion colored by our current feelings but also a hinderance in fullfilling our desire to be close to the spirit that moves in all things. As rumi says "I am wary of the things I want."
To make matters more interesting is that we are practicing compromise in such situations, to not only be attentive to our mission but also the eachother's vision.
Watch pride strut by. bye bye.
Hence she has called on her dad to come rescue us from the cold winds of Casper Wyoming. Soon we will be safe for a stint from our need to make decisions, we can put on our sweatpants and put our feet on the dashboard and listen to the nightime radio as we roll at 70 through Nebraska and Iowa.
I wanna laugh as I thank him for saving me from being a man!

Where is humility taught to us as something courageous, something bold and true. How does one remain un attached to outcomes and remain active in the decision making processes of relationships. Just dancing. Love for the dance.
"I know Im stepping all over your toes dear, just stay with me for one more song?"

Before we left the farm in Hebo I was driving the backroads feeling filled with resistance, filled with what-ifs, filled with ideas of what this journey will look like...I drove by a sign in that serendipitous kind of way that said in capital letters;
BE PREPARED TO STOP
All the preparation to be warm dry and fed
Now I prepare to be un-prepared I said
seems to be the best preparation I can do
I can hear every man say
I dont wanna be scared with you
Just tell st. christopher that we've rode on our way

Are we prepared to stop?
to end our bicycle tour to Iowa
all I can say is that everyday is new and the mission was to venture into the unknown

We will be here in Casper until Thursday afternoon and leave Friday morning I assume. Safe travels Gary, I will go buy us some travellin, road ramblin tunes. No worries, we aint yet got the travellin blues, we should still be decent company!

Idaho has Come and Gone

2009-09-29T13:19:00.001-07:00

What they say is true: Time flies when you are having fun. I wake up on most mornings and open my map and am amazed by the path that we have journeyed thus far. Somehow we have practically leaped across Idaho and landed right into the foothills of the continental divide... looming hills and 9000 foot passes (thankfully we currently stand at over 6000 feet in Jackson, WY). Surrounded by beauty though. I am a mountain girl... there is no greater scenery than that of a winding river through rocky canyons and mountains. I am enamored with this place.

But how did we get here... hmm...

I think we last left off in Mountain Home, ID after we had taken a short bump up the road to avoid Interstate biking. I think it was about noon before we actually got on the road with our bikes all in order and our legs madly pedaling. We had a destination picked on our maps -- Fairfield -- about a 60 mile day. Folks had been telling us that we would have a bit of a climb into Fairfield then Idaho would level out and we would get to coast the following days all the way to Idaho Falls on fairly flat plains.

The "bit" of a climb seemed to go on for most of the day (at least in my opinion) but it did feel good to be back on the bike and putting some distance between us and Boise. We were fairly well-rested so the miles passed by quickly. It was a tricky ride though. We expected "this" hill to be the last hill of the day. Every big upward climb was followed by a downward joyride... but seemingly always with another hill off in the distance mocking us.

Not too far into our day we ran into another group of bicycle tourers -- a mama and her two sons Cedar and Zion (lots of respect to them and their big journey which had started in Maine this June). They were headed westbound but we jumped across the highway to exchange cheers and stories. For me it was revitalizing to run into another woman on the road -- even though we were headed in different directions it was just good to know that another woman was out there facing the same joys and struggles. Check their blog at; ourdailyped.blogspot.com

Soon after that we learned a new lesson: water is precious. We were carrying a fairly small amount of water in the overall scheme of things but it was backed up by a water filter so that we could pull from rivers and lakes. A fine system for Oregon but Idaho was a new game. I'm not sure if the boys were getting as nervous about water supply as I was but it felt like the more my water bottles emptied the thirstier I felt. After quite a few miles of unsuccessful water-scouring we saw a Pepsi sign off in the distance (I did for a few seconds question if the sign was real or a mirage) and scored some fluid, gratefully. At our water re-supply we were told by a kind gentleman that we were looking at our last hill -- FINALLY.

Not really though. Soon after summiting our "last hill" we sat at the foot of a monster hill. Bummer, right? We took it slowly and were rewarded with a great view of Idaho. After that Idaho was flat, very flat. We could cruise. And occasionally we were blessed with a little tail wind to push us right along. We were moving quickly for Fairfield even after I was stung by a bee that bounced off my helmet directly into my arm and Kiel took a little fall on his bike after our panniers played a little "kissy kissy" game. Tough kids we are.

Boise, ID to Fairfield, ID about 100 miles (I think... hmmm?) and a big climb.

The rest of Idaho breezed by. Some of you all may have recieved updates about our journey and know that we already are living it up in wintery Wyoming (arrived in Casper, WY today). So the short version...

Fairfield led to Carey, ID and given our wonderful and comfortable night at the city park in Fairfield we decided to celebrate Kiel's birthday by taking an easy day and cooking up some good fresh food in the Carey Fairground -- we had been told by the biking family that this was a fine place to camp for the night. We arrived in town pretty early and grabbed some food from the limited small grocery store. I'm not sure where the people of Carey get their fresh food because most of what they had to offer was in a can or frozen -- But we managed.

Just before we exited the grocery store an older man came in and said, "you must be the owner's of the bikes out there." We proudly took ownership of our transportation vehicles and the older man offered us a trade -- he had a truck. Really the man, Bill, was just super intriqued by our journey and wanted to talk to us for a bit -- apparently his son had done a bike journey many years earlier. As we said our goodbyes he invited us out to his place in the morning for coffee (from Costco -- which he guaranteed was the BEST coffee).

Dinner was enjoyed greatly and we set camp for the night. Before we all went to bed Kiel asked a neighboring buisiness if we were safe from the sprinkler system in the park. They gave us the 'thumbs-up' so we figured we were good for a long night of peaceful sleep...

You know where this is going...

I don't think I had even fallen asleep before the first round of sprinklers went off. Kiel has been describing the sound of the sprinklers as the sound of gun shots... it was loud and we were right in the strike zone. Kiel jumped out of the tent, carefully avoiding a round of 'sprinkles', and looked for new ground. We ended up moving the tent right up against the fence and prayed for a dry night. We only got about 10 minutes of peace there. The next round of sprinklers poked out of the ground and sprayed us once again. Both of the boys were running around saving gear -- Cory was diverting the sprinklers while Kiel pushed our bikes to the dry field across the street. Eventually it was time to move the tent again... one last time for the night. This was one of those events that at the time we couldn't find much humor in the situation...

Fairfield, ID to Carey, ID about 45 miles and flat.

In the morning we watched for Bill's home as we started out on our bike ride for the day, another short one with a layover for lunch at the Craters of the Moon National Park. Luckily Bill had given us a fine description of his home... the real give-away was that he had mentioned that someone had driven over one of his chickens, roadkill that can't be missed from a bike's viewpoint. Feathers were everywhere... it really looked like a pretty horrific hit.

Bill jumped out of his door pretty quickly as we were observing the crime scene. He invited us in for a chat and a coffee. Bill was a kind soul who had been through some rough times... his face and hands were weathered and his eyes held some sadness but he seemed pretty pleased that we had stopped by for awhile. We probably spent about 30 minutes at Bill's house and as we tried to leave he showered us with gifts of food... or at least tried too. I think he would've given us everything from his cupboards had we had room on our bikes. We ended up leaving with just a Cantelope cut up into a ziplock bag and tucked away from the sunny day on Kiel's bike.

We only made it about 1 mile down the road before Bill's car rolled up right in front of us. He jumped out of the car with a grocery sack full of food, "You all aren't vegetarians are you?" -- all fingers point at me. Well Bill had packed up a frozen steak for us to take along with 3 idaho baking potatos. Reluctently we took the package (which Corey strapped to the top of his panniers to thaw in the hot sun) and said our goodbyes to Bill once again. We thanked him and he told us that we had "truly inspired" him.

Just a few miles down the road we entered the Craters of the Moon... what a desolate place! The ground was covered by old and hardened lava for miles in all directions. All of the black surfaces were collecting the heat of the day and cooking us poor bikers. We stopped in the park for our lunch break and talked to a ranger about the stars. He told us that the Craters was in the top ten darkest national parks -- great for star watching.

We camped out in the city of Arco, ID later that night at a RV park... enjoyed a nice warm shower... cooked another fresh dinner on a grill as we listened to the crowd and firework booms from the neighboring homecoming football game... and relaxed into a dry night in the tent.

Arco, as we learned the morning we were leaving was the first town in the world powered by nuclear power. Along this road in the middle of nowhere there are uranium mines and auspicious looking gated "laboratories" crafting things all nuclear...its' fascinatingly spooky.
Carey, ID to Arco, ID about 45 miles, mostly flat -- some hills.

I've been singing this song from the first day of our trip and it always starts with these lyrics in my head, Ive been wanting to share it.

Three days in the saddle
you know my body hurt
it bein summer, I took off my shirt
and tried to wash off some of that dusty dirt

Grateful Dead lyrics from Me and My Uncle

Me And My Uncle - The Grateful Dead

Me and my uncle went ridin' down,
South Colorado, West Texas bound.
We stopped over in Santa Fe,
That bein' the point just about half way,
And you know it was the hottest part of the day.

I took the horses up to the stall,
Went to the barroom, ordered drinks for all.
Three days in the saddle, you know my body hurt,
It bein' summer, I took off my shirt,
And I tried to wash off some of that dusty dirt.

West Texas cowboys, they's all around,
With liquor and money, they're loaded down.
So soon after payday, know it seemed a shame;
You know my uncle, he starts a friendly game,
High-low jack and the winner take the hand.

My uncle starts winnin'; cowboys got sore.
One of them called him, and then two more,
Accused him of cheatin'; Oh no, it couldn't be.
I know my uncle, he's as honest as me,
And I'm as honest as a Denver man can be.

One of them cowboys, he starts to draw,
And I shot him down, Lord he never saw.
Shot me another, oh damn he won't grow old.
In the confusion, my uncle grabbed the gold,
And we high-tailed it down to Mexico.

I love those cowboys, I love their gold,
I loved my uncle, God rest his soul,
Taught me good, Lord, Taught me all I know
Taught me so well, I grabbed that gold
And I left his dead ass there by the side of the road.

We stopped over for lunch along this barren trail under the protection of the only shade we could find, which was a half buried corrugated metal hay barn. We sat against the barn door and felt the cold air against our backs from inside the barn. We made it a quick lunch, everyone out seems to be packing and wary of freeloaders squatting on their land.

Rolled into Idaho falls around 5. Corey pointed out the local Olive Garden where he had been holding on to a gift certificate. We set up camp at the local KOA and cleaned up for a carbohydrate all you can eat fest. It was awesome!

Arco, ID to Idaho Falls, ID about 65 miles, some hills

Today we planned to seperate for a day from our fellow biking companion, Cory. We decided to avoid going up and over Teton Pass by skirting around the mountains to the south along the Snake River. We all biked the first 40 or so miles together into Swan Valley stopped off for chocolate malts and french fries, Kiel;where the sign read "Best shake in town" Em said with sass as we entered the diner "Was before I got here." We wished each other well for the next section. Kiel and I then watched Cory start his climb towards Victor, ID then up and over Teton.

We hopped on our bikes and had a beautiful ride along the river -- the leaves on the Aspens were changing to yellows and oranges and the river had a teal sparkle to it. It was probably one of the most scenic places that we have biked yet.

Idaho Falls, ID to a Campground near Alpine, WY about 80 miles, hills after Swan Valley.

Boise Briefly Baby

2009-09-23T06:54:00.000-07:00

Nice to stay in the motel in Vale Or. We watched the Boise state football game, got some hot showers and lounged around for the evening. The next morning left for the 70 mile trip to Boise. Busy road, tons of Onion fields and onion trucks and splattered onions etc. along the way. We had a decent tail wind and made our way through some somewhat un-spectacular scenery and finally in Boise around 7 pm. Cooper had followed through with connecting us with a friend who agreed to put us up for a few days.
Alex, or Jr. I like to call him left the key for us and some amazing food cooking in the oven awaiting our arrival. He and his super hero pound pooch salty dog came home shortly after we got there, in time to share a home cooked meal. I would love to tell lengthy stories of our conversations with Alex about Idaho, student abroad programs, mushroom hunting, music, living on a winery, librarianism, etc. but we are short on time here. I will say though, that he took care of us like a good relative would, and he ahd a sweet steam room in his shower.

We have been exploring Boise a little these last few days and have found it really bike friendly, and quite beautiful. The view from the foothills shows a green oasis amongst vast desert. A buzzing little metropolis capital with good coffee shops, bike shops, co-ops, and not many cops to speak of. We have eaten really well and are ready to get back in the wild. Alex, being a proud and explored Idaho native has briefed us thoroughly on the cool sights and eerie terrain we will be going into.

We have also picked up a travel companion Cory for a stint. We met him in Salem after Em blew her first tire on our first leg of the journey. He worked on her derailer at the Santiam Bike Shop and we talked of our upcoming journeys. He was leaving from Salem a few days after us towards Nebraska for a mountain bike rally. We met up again a few days ago here in Boise and decided to ride together.

He stuck around with us to go to the Michael Franti show last night. We had a blast and got a blast of good positive inspiration. The last song of the night he brought up all the kids in the audience to help him sing a song (which my mom loves the most because my little nephew Fin grooves to it!) called I love you, we got a decent pic luckily.

The hotel has been nice and we are meeting up with Cory in a bit this morning. We have got a shuttle from a friend out to Mountain Home (35 miles on HWY. 84)around 9 am. There are no backroads to get back to 20/26 and neither of us wanted to be on a busy hwy. for half the day, we are stoked to get a bump back to the country.

This post is kinda boring, sorrry! Get a life if you got issues with it!

Love you guys, hope to post sometime soon.

Overdue Updates

2009-09-21T14:39:00.000-07:00

Our apologies... we have fallen behind. It has been made clear to us that our friends and family ARE, in fact, reading our blogs. Requests for updates are coming in by telephone and internet...

But we haven't forgotten.

Briefly, In Boise. Have been here for three days and will be leaving on Wednesday. Decided to get a swank hotel at themodernhotel.com for Tuesday night and celebrate Kiel's birthday by going to get down with Michael Franti and Spearhead at the Boise Botanical gardens and old state penitentiary museum...But more of that later.

Day 9

After our night in the lovely biker hostel we were off on a short journey to John Day, OR.

Kiel; as we laid to sleep on the church floor Em turned over to me and whispered "I'm kinda freaked out sleeping here." I think she's seen too many horror movies or something, but now I think about it... never mind. Before we headed out of town the next morning we stopped in at the local gas station to grub on some self-serve biscuits and gravy, get this, for $2.75! As I ate we sat and watched the local farmers come through and talk about their honey-do lists and the dogs and fishing. It was a hot 50 miles to John Day with a headwind that put those biscuits and gravy to work right away. We rode past the pasture lands and hid beneath the shade of shrub oaks, fixed a flat and finished our water before we hit the outskirts of Mount Vernon, 22 miles down the road.

It was 2pm and 90 degrees as we rolled into the town of maybe 200. We passed a young couple hitchhiking west. We pulled over and chatted with them a bit, the guy in his pendleton shirt from upstate new york and his lady heading to Portland to find work. Both couples, including us, had traveled exactly 22 miles that day so far, but when you are hitching you end up sitting and waiting for a ride, where we are making our own way all day. They got their 20 miles in 3 hours of waiting and 20 minutes of traveling, it took us 4 hours traveling but zero waiting, different strokes for different folks they say. When on my bike I don't have that guilty feeling when riding by one of those old seasoned and sizzled old grizzly travelers that have that pitiful disappointing look etched in the lines of their face, as if they have watched, with their innocent thumb stuck in the air, every automobile driver laughing and leaving them behind...as if life has been full of opportunities passing them by rather than the few that take them somewhere, anywhere.

In America camping is considered a healthy sport for Boy Scouts but a crime for mature men who have made it their vocation. -- Poverty is considered a virtue among monks of civilized nations -- in America you spend a night in the calaboose if you're caught short without your vagrancy change - Jack Kerouac

http://www.hermitary.com/lore/kerouac.html

On a bike we are self powered and mobile and self sufficient, (but I will add that I do feel a little undeserving hitching a ride with our bikes leaned on the tree next to us.) It's hard to ask for something and be turned down so much as a hitchhiker is, it is easy to feel disappointed in the lack of humanity of people with surely enough space for you. I feel for all who travel these roads. For those who sleep under the bridges and stars and in churches and stranger's homes. For all the stories we share there are an equal amount of doubt and fear, for all the beauty of the unknown is the fear of being lost in it. For all the people who deep down desire an experience in the unknown there is another who just wants a couch and t.v. for the night. I wanted to share this because the night we stayed in the church in Dayville I read back on some of the entries that travelers had written. One that touched me sincerely was by a young man who was just out of college heading towards the midwest from Portland on his first bicycle tour. He had stumbled upon the church much like we did and seemed awestruck and grateful. He expressed that the summer heat had been wearing him thin and he wasn't sure he would make the town before nightfall, he had a long way to go and couldn't imagine making it all the way back home. The church hostel gave him hope and for that he was recharged again. I read his short entry and felt it, and felt it for my lady and felt it for myself. It's totally beautiful, but it ain't easy.

We stopped off at the local diner called the Silver Spur in Mount Vernon to get out of the heat, get a bite and fill up our water bottles. The cafe's have become our watering holes while our ponies sit tied together outside. We ordered up some fries and rootbeers and talked with an ole timer next to us. He was saving a quarter of his hamburger for his little jack russell in the camper. He was on his way back to La Grande from spending a few weeks out traveling. When we inquired to what the occasion was he told us sadly it was for his wife, she passed last month. They apparently had a list of things they wanted to do together and when she left this world he told her he would do his best to mark them off the list. "She always loved shootin' firecrackers off at the holidays so I sprinkled some of her ashes in a few of those bottle rockets and lit her up, then watched her take off." We thought that was awesome. I walked out with him to his camper to meet his dog Charlie and look at his little Toyota camper. He mentioned he was from Nebraska, and said "you guys will have a beautiful trip. I always said (about Nebraska), it was a great place to be from." I gave him a wave as he left the gravel parking lot with Charlie in his lap.

John Day was an interesting little town. We had planned for a short day in order to pull ourselves back together -- so much organizing and re-supplying is going into this adventure. As resources are generally limited, when we know we are arriving in a town with potential (... to spend ... I guess) we plan for a longer stop-over. John Day was just that. We needed food, fuel for our stove, new tent stakes, MORE tubes for my tires ( I should be keeping a tally count ) and probably other odds and ends.

The local chamber of commerce was a successful stop for us in John Day -- we got some help from a local woman, Deedee. She pointed us in the direction of all of the important places, camping at the fairgrounds (although she did try to send us to a lake that was something like 26 miles off of our course... 26 miles each way...) and internet at the local library among other things. Then she stuck around after work while we uploaded blog pictures for our previous posts. There was an adjoining bicycle shop called the strawberry mountain co-op run by a man who "comes and goes" according to Deedee. I needed tubes and Deedee offered to show us in his little shop and pick out what we needed. I found the sizes but no prices, so I left her with $12 for the pair which should be plenty. She had no idea and said she would pay the difference if we were short. Apparently the guy doesn't take any money from the repairs he does on people's bikes, just has them pay for parts... seems to be nice people along this road huh?

The fairgrounds turned out to be a perfect camping spot. There were only two tent set-ups including ours and the showers were warm, clean and free. This was also the first time that we arrived at camp early enough to enjoy a semi-leisurely night. We made friends with the other camper, Joe a wilderness fire fighter. He had clearly marked out a territory in the fairgrounds and had been living there for the past two months working on the fire crew(he had a small castle made of tarps, tent, coolers, and chairs). He was a friendly young guy that seemed to genuinely enjoy some company.

Kiel; he told us stories of some of the other crazy folks who had stayed at the fairgrounds with him, including the infamous world record hula hooper guy who traveled with the county fair circuit. We asked Joe if he ever saw him hula hooping in the park, and Joe kinda got a baffled look on his face and said;
"no, now that you mention it I never did, but he was always doing really interesting things with his free time, like that one time he brought back to camp one of those friggin' camo-hunter's bows he bought over at the local St. Vincent Depauls with a whole quiver of arrows. I saw him dragging over one of those big hay barrels you see over there with that bow strapped to his back wearing his clown looking hoola hoopie outfit, total unique sight, anyway we had a blast drinking whiskey and shooting targets that afternoon." He added one more little anecdote about his hula friend's dog who had been watching all the feral cats tramping around for a week or so before they saw him dragging one out of the bushes and into the shade of one of those trees lining the river; "you ever watched a dog eat a cat?" He added a disgusted face as he said simply "it's disgusting." We could only offer some tobacco and some story but he seemed more than content sitting with us under our little cottonwood campsite as we inspired each other with stories of our continual wild and scenic travels.

"The stories keep rolling in faster than we can roll along. Can't keep up anyway."

Day 9 : Dayville to John Day, OR approximately 38 miles (ahh... rest day)

Day 10

I guess part of the reason we had chosen to stay over in John Day was in preparation for the following day; which appeared to be a BIG day for us still-newbies. Our biking map warned us of 3 passes in the following 50 or so miles... we knew that we needed to wake up early for a day like that. I was feeling nervous about the upcoming hills. The map clearly states the elevation at: Dixie Pass at 5,279 feet, and the following 2 summits at 4,506 and 5,109.

We packed up and disappeared from camp a little after daybreak while our friend Joe had yet to peek his head out from his tent. The morning biking went by quickly. The first hill appeared off in the distance almost immediately but it didn't seem as intimidating in person as it did on paper. Soon enough we were pedaling steadily upward. Kiel and I have different hill-climbing methods; I'm more likely to power-through the climb whereas Kiel rolls slowly and smoothly while singing a tune (only when he stops singing do I believe that he is feeling a wee-bit tired). We stopped at a viewpoint to pose a few pictures and ended up chatting with a fed-ex delivery man, Glen, about our journey. He was especially excited about Kiel's butt-bearing pose on the edge of a rocky outlook (we have some pretty stellar tan lines to show off).

Kiel: This was a situation where I did not have to persuade Emily into participating, although she wanted to stay behind the camera, then Glen walked over from the truck and in the conversation about our trip he added; "Yeah, I especially liked that picture that you guys took over on the rock, although I thought it would be better if you were both in it, but I guess I felt it would been a little uncomfortable if I walked over and proposed that, but it would have been better." I completely agreed, wink wink.

Speaking for myself making it up Dixie Pass was super satisfying. I didn't feel exhausted, instead I felt invigorated... and hungry. We had a quick lunch at the top of the pass then cruised down the hill for awhile. The next two passes came and went quickly. I had not believed that we would be able to do all three in one day. But as slick as the hills came and went by it was clear that Kiel and I were finally beginning to feel in our bodies like 'tourers'.

We ended the day near Unity, OR in another State Park. Our car-less campsite attracted a bit of attention with fellow campers as well as the park hosts. It probably didn't take more than 30 minutes to get our story out to the entire park... of course I have Kiel on my team to spread the news. He warned me that past girlfriends have referred to him as a walking billboard, I'm not in total dis-agreement. Soon after our arrival another young biker appeared, Cooper, who was westward bound (Boise, ID to Olympia, WA). We offered up a corner of our campsite to him then headed over to a sit around the campfire with Craig and Stacy from Tennessee who had been driving their camper following the Lewis and Clark trail and on their way back home. Kiel, around the evening campfire, in his oh-so sure attitude kept calling Craig "Carrie" and before he was corrected and I spent the first 20 minutes or so believing that Stacy's name was Carrie because of Kiel... eventually we got their names right. Kiel defended himself (pathetic but inventive that boy!) that he is a visual learner and when he and Craig exchanged names,in his mind (weary from the day I assume)he saw K-R-A-G and then somehow turned that into KARY. After Craig heard that, to my surprise he told us that Krag is actually the origin name of Kraig, meaning "rock" (is this really interesting enough to add to the blog? comments are welcome... ) Anyway, three bikers and two road warriors sat around the campfire having a good laugh. Craig and Stacy were kind and friendly fire hosts; making sure we were all comfortable and even sharing some Jack Daniels and Wine with us to keep our internal fire's stoked as well. When it was time (which is like 9 pm for us bike tourers) we all crawled into our temporary houses for a good sleep.

Day 10 : John Day to Unity Lake State Park, Approximately 50 miles

Day 11

We woke to a brisk morning. This was the first morning that I had to add gloves to my morning-wear and double layer my clothing. I regretted agreeing to an early morning departure; my sleeping bag was looking mighty fine. But there being 3 of us bikers trying to break camp made it an exciting morning. Kiel and I made some of our signature oatmeal (most of you probably don't realize how good we are at making morning oatmeal) and even shared a bit with our new friend. Cooper hooked Kiel and I up with a few Boise, ID contacts... our first state border crossing was not so far in the distance. And before we had time to get really cold we were on the road in the morning sun, which had just peaked over a hill into our valley. Cooper road with us for three miles (the junction for our east vs. west journeys) and we went our separate ways.

Soon enough we had 70 miles of hot highway in our future. I am not a fan of direct sun and unbearable (seemingly) heat. Moments after the morning sun had come up I was wishing the sun back under and cursing that we had not left a few hours earlier. Shade only came rarely; we had one section in 30 or more miles without a tree or building to sit by. This was the first time that I felt like our journey was truly a crazy idea. The desert is harsh and our water is limited. Ultimately we were fine, and we knew we would be, but I wouldn't do those miles again (Kiel assures me that there are more shadeless miles to come).

Brogan, OR was a much anticipated stop. Not for any other reason other than that there just HAD to be SOME shade. And there was. Brogan wasn't much more than a speck on the map but it did have the only thing that I wanted, a tree. A great big tree... I'm not sure if it was an oak or a maple or even an evergreen... it didn't matter other than it provided a us with a small cool grassy area to rest. We supported the owner of the tree (as all things in nature are owned by someone, right?) by purchasing food and drinks to supplement our lunch meal. We lavished in our break and even played a bit with a young girl (3 years old??) Leah and a couple of black kittens. Leah's grandmother told me as we said our goodbyes that Leah had REALLY enjoyed our attention and refused to eat lunch unless she could take it outside to eat with us. We left feeling revived. We left the fine people of Brogan to their herds and rattlesnake hunting.

Our destination for the night was Vale, OR. Our last overnight in Oregon before heading into Idaho. Cooper told us the only place to camp in town was the town park and we would have to stop in at the local police station to okay our stay. We debated our options and 'splurged' on a cheap motel ($30 a night didn't seem like a whole lot to ask in comparison to our state park stays for $17).

This day was probably the hardest day for me as of yet... between the heat and my knee -- which was acting up again... I had few pleasant thoughts about this section of the road. In reflection though I do remember feeling grateful for Kiel's pulled together and supportive nature during this section. It's good to have a partner for the road; especially one that can muster up the strength to offer love amidst discomfort... and to a complaining/unhappy/over-heated woman.

Kiel; If the reader hasn't noticed, I am reading what Em has written and filling in with my limited perspective, this is a moment that I want to embrace, for the sake of the story and for the sake of this adventure, for without her it wouldn't be. It feels really good to have each others love and support on this road. All the good people we meet are a part of this story, our story on this journey. It's hard to be loving in times of fear or uncertainty, and in this life their seems to be alot of that. Plans are only momentary comfort when nothing on a bike tour is a constant, where the weather can turn grey or our muscles start to ache or when that hill doesn't show up on the map we have to still show up, there are no breaks. I imagine it easier if we weren't also lovers as well, why do we take everything so personal? For all the time together we haven't had much loving time with one another...it's good to be friends but it's different ya know? She's on my mind throughout the day, I'm watching for her down the hills and she waits for me at the top of the hills we got a good thing going, workin' at it every day. And what a good way to do it!

Day 11 : Unity Lake State Park to Vale, OR... too much heat to count miles... or about 75 miles...

Desert Sage and the Setting Sun

2009-09-16T07:23:00.000-07:00

Day 8

Today we entered the desert -- we had been riding in dry land but today it all opened up into rolling and rocky, dusty hills with few trees and the smell of sage burning through the hot air. I could feel the dryness circulate through my lungs, almost burning sometimes. I spent my time willing my bicycle tires not to melt to the pavement underneath them. This was not a hardship though... the desert has its charms and beauties.

We awoke at our wonderful campsite, a bit chilly. Our friendly neighbors in a VW Eurovan came down to visit us almost as soon as I had crawled out of our tent. They had coffee and it was to share. Kiel jumped at the opportunity. The neighbors and Kiel chatted over their warm drinks and found common ground -- one of the women was Kiel's elementary school counselor and the other women was Emmy's (Kiel's Sister) 5th grade teacher, mrs. Vanderstoep. Small world.

The only other camper at Ochoco Resevoir was a canadian man, Eric. He was on a grand bike journey too -- of course, his "bike" had a motor and much larger tires than our own. He was touring the US on his motorbike and shared with us stories about the people he had met. The people you meet sometimes are the best story.

We packed up and ate breakfast in record time. We were out of camp by 9:30 am -- this looking promising when in comparison to our usual noon or later departures. The morning went by easy. It was another climbing day -- Ochoco Pass at 4,700 feet loomed in our future. It's hard to know what to expect when you start a day. We can ask folks questions about the road ahead but generally their warnings aren't useful; we've talked to a good deal of folks who think we are crazy because they can't even imagine biking across their population 2,000 towns. Their warnings are basically advice that the upcoming hill will kill us... we will surely need to walk our bikes and it will be miserable. It isn't always the case. Certainly the hills are rough and we much prefer the downslopes and flat lands... but hills are inevatable.

Ochoco Pass was actually easy in the sceme of things. We climbed 2,ooo feet from the city of Prineville to the Pass before noon through the groves of ponderosa pines and cattails. The hours rolled by fairly slick. My knee has been aching a bit after the big hills so reading the warning sign at the pass for the next seven miles downward grade towards Mitchell was a blessing. Seven miles of coasting... We cruised into Mitchell around 2 pm and were hungry. Very hungry. We stopped at the "best food in town"... although I must point out that it was the ONLY food in town... and had a small feast of greasy food.

Kiel; Mitchell is a town of maybe 70 people or so currently. Used to be a logging village with upwards of 3000 people at the turn of the 20th century, "with 7 churches on the hill and 10 taverns below there was nuff prayin and brawlin to keep the all a Crook county busy." The girl serving us our lunch told us that in the old bar there used to be some guy's ear tacked up on the wall cut off during a knife fight. Besides the declining logging industry three major flash fluds in late 1800's and early 1900's tore the town down to the ground, but the local people boast that they build er back up each time. I inquired, "why the hell they keep building it in the same place then?" Ah doesn't matter, probably gives them something to do out in the middle of you know what. The local mercantile shop is in it's original building, and the old original brothell is still standing down the wooden sidewalk past the overgrown lilac bush. Across the street from the little pine cafe at the service station was a huge black bear in a cage, I walked over with the lady to the whining bear "ah he's just whinin cuz mama needs to feed him his cookies..." He nibbled half a dozen vanilla wafers and seemed satisfied. She said he was a year and 70 lbs when they got him, he's now 10 and 800 lbs. Em had no interest in seeing the caged animal.

We discussed our options for the evening and interviewed the local folks about the road upcoming. The warnings were fierce. Most people got a look of fear in their eyes when we asked them about the hill out of town towards Dayville and John Day. Then we asked questions about camping (knowing that if we attempted the climb up yet another pass that we would not have enough daylight to make it to Dayville, about 37 miles away). The response was of unknowing and threats of rattlesnakes. We spent two hours trying to make a decision; while we listened (and sometimes participated) in the local's chatter. We decided to take a bump up the pass (hitch a ride), in respect of the heat and my knee, then bust out the next 23 miles to Dayville before nightfall.

It was 5:30 before we had a ride up to the top of the pass from Shelby... he was on his way out of town to get in a little elk hunting. He was a bow hunter who lives in Hermiston and works for a private contractor dis-arming various types of military warfare. The ride from Shelby's drop-off point to Dayville was beautiful. We passed through small canyons and rode along a river. With the setting sun behind us we enjoyed the fiery light splashed upon the landscapes. We decided that time was the best time to ride during the day. The air had cooled enough to be tolerable and the roads were virtually un-used. In 23 miles we were not passed by more than 5 cars... the road was ours.

We were hopeful about camping in Dayville. Shelby had told us that it would be okay to camp in the local city parks... so we knew that we at least had one option. But we wanted to ask a local if Shelby was correct -- so we stopped in at the only open store in town. Almost as soon as we had walked through the door the woman behind the counter asked, "Are you here to stay at the church hostel tonight?" Ummm... why yes we are... tell us about it. Dayville is the home of a biker hostel -- a crashing pad meant for those of us on two wheels (and they have taken the term biker back from the motorcycle culture... this hostel was for bicycle tourists). The hostel is in the local church; with showers, internet, a kitchen and laundry facilities. Not bad diggs for the night. Feeling greatful for the trustful and giving nature of the Dayville community.

Day 8: Approximately 65 bike-powered miles and 15 hitched miles; 2,000 ft. gain on bike.
Ochoco Resevoir Campground to Dayville, OR

Sisters on to the Ochoco

2009-09-15T20:21:00.000-07:00

"the intimate relationships in our lives are the deepest mirrors into our own sub-conscious."

Day 7

Jason gave us a book for the road; The Art of Loving by Erich Fromm. Being a Psych major Jason noticed the journey we were embarking on in our love relationship too, I assume!

Left Jason's after some banana pancakes. got a flat in his driveway. fixed it. Met Em at the photo studio in town to have our old west pictures taken. She lived up to her name by a-PEASING me on this one! I nearly had to beg her, and finally said, "my birthday is coming..." sounds pathetic now that I am writing this, hope my men's team happens to skip over that part. Anyway, we dressed her up as a floosy and me as a cowboy and got some killer shots, wish I would have thought of that for my highschool senior picture.

We finally were on the road by noon or so and had 50 or some odd miles ahead of us, better get moving she says over chai and iced coffee...We were off. Through the fields and over some little hills, stopped off at an antique bazaar in the town of Redmond. Chewed the ole grissle with the old ladies working, bought some antique post cards and a few st. christopher (patron saint of travellers) charms to wear. One of the ole ladies was from Wheeler oregon (near tillamook, and my family's stomping grounds). My grandpa used to tell stories of the 1919 wheeler football team that made local history by going an entire season without being scored on, with only 12 players!...they absolutely punished their opponents. Always toward the end of the story he would add that the "boys" on the wheeler team were actually loggers in their mid-twenties trying to get their diplomas. As the lady in the store remembered that team, I added that little part about them all being grown men thinking it to be factual knowledge, she changed her face and tone and corrected me by saying "those boys may have been logger sons but were boys, hard working boys in fact..." I have a way of sticking my foot in my mouth I guess...glad we had St. Christopher looking out anyway!

Made the drop into Prineville at around 6 pm through the plains and down along the river below. Up above us past the canyon walls, On the plateaus, I can still see the bands of tribes moving. We travel with the sunset, on our little ponies, following our shadows on the paved trails, different times call for different breeds of transport, but I really feel the wild west alive here.

We made our camp out past town about 7 miles at the Ochoco Resovoir. It was dark when we set up the tent and were in bed by 10, read a chapter of our book together and fell asleep.

Road Poem:
I pack peace in my panniers
put family values in plasic ziplocs
and wrap past prayers in my packs
The church, songs, and tobacco ties, my own ego and thoughts
I buckle the straps
and journey on with this,
a way of life

To our Devotees

2009-09-14T11:07:00.000-07:00

We are about to head out of Jason's place outside of Sisters. A beautiful day and we are leaving for Smith Rock just north of Redmond. We have been in Sisters the last few days...briefly;
left Lloyd and the boys at the campground ready to hit up the Santiam pass climb...3 miles on 22 popped my chain (this is Kiel, of course) and wedged it in good between my frame and small chain ring...as we worked on it a truck pulled up along side us to adjust their lawn chairs in the bed and yelled over at us offering a ride over into sisters...we hopped in (good thing we did because later I found out I had bent two of my three chain rings) with Charlie and his wife Gail who live at breitenbush (I asked them if they were un-comfortable in clothing right now, total silence.) they have been on a mcmenamans pub tour and were on their way to the folk fest at sisters. We spent the day at the bike shop where we met jason, the good dude who has befriended us and housed us and eaten breakfast with us and went to inglourious basterds with us (Emily was a bit traumatized, she is a innocent sweety beneath the rough exterior!) We sat on his porch drinking red wine talking of metaphysics, travelling, love, hope, and faith singing the grateful dead and greg brown. We are meeting great friends and are moving on.

Learned of a new website for bicyclist tourers: hotshowers.org

Quote for the day "If you dance, dance love. If you paint, paint love. If you speak, speak love...get the Vibe?"

Heading up the Pass

2009-09-12T16:39:00.000-07:00

So we left off at Aunt Michelle's in Keizer. Cory had tuned our bikes and had also told us about a side route around 22 that would take us through little towns on little town roads like Aumsville, and Stayton, Lyons, Mill City, Mehama, and Gates. We went past the state penitentiary, past the state corrections institute, past the safety training academy, past the animal recovery center, etc...We were on the back roads the good part of the morning enjoying little traffic and nice scenery. We stopped off at the house of a retired fire captain along the way, he had a little pack of Alaska Malamutes that I told Emily in my very strong man conviction, "those are friggin wild wolves, I promise." The captain assured us they were not in fact wild but would nip us, almost for sure. He told us stories about having his road sled rippin down these back country roads with 9 dogs leading the way...pretty cool, but he wouldn't rent us one for the trip, (bummer huh?) He brought out the Oregon recreation map and showed us the big hills coming up, "yeah, this one's a goodie, a real gut buster." We thanked him for his time and story and left him alone with his wild wolves.

hmmm... that was Kiel's input but now he is off fixing my tire (yep... blew out a new tire the other day... you wouldn't believe how well we are going to know each and every bike mechanic from here until Iowa...)

After visiting the captain with the wolves we were back on the road and feeling pretty good. We had a goal of making it to Detroit, OR so we tried to keep a pretty steady cruise. It felt great to be on the back roads -- in the silence of the country and able to check out the scenes. It's farm country out here... one might have thought we had already made it to Iowa (in fact we were jumping the borders of Linn and Marion County... for those of you who know my Iowa home you know that it is in Marion, Iowa which is in Linn County... how serendipitous). Reality hit though when we started to hit the hills. Mountains mocking us in the distance. This was not the Iowa I knew.

The towns we cruised through were tiny and run down... there was one town in particular that felt strangely like some of the towns we had visited during our trip to Peru (maybe even a little more run down than that)... everything was shut down and boarded up. We were definitely the only tourists within miles. People would stare us down and sometimes ask us questions and let out a little chuckle if they elicited the information that we are headed to Iowa. But everyone has been friendly and no one has thrown bottles at us from their moving vehicles... this is actually something that we have been warned of.

On our new little bike map there are these symbols that help us figure out when we are going to hit big hills (anywhere from one to three little triangles; one being the easiest big hill). We knew that we were in for a "gut buster", the captain had told us and our map agreed. And when that hill came, it really delivered. It was not impossible, we never walked our bikes, but upon reaching the top our legs were like jello and it was challenging to suppress the yawns. Reaching the top deserved a celebration, which we did for about 10 seconds as we looked down at where we started from the top of a dam. Then we enjoyed the real celebratory feeling of coasting downhill for awhile. The rest of the ride into Detroit Lake State Park was good and almost quick enough.

Rolling into a big campground like Detroit Lake we attract a lot of attention. Some folks mentioned that they had seen us biking during the day and others were just amazed by our gear and our plans. The night went by quickly with us just going through the motions of feeding and resting and housing ourselves. We loved up some warm food that we cooked on our great little penny stove (a stove created out of a pop can -- or in our case a Pabst blue ribbon can) and crawled into bed pretty quickly.

Day Three : 60 + miles and about 1000 ft. elevation
Keizer, OR to Detroit Lake State Park

So if we thought the hills into Detroit Lake were bad we were by no means prepared for today. The hills, or I guess I should call it a hill (as in singular), we faced today was grand... epic... brutal. Someone, during our trip prep phase, had mentioned to us that we would conquer a 30 mile incline during our Oregon route. I think today was it. Granted it was a subtle hill for most of the day... so subtle that we often had a hard time telling if the road in front of us slanted up, down, or flat. But when we would turn our heads to check out the road we were leaving behind us it was clear that we were gaining elevation at a fairly rapid rate. The sign posts gained elevation rapidly... the first letting us know we had reached 2,000 feet followed quickly by a 3,000 feet sign (someone had failed to post the 4,000 feet point... we kept on waiting and waiting for that sign to arrive). Our pour jello legs peddled the whole day in easy gears... and the mileage markers didn't come quick enough. But it felt like we were getting "it" done... whatever "it" was... I, at least, felt a great sense of accomplishment every time my leg would agree to turn one more time around the gear wheel.

I've been trying to check in with what a person thinks about while biking. It's a lot of time during which it is very complicated to talk to the person that you are traveling with (the car noise mixed with the way that sound travels doesn't work too great for long and meaningful conversations). For the first couple of days I composed lists in my mind and imagined what we might see on the road and sang one line of every song I know... but on this day, the entire day, my conversation within was one of encouragement for my self and mostly my legs.

We breaked a lot during our uphill climb... we enjoyed a small lunch riverside (next to Santiam River)... and we grinded away pedal stroke after pedal stroke. So this is when, reflecting back to earlier in this blog, my tire blew. Not cool... and this time it was not just my tube it was both the tube and the tire. Thank god for Duck Tape! We healed up my crummy tires once again, with creative flair and blue duck tape. These are the brand-new tires that I had just purchased in Salem -- touring specific tires. But I had found a way to stress them and puncture them; I had hit a huge rock the day before while enjoying the scenery.

The day passed at a slow and steady pace. I think we did about 30 miles of traveling between the hours of noon and seven. And when we finally found a campground we did not question passing it by.

Did we mention that this weekend marked the start of the deer hunting season in this particular region of the Cascades?? Probably not, since we weren't really concerning ourselves with hunting deer. But it turned out that maybe we should have. The campground was full. We talked about where we could hide out and Kiel struck up conversations with other campers about our options... but nothing was panning out. We were hungry and tired and we had biked 30 miles uphill. We felt like we had earned our SMALL camp footprint. At the very end of the camp I remembered part of the conversation we had with Captain the day before -- he had told us about a campground where his buddies (Artist and Ivan) were camping. And it seemed like we were at that very campground... and further we were standing directly in front of a truck with a "retired lyons fire fighter" marked truck. I thought we were saved -- name dropping ALWAYS works.

Unless you have the wrong people. Lloyd and Ron and the boys were not the buddies we thought they were going to be but they turned out to be just as wonderful as any friend of Captain's. They offered up their campsite to us for sharing and we gratefully accepted. Lloyd and the boys were up for the hunting. They let us know that they would not be up late partying because they were on an early morning mission. Lloyd even offered to leave us some coffee on the fire for when we awoke (hours after they had headed out to hunt).

Day Four : 30 miles and about 3000 ft. elevation
Detroit Lake State Park to some small campground before the Santiam Pass

Another Night in Keizer

2009-09-09T22:41:00.000-07:00

Here we are in Salem, OR for another night. At least we have some time for writing down a bit of our story thus far...

Day One

Our kick-off from the Kellow farm near Hebo, OR went pretty well -- we were busy pulling ourselves and our bikes together while Kiel was also trying to finish off a few building projects at the farm. Somehow we managed to leave only about an hour behind our estimated departure. At 12 pm we were standing at the gate of the farm saying our goodbyes to our vehicles and the two dogs that watch over the farm (black dog and brown dog... we think they have more creative names but we don't know them).

We made it about 30 feet before we realized that we had a few more adjustments to make on Kiel's bike... Slow going. But we realistically believed this ride to Salem (about 55 miles) to be a shake-down cruise. We still have a lot to learn about touring and expect no shortage of adjustments and stops along the way.

It was a good cruise. I will admit that my legs suffered slightly but it felt good to see the road at a slowed down pace. Everything from the foothills in the distance, to a farm on the side of the road, to a small grasshopper or Caterpillar crossing the road... you could really check it all out (even the traces and remnants of human activity... missing boots, stuffed animals, and more). For the most part the road was easy rolling -- we only really conquered one series of decent sized hills. Coming down from the hills was not as great as we thought it would be. Riding with full packs is still new to us and learning to balance is a challenge. We clocked-out at about 24 miles per hour going downhill according to a local county sheriff who found great joy in shouting out our speed from his speed trap... still being a bit cautious with our speed both down- and up-hill (although up-hill is more of a bodily limit).

Arriving into Salem felt great... until my tire blew out. We were on the bridge heading into town -- with easy sight to the bike shop that we were headed to -- when I felt that oh-so-familiar feeling of my metal rims grinding on the ground. We quickly fixed our first flat together (there will probably be more). We were both amazed how easy it was to use two sets of hands instead of one when working on a bike. When we rolled into town we were just minutes before the close of the bike shop -- Santiam Bikes -- but they happily helped us out. In addition to the blown out tire I was also having funny derailer problems -- tires we can manage but the derailer is still a new thing even for all four of our hands.

The bike mechanics were instantly intrigued by us... this was the beginning of our celebrity. We look like tourers with our packs and spandex and people want to know about tourers. Where are you going?... Which way are you going?... Feeling a bit funny about saying that we were headed to Iowa I kind of giggled as I answered their questions... I mean who tours to Iowa (out here its either tour down the coast to baja or you are headed to the east coast... no major stops in the Midwest -- and here we are two young brand new tourers who don't know how to fix a derailer). The bike mechanic laughed back and said something under his breath that was along the lines of "go figure". I admitted that Iowa was my home state and he explained to me that another mechanic at the shop was headed on a bike tour to Iowa starting on Monday (it's Wednesday now so he will be less than a week behind us). At the same time across the store Kiel was chatting up another mechanic who actually calls up our fellow traveler, Cory, and hands the phone off for Kiel to meet Cory. It's probably pretty rare to meet another person on tour to Iowa while in Salem, OR...

While at the Bike shop we were also offered touring advice, free dinner and a place to stay. So much support on our Journey already, but we already had plans for the night -- Kiel's Aunt Michelle and Cousin Tyler live in Keizer (which is connected to Salem). We already had dinner plans and family to stay with... now I'm wishing we had family sprinkled all the way across the states to the Midwest. It was a perfect end to our day and everyone seemed very pleased that we had survived our first day, including us. Life on the road isn't looking so bad -- especially with all of the kindness that we are finding in the folks along the way who are genuinely interested in our story.

Mileage Count for Day 1 : approximately 55 miles (not a lot of elevation change)
Hebo, OR (Kellow Farm) to Keizer, OR (Auntie Michelle's house)

Day Two

This morning was looking bright. We knew that we had a few things to get done before we hit the road -- we knew that it would be a late start yet again. Kiel had to make a stop at the bank and to find some new shoes (his shoes appeared to fail during the first day -- he was losing feeling in his feet -- not a soothing feeling for a biker in training). In the process of finding new shoes, at a great price, I started to have problems with my derailer again -- it was jumping off the gears and doing a lot of extra crunching. At first we thought that we would fix the problem ourselves since nobody else was able to do it. But again, may I remind you, that Kiel and I both have a lot to learn about maintaining our bikes. We can clearly fix things enough to "limp by" but our limping was no match for any hill. Our first climb up hill, a couple of miles out of Salem, made it very clear that we were not leaving town today. I couldn't get my chain set solid enough in any gear to get a good crank out of my bike. We turned around and sat down to check out my derailer again outside of the State Penitentiary -- I actually questioned if that was the appropriate place to hang out, I was waiting for a prison guard to jump out of the bushes and tell us that we needed to leave. But it turned out to be a prime location. The prison had heavy exit traffic -- it was at the end of shift and apparently it was also a visitor day.

Just as Kiel and I were giving up on our ability to fix my problem and admitting that we were destined to spend one more day in Salem a man, Garson, pulled up and offered his help (he said he knew what it felt like to be stranded). He loaded us up in his truck and drove us out of his way back to the bike shop downtown.

Back where we started, oh well. We walked back into the bike shop and met a new bike mechanic who instantly knew our story... it was Cory (our fellow traveler). He spent an hour or so on both of our bikes -- and may have finally accomplished the unaccomplishable... he fixed my derailer (at least for now... and we know that if we run into problems, Cory is only a few days behind us, how convenient). We also scored the ever-allusive Oregon State Bike Map which I had been looking for -- the Oregon DOT stopped printing it after they ran out this year because they are creating a revised version. We also learned of a great route for tomorrow -- a route off of the main road and supposedly with fewer hills. Our delay was definitely a blessing in disguise. But we are ready to hit the road again tomorrow.

I do think our layover in town, which really did include about 30 miles of biking throughout town, was greatly healing for our bodies. I'm hoping that this will serve us well during our next few days -- which will include a bunch of up-hill climbs. The day after tomorrow will be our first pass, Santiam Pass. Who's worried?

Mileage count for day 2 : Maybe 30 or so...
Keizer, OR to Keizer, OR