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A blog of all sections with no images
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Written by Administrator
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Thursday, 28 June 2007 |
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Pics from our Jasper-Denver trip are up! Check the galleries. |
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Last Updated ( Thursday, 28 June 2007 )
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Written by Ben
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Monday, 25 June 2007 |
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We're done. I'm sitting in the Denver public library, about to ride to the airport, and home to California. We left Jasper early early in the morning of May 30, and arrived here yesterday. I broke one bike frame and one bike fork, 3 spokes, and had about 10 flat tires. Clint had one flat tire and hurt his finger on a tent stake. Clearly some one is out to get me. Despite the damages, this trip was amazing. We haven't figured out the exact details yet, but it worked out to something like 1500 miles, 10 times across the continental divide, 50,000 feet of climbing, and about 5 showers each. All that, and we biked through one of them square states. I know what you're all saying: "Wyoming isn't square. It's actually a curving 3 dimensional object bounded by lines of latitude and longitude that only appears square when it's projects in a certain way on to a flat surface." Whatever. If Mr. Mercator says that Greenland and Africa are the same size, and that Wyoming is square, then who am I to argue? Anyway, I feel better saying it's square, because its mostly pretty boring, and a state with an uninteresting shape has more right to be boring. The last day in Wyoming continued the trend of flat. We rolled along a grassy plain, with threatening thunderclouds overhead, until we passed the Colorado border. All of a sudden: mountains!! The Colorado/Wyoming border follows no physical features, and yet seems to perfectly divide the landscape. Uncanny - a lot like when we crossed into California from Oregon 2 years ago, and all of a sudden it changed from cloudy and cold to sunny and warm and a Jetta with four blondes in it whizzed past with the radio cranked up on Britney.
In the 2 days we've spent in Colorado we've experienced two wildely different facets of it's persona. we pulled into Granby day before yesterday at about 4 pm with nowhere to camp. A passing cyclist suggested we ask the local rodeo if we could set up a tent in the back, and to our surprise they said sure! We spent the evening watching the rodeo, an event steeped in patriotism and history. It began with a ceremony in which the Navy, Marine Corps, Army, U.S., Colorado, Liberty, and various other flags were paraded around the arena by women on horseback while the commentator spoke for a few minutes about the the men and women lost in service to their country, and the need to remember 9/11. After a couple of hours, we returned to the tent and fell asleep that night to the strains of country music and bull-riding, watching yet another beautiful sunset over the Rockies. We caught a shuttle into downtown Denver the next day, and discovered that Gay Pride weekend was in full swing. It was quite a transition from the rodeo to being told by a very drunk reveler that I was "super sexy". Well - my quads are ripped. Lacey is flying in tomorrow to hang out with Clint for a couple of days. They'll take the train home on Thursday. For me, though, its off home as quick as I can to pack up my life and drive back across the country to Washington DC, where I have a new job starting july 9th. It's been a great trip. I'll post photos in the next couple of days, and a final blog. |
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Last Updated ( Saturday, 29 September 2007 )
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Written by Ben
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Thursday, 21 June 2007 |
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A pronghorn sheep can sprint to speeds of 60 miles per hour, and maintain a speed of 30 miles per hour over an extened period. Man that's quick; I think that a cheetah only does around 70 miles per hour (Clint says 65). Their speed does beg the question of why, however. Apparently, pronghorns' chief predators are coyotes, and there is no way that a coyote can move even close to that quick. So why the ridiculous speed? A cheetah needs it to catch those little gazelles they're always chasing, but what the heck does the pronghorn need it for? I'm open to ideas. I devoted a large part of my concentration to looking for pronghorns today, becuase there wasn't anything else to do. After leaving Lander, the landscape of Wyoming went from interesting to insanely boring. Lander was awesome. I'm from the LA area - say around 11 million people within 100 miles. Clint is from Sac - 2 million in the area, give or take. Lander has 7,000, and seemed massive. It had not one, but two gear shops, as well as a dedicated bike shop and two different places to buy espresso. That's cosmopolitan, right there. We met up with one of the instructors from my NOLS course for lunch - organic local beef hamburgers and beer, oh yeah. The highlight of Lander was eating, in fact. The first night we cooked up a package of smokies and sat like rednecks in our thermaloungers in front of the tent, drinking Fat Tire and commenting on the people who walked passed. But on Monday night, we settled for our usual pasta, and had just finished when some folks who were havig a barbeque asked if we could manage a burger - they would have to throw them out, otherwise. I said I might be able to choke one down, and called Clint over as well. "A burger" turned out to mean a burger (and/or hot dog), potato salad, brownies, and ice cream, with a Bud Light to wash it all down. ( I am required to say that Clint had a Coors Light; I make no comment on their relative merits). We waddled back to the tent and spent the next several hours moaning and rubbing our bellies. We are now well and truly in the rain shadow of the Rockies - in the high desert of eastern Wyoming. From the lush pines on the west side of Togwotee pass, the dominant vegetation has switched to sparse sage, tumbleweed, dirt trees and rock shrubs. When I get off the bike for a photo, I watch in front of me for rattlesnakes. We drink twice as much water becuase the air is so dry, and our tans are darkening by the day (in case you haven't figured it out, Clint is sitting by me right now, and I am instructed to say that Clint's is still an Irish tan - not a real one). Yesterday, the change was nice, in part because of a great tail wind that let us sit up and watch the knobbly granite outcrops, pronghorns, and the now distant Wind River mountain range as it receded behind us. Today was a slog though. Rawlins is not my favorite town. I did get off on the wrong foot with it, I admit - breaking another spoke on the rear wheel as we rolled into town. I had it fixed by some punk kid at the local bike shop/stereo installation shop/dirt bike and dirt bike accessories superstore. I say 'punk kid' advisedly; he was all of 14, wore all tight black, a black beanie and one of those metal studded belts, and fixed my wheel, oiled my bike chain, and adjusted my shifting in a total of 20 minutes. Not bad for some punk kid. Rawlins does boast excellent Mexican food. we had both been craving it, and asked our way to Rose's Lariat - great enchiladas, and the first time I've taken dining advice from some one I know to be from Kansas. Advice well taken. Oh well. At least the ride today was short. Tomorrow it's 60 miles to Riverside/Encampment. Granby on Saturday, and Denver on Sunday. I have to get off the computer now. |
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Last Updated ( Saturday, 29 September 2007 )
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Written by Ben
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Monday, 18 June 2007 |
Thank goodness for testosterone and the private sector. I realize that’s a somewhat cryptic sentence, but let me explain. First, the private sector. The National Park Service no longer takes care of the campgrounds in Yellowstone National Park. That job is now done under contract by Xanterra Parks & Resorts, a private company. I have never stayed in a nicer campground on public land than the night I spent at Madison Junction. There was a hiker-biker section (which we had to ourselves) that cost 6 bucks for each of us. The staff, all retirees who live in their RVs in the campground, gave us free coffee in the morning, and kept the bathrooms in such an unearthly state of cleanliness that I was almost afraid to use the toilet for fear of getting it dirty. We saw coyotes flitting about on the outskirts of the campground, and paid scrupulous attention to the bear regulations in this most delicate of parks.
We stayed only one night in Yellowstone, walked around and saw Old Faithful in the morning, and I got charged by a bison. I’ll repeat that: I got charged by a bison. I’ll drop a kernal of knowledge for all those considering bike tours in Yellowstone. The bison are not as used to bikes as they are to cars. While one can quite safely pull over a car, step out, and take a photo of a bison rolling in the dirt a couple of hundred feet away, apparently the same is not true for cyclists. I got off my bike, walked a few steps sideways, and the bison immediately got up and began coming toward me. I just want to reiterate that I did not approach the bison, nor was I very close at any point. He just didn’t like cyclists. I hopped back on the bike and we pedaled quite quickly away, the bison eventually breaking off the chase and deciding to pace us from alongside the road instead.
So Yellowstone was interesting. In passing I estimate that there was about a one to one ratio of fly fishermen to trout in the park’s streams; I have one shot with 8 fishermen cheek by jowl.
Now, testosterone. There is really only one good reason why anyone would willingly bike through a hail or snow storm. That is, of course, because your buddy is doing it and you can’t bear the idea of him looking cooler than you. Day before yesterday, we biked over Togwotee Pass – 9500 feet or so and yet another jaunt across the continental divide. When we began the climb, it was 80 degrees and sunny. Behind us, the Tetons reared up above Jackson Hole, certainly some of the most amazing mountains I have ever seen.
As we climbed, though, thunderheads moved in above us, the sky darkened, and flashes punctuated our pedal strokes. Presently, it began raining, first lightly, then progressively harder. Climbing as hard as we were, our body heat kept us perfectly warm – it’s just that we just got soaked. Clint was a couple of hundred yards ahead of me when the rain turned to hail. I’ve only seen hail a couple of times, and aside from a few raps to the noggin from the ventilation holes in my helmet, I found I didn’t mind it much. On our left, a gas station and lodge came into view, but Clint didn’t even hesitate, so I couldn’t either, could I?
In the event, the hail lasted only a few minutes, with a brief stint when it turned to snow. On the tail end, the hail went to rain, the rain to drizzle, the drizzle to nothing, and then the clouds parted, revealing towering thunderheads reaching up to meet a sky of pure, dark blue. The magnificent lighting lasted only a few minutes before the clouds departed entirely. While they drifted off, two moose appeared in the meadow below the road, before blending back into the foliage. Had we stopped for coffee, we would have missed the moose and the gorgeous sky. So yay for testosterone.
I sit now in Lander. No one told us that the road from Togwotee Pass to Lander was basically a 110 mile downhill with a tailwind, but it is, and we raced through the whole thing yesterday in a very easy day. Lander has a wonderful city park whose sign states “Park open 5 AM to 11 PM. Exception: overnight camping allowed.” Yes. Oh, and it’s free.
Rawlins is 120 miles or so, and Clint’s just arranged a bus service for us from Granby to Denver, cutting off the worst climb of the trip. Life is good.
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Last Updated ( Saturday, 29 September 2007 )
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Written by Ben
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Thursday, 14 June 2007 |
Headwinds, guns, rednecks, and funky little college towns. Those are the memories of Montana I'll take with me. I'm sitting in an internet cafe in West Yellowstone, about a mile from the Wyoming border, about to leave Big Sky Country after my first ever visit. In some ways it was exactly what I expected, and in others - not at all. The first Montanan I saw was a little Blackfoot Indian of about 4 years old. He was playing in a beat up old pickup truck outside of a windswept gas station north of Babb - 15 miles from Canada - while his dad did some business in the store. As I took pictures of him, he showed me various things through the truck's window: batteries; a healthy grin; his plump little hands; and finally a rack of about 15 rifle shells. That startled me a bit - I grew up in Pasadena, and the only gun I've ever held was a .22 rifle at family camp when I was 7 or 8. Guns are not a familiar part of life for me. But they are in Montana. Walk into a grocery store, and right alongside the eggs and cheese are shells for your rifles, hanguns, shotguns, and air rifles.
The people here are comfortable with weapons in a way I don't think I will ever be. As we reassembled our bikes after the bus ride to Bozeman, I turned around and there was a young man sighting down the scope of a hunting rifle propped against the window of his car. True the barrel wasn't attached to the stock - but still weird. In the back of the car was a camo-patterned compound hunting bow.
Taxidermy is a big business in this state - the day before entering Missoula, we passed 3 taxidermy shops. One, Second Nature Taxidermy, had a school of taxidermy attached. Guess you have to learn somewhere.
But alongside the gun culture are funky little towns reminiscent of Santa Cruz. Bozeman impressed me especially. Smack in the middle of the windswept prairie, Bozeman has a quality in the air that I have come to expect from this state; a sort of bracing refreshment with every breath. As with every town entered via a Greyhound station, I was not impressed at first glance. Three grizzled old beared men were busy getting drunk on the grassy bank next to the station, and when told of our destination, responded only with, "I'm sorry". Clearly the concept of a bike vacation eluded them.
However, the second thing we rode past on our way into town was the Bozeman Public Library, a beautiful stone and naked wood building with towering windows and Wild Joe's Organic Coffee Bar, tucked next to the front door. My impression improved. And it improved farther the next day with the bustling Main Street, full of wonderful gear shops and coffee bars all housed in turn of the century brick buildings. The internet cafe was top notch, and the streets teemed with bicycles. Bozeman is home to Montana State University, and Missoula hosts the University of Montana. Both have the same sort of really cool downtown, and both are surrounded by gorgeous scenery and big, snow capped peaks. I should have looked into Montana when I was researching schools.
When I stop typing, we'll ride down the street into Wyoming and Yellowstone National Park. The type of person that visits Yellowstone seems different than that which visits other parks; every third vehicle on the road is an RV, and the National Forest campround signs around here have a little plaque at the bottom stating "tenters welcome". Apparently we are in the minority.
Tomorrow we see Old Faithful, Monday we roll into Lander, home of NOLS, and then off down to the Colorado Border and Idaho Springs, from where we hope to bus into Denver on Sunday or Monday (24th or 25th). |
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Last Updated ( Saturday, 29 September 2007 )
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Written by Ben
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Tuesday, 12 June 2007 |
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Animals we have seen close up thus far on the trip: osprey, several with chicks in nest. Hawks and lots of turkey vultures. A coyote (a real one; not the mangy ones you see in California) Many elk (or possibly caribou – we’re not quite sure), ridiculous numbers of whitetail deer, prairie dogs, a beaver dam, a mountain lion that loped across a deserted road literally 50 feet in front of us. Lots of mountain goats during the 15 minutes we spent on the south edge of Glacier National Park (Forgive me; I chased one, from a distance, to take a photo – the babies were so cute!). And we’ve seen 6 bears – two mothers and four cubs. Now can I rant for a minute about bears? First of all, before my mom has a coronary, I’ll just say that the bears we’ve seen have been of the black variety, rather than grizzlies. Furthermore, none seemed in the least ill-tempered. However, they still kind of worry me. I know that my Australian friends will read this and say “Liar! You said bears didn’t scare you!” True. I’m guilty. I’m holding in my hand a can of bear mace. It’s like the mace that women carry in their handbags, only much larger – say about the size of one of those little fire extinguishers that one keeps in a car. I carry it strapped to the outside of my saddlebags, and sleep with it next to my head. If a bear decides to charge me, apparently I’m supposed to wait until it’s 20 feet away, and then spray the mace in its face. Only be careful, I'm told, because while it’ll stop a grizzly, it’ll kill a human. So make sure that you’re upwind from the bear before you fire it, or it’ll get you too. Is this the most stupid advice ever, or is it just me? I highly doubt that, if I’m being attacked by a grizzly, I’ll have the time or the presence of mind to test the wind and sidle nimbly sideways to a more favored position. Enough of that. Last night we camped ‘legally’ just south of Condon, Montana. Yesterday was overcast, squally, and generally very tiring. We ate cold precooked packets of rice and cheesebread for dinner, inside the tent at 10 pm. And it was great. That’s how tired we were. We rode from Condon to Missoula today, battling headwinds nearly all the way. No one told us this, but apparently the prevailing wind is from the south here. It was gorgous and sunny, though, and the 100+ miles we pedalled south and west weren’t too bad. However, about 15 miles outside of Missoula, I got a flat and broke a spoke on my rear wheel. Not the end of the world, but quite annoying on a brand new bike. Clearly my cheap components were not designed to take all the weight I’ve got on them. However, I’ve got a new spoke and will change it out tomorrow. Speaking of change, our camping arrangements have changed as well. Right now Clint and I are sitting in the beautiful living room of Mike Kavanaugh and his wife, outside of Missoula. Mike is a collaborator of my dad’s, and they just fed us a marvelous meal of elk burgers, let us shower, and we’re about to do laundry! Tomorrow holds new things as well. The 330 miles or so from Missoula to West Yellowstone have no parks to cycle through. Rather than slog it out against the headwinds for several days more, we’re going to bus to Bozeman, just north of Yellowstone. It’ll cut a few days off our travel time, enable us to bike less every day, and possibly even have a day off. |
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Last Updated ( Saturday, 29 September 2007 )
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