tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16420623067373579102024-03-13T01:09:34.093-04:00Blake on 2 WheelsThis is a blog following up to and through the events of a cross-country bicycle trip beginning in June 2009 and ending in August 2009 I will be bicycling a solo, self-sustained 4,248 mile trip from Yorktown, VA to Florence, OR to raise funds for Montaña de Luz (MdL), an HIV/AIDS orphanage in Honduras. For more info: http://www.firstgiving.com/blakeon2wheelsBlake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-29488713947417731312009-09-10T17:03:00.003-04:002009-09-10T17:04:34.050-04:00Trans-America Ride 2009 Video<a href="http://www.vimeo.com/6517776">Watch.Experience.Enjoy.</a>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-79923140120253169332009-08-31T18:01:00.001-04:002009-08-31T18:25:33.283-04:00The Ombrophilous, Obeliscolychny and Oneiric Oregon Coast<div>I've spent that past two days exploring the Oregon coast on my bicycle, which has been ripe with gorgeous sea vistas, foggy mornings, delicious seafood, and a considerable amount of overweight white tourists. I've only seen brief glimpses of this rugged coastal region in classic Hollywood films like "The Goonies," "Kindergarten Cop," "Point Break," and "Free Willy." Having spent only two days on the coast, I wish I could have another week to take in the sights, smells, and sounds of this beautiful area. Nevertheless, I am also very grateful to return home very soon. My flight lands in Boston on Tuesday evening, but I'll be away from Quincy for most of Wednesday. I hope to find time to catch up with you all and hear about your very own adventures soon! Until then, I hope you enjoy these photos:</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtmQTR5dEjvdB6Y2PpT_1uSuzz6vLguAjUjyNa9sFtsIH9vSV7KgxW2l3pJ-vFaH_cLL3D2tiYKSX-_vdP7surMthXgL-WgYn8t71j147p4gPsWVz47zSfvAhGKF9dPJ5wvYdQGMgPGAsx/s1600-h/IMG_2006.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtmQTR5dEjvdB6Y2PpT_1uSuzz6vLguAjUjyNa9sFtsIH9vSV7KgxW2l3pJ-vFaH_cLL3D2tiYKSX-_vdP7surMthXgL-WgYn8t71j147p4gPsWVz47zSfvAhGKF9dPJ5wvYdQGMgPGAsx/s320/IMG_2006.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376257441581454434" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPD1lu-VKZ6-Vr83rk99sj0Bi5o9Ow9S06RlGbciQ26fQN1wJQIzNADwERsC-r8BbztpxyvpEOU-3pP52EA68JDyuoMEN7UuRU6kw3oXwakt4F3Gla35goDK8qBhPXE6RS90J5adMyWiRJ/s1600-h/IMG_1958.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPD1lu-VKZ6-Vr83rk99sj0Bi5o9Ow9S06RlGbciQ26fQN1wJQIzNADwERsC-r8BbztpxyvpEOU-3pP52EA68JDyuoMEN7UuRU6kw3oXwakt4F3Gla35goDK8qBhPXE6RS90J5adMyWiRJ/s320/IMG_1958.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376257070879046290" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQWpHME35RRTb_mVG1WKs9y9FZSd34xNvk2Vxcc3Vc6611o-RaQuqVMMcbpLq_Xg0OYpIgM6xMrdfgZjV6-OM4oGfiFSa9aWP_IO25XMgF0qmOaeSVIIViZzv3zPc_5NdsumlKnmB8f74p/s1600-h/IMG_1994.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQWpHME35RRTb_mVG1WKs9y9FZSd34xNvk2Vxcc3Vc6611o-RaQuqVMMcbpLq_Xg0OYpIgM6xMrdfgZjV6-OM4oGfiFSa9aWP_IO25XMgF0qmOaeSVIIViZzv3zPc_5NdsumlKnmB8f74p/s320/IMG_1994.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376255877113365138" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeGxPwTqh33j6mMMpCe0vweT4QS4yEROfIGzTF2MlCqObhou6HVSNXMvIc4KeC7ejPLjy5X-1GXDmJnuiokUQVyf5O9ODRWEWOksc3VkaXyjmFSsoYmvRcwme8nOIroKeRRPKC4D73QZ4j/s1600-h/IMG_2012.JPG"><img style="display:block; 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margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilVXC3DhsfW-XVSiDBr-qcHOJj-tSzKwBHi32RjRNQgQKqcP1uFdM2y7mTW0awnk8DTESr0dZzRADdD9msMzVd1-VfPF-cfwxLSq8G93iLv1yzJjYWWSKcGOENjyBnH1lGynzWwI_mrmov/s320/IMG_1978.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376253837584233570" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvwE-DyRRRD7AZnYSLQYZwX5caLDTX1KgeFvFXWxv_OBNhzosXfM_Nmm_aqbA2_kVTZUG7VXuAIeowosKLAPmfxaQ5g2c3wDEhJdFG5Ga79pbC32U4c6ceMneR0FafF1f3uSbQK23rRpVc/s1600-h/IMG_2013.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvwE-DyRRRD7AZnYSLQYZwX5caLDTX1KgeFvFXWxv_OBNhzosXfM_Nmm_aqbA2_kVTZUG7VXuAIeowosKLAPmfxaQ5g2c3wDEhJdFG5Ga79pbC32U4c6ceMneR0FafF1f3uSbQK23rRpVc/s320/IMG_2013.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376253484057352482" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHq_6FZDZ1gH17rJ56c3zJPfsSKjLaOaU-RgavUEOyaTtLDC-n_4lv542vETGi8ZtpIeOpE_MShZeCt4m1WFuZ-g1yb9QArRqSsmJd8b3FCVPwUk682C4jTQJ6-3dvOSAxQ859P6TWJSqW/s1600-h/IMG_1969.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHq_6FZDZ1gH17rJ56c3zJPfsSKjLaOaU-RgavUEOyaTtLDC-n_4lv542vETGi8ZtpIeOpE_MShZeCt4m1WFuZ-g1yb9QArRqSsmJd8b3FCVPwUk682C4jTQJ6-3dvOSAxQ859P6TWJSqW/s320/IMG_1969.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376253221434824034" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZCFceX7X7VwyeShfG9V9lToaOnFIIzf7PB89zbCLVZGqQ9MvB5FMW9kgvnBRna5yxWOZFfG8So68J17VZalORlrfoFog8ovlCoDhYA2OjZGEMKxswUPMYMqkkVFLztxGOptw0Jr1rBYy0/s1600-h/IMG_1985.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZCFceX7X7VwyeShfG9V9lToaOnFIIzf7PB89zbCLVZGqQ9MvB5FMW9kgvnBRna5yxWOZFfG8So68J17VZalORlrfoFog8ovlCoDhYA2OjZGEMKxswUPMYMqkkVFLztxGOptw0Jr1rBYy0/s320/IMG_1985.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376211830039023442" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFWI8bXuOuxKIp5kcixS0MBpCVVY4VdpKwY5DtsHguqUwEB-SlYYnDPNgiLXOh_QXzgCSMBOKI6spN0R15cPIkWw_5DQcLM2lIWobBLjN5c5k0s1RWwVGHWgRy5g73GRqwDkTtDQ_2F9Sm/s1600-h/IMG_2003.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFWI8bXuOuxKIp5kcixS0MBpCVVY4VdpKwY5DtsHguqUwEB-SlYYnDPNgiLXOh_QXzgCSMBOKI6spN0R15cPIkWw_5DQcLM2lIWobBLjN5c5k0s1RWwVGHWgRy5g73GRqwDkTtDQ_2F9Sm/s320/IMG_2003.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376210768677734962" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjexdinBb1oFC-PiOfFb3KQcyNaA1KrSJNQDtOztSkG9Ox8BHYkCpT6tQtkLzhFwvI2SDokwjARCzmEIu1lyVfqgcg0eaIOgSatOvdKVxklvW4E_E09LtvFiIQCEuI6HcpvEZ4ufVEtsazD/s1600-h/IMG_2000.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjexdinBb1oFC-PiOfFb3KQcyNaA1KrSJNQDtOztSkG9Ox8BHYkCpT6tQtkLzhFwvI2SDokwjARCzmEIu1lyVfqgcg0eaIOgSatOvdKVxklvW4E_E09LtvFiIQCEuI6HcpvEZ4ufVEtsazD/s320/IMG_2000.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376209216379439922" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRnfM59Lygf7MkFbWce-bvgMBwvxxrRbgnzNZiQzz01eSMtk0JiGsbFLjy2DBX-lT9AivFu8RkJCGnwv7p3K-xT7RmvLTqpZ7Eov51YdAG1XhXIxMq-mxv2SlnGhlEyMT-W7bfpkuKXgq/s1600-h/IMG_1987.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRnfM59Lygf7MkFbWce-bvgMBwvxxrRbgnzNZiQzz01eSMtk0JiGsbFLjy2DBX-lT9AivFu8RkJCGnwv7p3K-xT7RmvLTqpZ7Eov51YdAG1XhXIxMq-mxv2SlnGhlEyMT-W7bfpkuKXgq/s320/IMG_1987.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376206409917055026" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-88paxvXjdOL6ChZqU8z7gEI6BYSki9O-m7O-LpYoCfxGArqFlYFzbHaVOtoZnx_XaG2bnzfv57TD3inoARaaM0O4YHuzJsFV9pZjIdmnde92QoZVtgs7mrdgqQRivF4xXyqbA0_PVVV7/s1600-h/IMG_2004.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-88paxvXjdOL6ChZqU8z7gEI6BYSki9O-m7O-LpYoCfxGArqFlYFzbHaVOtoZnx_XaG2bnzfv57TD3inoARaaM0O4YHuzJsFV9pZjIdmnde92QoZVtgs7mrdgqQRivF4xXyqbA0_PVVV7/s320/IMG_2004.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376203213023356066" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0DJzdbXNC01mGfC1JKEosbz_ulRGYj9NvqQyKBtVvt9PyR5NcG4ZzGkNQyRTu_1wYHVaVkSoCp_qg96b7_f7qLCf-8emK0GaUxtBv-vFXm5llsDm1GN5FjkxtvVitllg6CGJJOgEd0au/s1600-h/IMG_1999.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0DJzdbXNC01mGfC1JKEosbz_ulRGYj9NvqQyKBtVvt9PyR5NcG4ZzGkNQyRTu_1wYHVaVkSoCp_qg96b7_f7qLCf-8emK0GaUxtBv-vFXm5llsDm1GN5FjkxtvVitllg6CGJJOgEd0au/s320/IMG_1999.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376197594998346514" /></a>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-55300536150451023482009-08-29T19:46:00.007-04:002010-01-26T21:17:54.134-05:00Day 60: Eugene, OR to Florence, OR (83 Miles)<div>I woke up this morning feeling rather melancholy. I knew today would be the grand finale, culminating with a simple dip of a front tire into the Pacific Ocean. I was excited to finish this journey I've been on these past two months; however, I'll certainly miss the sensation of traveling into the virtual unknown, meeting new people and finding temporary places to call "home" for the evening. To get through this day in a good mood, I had to remind myself that every journey's end is also the beginning of another. With that in mind, I rode on through the nearly abandoned streets of Eugene. The morning was cold and quiet, with a thick morning mist shrouding and muting my surroundings. This busy college town now took on the ethereal quality of a ghost town... in spite of this being the most populated city on the Trans-America.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjt-BmrFzMTeKJsu-ylAajo9h-E5r1x10RTRr5HakV9dRIMkusJqNZWG_x6jsqxiyA1g2HGK4YHWy06-ptBXifwqIEnpSXvEDbyzr2qGnCtsyB5gwXN7-5K1k_wgbi2t1fUxVIO8H6UqC6/s1600-h/IMG_1905.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjt-BmrFzMTeKJsu-ylAajo9h-E5r1x10RTRr5HakV9dRIMkusJqNZWG_x6jsqxiyA1g2HGK4YHWy06-ptBXifwqIEnpSXvEDbyzr2qGnCtsyB5gwXN7-5K1k_wgbi2t1fUxVIO8H6UqC6/s320/IMG_1905.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375532314518574674" /></a>I took a pleasant bicycle trail out of town and snacked on a few apples I took from the motel breakfast. This first section was very flat, but I still had the pleasure of climbing the Coast Range. With a much lighter bike, I rode on at a quick pace and stopped at a small gas station in Low Pass. There I met a very talkative and friendly lady who told me stories of several Trans-America cyclists stopping in at her store. I chatted with her for a while and they warned me of the next hill up the road. Feeling I had something to prove to myself, I sprinted up this final ascent over the Coast Range and kept up this sprint all the way to my lunch stop in a train-themed diner in Mapleton.<div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7GmRLkJb6Uu8R2RZ1V3KFn3NeJQeWdQLHG_AMgTdKJyGEgQBVqrZLpTsWvzaDxwAhpq_bNgG4x4yZjXkDy9JzN3hQswrN89HXTmAXykYNFodGdarZ61h2gTphxcVzueJoOwXXIPHzAhnU/s1600-h/IMG_1914.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7GmRLkJb6Uu8R2RZ1V3KFn3NeJQeWdQLHG_AMgTdKJyGEgQBVqrZLpTsWvzaDxwAhpq_bNgG4x4yZjXkDy9JzN3hQswrN89HXTmAXykYNFodGdarZ61h2gTphxcVzueJoOwXXIPHzAhnU/s320/IMG_1914.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375529836093965426" /></a>The majority of the morning was spent riding along the Sluslaw River, and the growing presence of brackish water smells motivated me on riding faster and harder. In terms of speed and time, this was definitely the quickest ride of my trip. I must had ridden about 70 miles in just under four hours. Now, of course, this was with a lighter load... but it almost motivates me in trying out for a cycling race of some sort back in Massachusetts (and I'm not even a competitive person!).</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRxLLCT5kIjS-CoLqSywqiPbRwW4vjyX-Y5Nsw0-5vdbQf0yUoAuEvS3OrNS5uLQrsGQSCRUa2b2O8CUiCQbDKsZxHCgXMp-JGEoliS638NaCGTU5rrLxZVKRIp4JPz0pXI9-nKjGutVWa/s1600-h/IMG_1918.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRxLLCT5kIjS-CoLqSywqiPbRwW4vjyX-Y5Nsw0-5vdbQf0yUoAuEvS3OrNS5uLQrsGQSCRUa2b2O8CUiCQbDKsZxHCgXMp-JGEoliS638NaCGTU5rrLxZVKRIp4JPz0pXI9-nKjGutVWa/s320/IMG_1918.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375528872787470802" /></a><div>I was hoping the morning fog would lift and the overcast sky would give way to warm, delightful sunshine. I ordered a fish sandwich ("just for the halibut") and kept my eyes on the sky outside. Too excited to wait around for better weather, I headed out to finish off my last 15 miles to Florence. Then, not unlike my ascent over Hoover Pass in Colorado, the sun soon began to break through and enlighten my surroundings. I finally rolled into Florence at approximately 1:45PM and stopped to ask where I could find the nearest beach access. The shopkeeper said I would have to ride five miles North of town to find actual beachfront that was open to the public. Another 5 miles felt like nothing, so I headed into the Northern wind and came around a bend to be blasted with the wind and smells of the Pacific Ocean.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_8RX-3qY-3aBHaMQX1H_GTd0F0HAVwc4Se_0rYt5vig1zBnVGyXK8YWPBg7suC5LTqP1YCSG75bN8d4PAlqwmTbh9aAjkNCSeenDgVnfZq74IldtPSPhVWC9yBhE9Jfh_IllyIu7MpZZR/s1600-h/IMG_1922.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_8RX-3qY-3aBHaMQX1H_GTd0F0HAVwc4Se_0rYt5vig1zBnVGyXK8YWPBg7suC5LTqP1YCSG75bN8d4PAlqwmTbh9aAjkNCSeenDgVnfZq74IldtPSPhVWC9yBhE9Jfh_IllyIu7MpZZR/s320/IMG_1922.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375527838479376306" /></a>I almost immediately began to tear up. I wasn't necessarily crying, but my eyes were filled with enough to tears to make riding difficult. Dabbing my eyes, I pressed on to find a small private road that led me to the beachfront. I won't attempt to explain what was going on in my head and I probably won't comprehend this sensation for many days to come. I only remember being composed enough to ask a local scuba diver to take a few photos of the ceremonial dip and then made a few phone calls. I then just sat and watched the ocean mist flowing over the water, thinking of absolutely nothing.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhcf4d88WGcJd4kdEwMgMPu7-JkWSpuf7-0Y7E2BSwwAeflPYa8kDAVQs6mUGlx4YinbjvwJ5WEB_Yg-qts4kI03-OZ_Ax1ouOLPogohqGo0b4Qyqqagfy_SQYJyG6O5jaGzY6FdMZbHj7/s1600-h/IMG_1923.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhcf4d88WGcJd4kdEwMgMPu7-JkWSpuf7-0Y7E2BSwwAeflPYa8kDAVQs6mUGlx4YinbjvwJ5WEB_Yg-qts4kI03-OZ_Ax1ouOLPogohqGo0b4Qyqqagfy_SQYJyG6O5jaGzY6FdMZbHj7/s320/IMG_1923.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375526348418591602" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQGvjoNE0b0k5qtFf_YMr4HG-yu9zRbYqFKKb8bnLrJ8l-2m9Y5Ea35J1dG-_pJqNJGqgSrgKRKLhLeELlMyk_wzWDm0TsRdrbZpImsackaKP86b5vt_bwF_quuo9bqXMzHmlQaNxTwHHu/s1600-h/IMG_1931.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQGvjoNE0b0k5qtFf_YMr4HG-yu9zRbYqFKKb8bnLrJ8l-2m9Y5Ea35J1dG-_pJqNJGqgSrgKRKLhLeELlMyk_wzWDm0TsRdrbZpImsackaKP86b5vt_bwF_quuo9bqXMzHmlQaNxTwHHu/s320/IMG_1931.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375525003378134530" /></a>Realizing I needed to get to a bike shop before it closed, I headed back to town and asked one of the bike mechanics about boxing up my bike and shipping it back. She first told me that the box was about 10 dollars... OK, I can do that. Then she told me that they would charge me extortionist prices to box it up and ship it for me. Thinking that up to $250.00 was not worth it, I started to brainstorm other options. I decided that I would wait for Monday, seeing that I want to use my bike to explore the coast for the next few days, and try to find a cheaper alternative with UPS or USPS. I then found the cheapest motel in town, which wasn't very cheap, and checked in for two days.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibefwiwvLkatRecthNwOAhrcix9bOCTJUC6f95aAsgCti3dwHQphAk_Y4dnwzY0CDfpX7ud7BOdgSswmAgcM11-DCo_G8Nn4eKPo6GA0vrgkF9F_bXh56jiIxNvNnxPVH0h28p7MJiTsix/s1600-h/IMG_1942.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibefwiwvLkatRecthNwOAhrcix9bOCTJUC6f95aAsgCti3dwHQphAk_Y4dnwzY0CDfpX7ud7BOdgSswmAgcM11-DCo_G8Nn4eKPo6GA0vrgkF9F_bXh56jiIxNvNnxPVH0h28p7MJiTsix/s320/IMG_1942.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375523580958330018" /></a><div>So as I sit in my motel room, I can only think of those who have helped me get here...</div><div><br /></div><div>First, I must thank the kids of Montaña de Luz for giving me the inspiration to step outside of my comfort zone and live my life with a new sense of purpose and joy.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks to those who donated their hard-earned money to the MdL fund raiser and not only made it just a success, but exceeding expectations of how much you will give for a great cause. I am forever grateful for your generosity.</div><div><br /></div><div>Many thanks to my parents for supporting me on this endeavor. I know they weren't very happy to first hear that their son was going to ride alone across the country, but they were still quick to assist me in anything I needed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks to the fellow cyclists that befriended me and helped to create a small community on the road. The Loughborough Boys (Chris, Callum and Dowds): You guys gave me so many things to laugh at and definitely motivated me in becoming a stronger cyclist. I hope you guys find the West Coast to be very kind to you and I hope you'll find your way to Boston one of these days in the future. To Lady Chris and Lad Chris: you guys made Kentucky and Wyoming bareable and your generosity was very refreshing. Saz and Aaron: You guys were not only good for a laugh, but you were also ripe with great conversation and fun stories. Thanks for that.</div><div><br /></div><div>Special thanks to Jonathan, who took off a week in his busy life to ride with me through Kentucky. It was great watching small dogs chase you and sharing in that entire experience with you. I know you only joined me for a week, but it was the perfect time. I don't know how I would have handled Kentucky without you, man. Also, many thanks to Greg for driving Jonathan down from Ohio and hanging out with us in Breaks. It was great to see you.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thank you to my friends who helped me feel connected to home via phone conversations and emails. Matt, Jesse, Ashley May, Alex, Katie, Jessica, Anne, Kelly, and the many others who kept in touch with me: You guys were always there with me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks goes out to the Ralphe family, who took me into their home, fed me, and entertained me. That one day in Colorado Springs may have been my last rest day of the trip, but it certainly was enough to sustain me for the next month of riding. Give Buttercup and Geronimo a kiss for me!</div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks to Dave Mann for his expertise in bicycle maintenance and sharing it with me. Without Dave, I'd be broken down on the side of the road somewhere outside Jeffrey City right now. Now I just have to pass on this karmic debt that Dave so generously handed down to me.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Thank you to those who wrote on my blog and left so many encouraging comments. From family to friends, you guys kept me motivated in sharing this experience with you all. It feels great to know that you all experienced this journey with me somehow, and that I'll be able to recall so many memories from looking back at this blog.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks to those many, many faces that smiled at me on the road, to those who welcomed me into their homes and businesses, to those who waved or gave me an enthusiastic thumbs up.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lastly, thanks to God for keeping me safe and allowing me the oppurtunity to experience life in this way. I look forward to the next time I can be so thankful as I am right now.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxX7nZ9ru93vPj_SEyr6NqfnSTtcMxX2AqdTFOhmULSfPuq6YTiGtztjlJFzy6QDdVxDPycuUWW5ByE61bFs6ILh3DpneipzLVNQa46oCzbfUc8J3nqwGG4Z11KidfJJPSZip3ecasGkVy/s1600-h/IMG_1939.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxX7nZ9ru93vPj_SEyr6NqfnSTtcMxX2AqdTFOhmULSfPuq6YTiGtztjlJFzy6QDdVxDPycuUWW5ByE61bFs6ILh3DpneipzLVNQa46oCzbfUc8J3nqwGG4Z11KidfJJPSZip3ecasGkVy/s320/IMG_1939.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375521970664376146" /></a>Clemmie, I'm coming home!</div></div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-11351053113507532172009-08-28T15:15:00.001-04:002009-08-28T22:19:18.835-04:00Day 59: McKenzie River, OR to Eugene, OR (58 Miles)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDFasAfui3f3yzxEPw1TR0D3VUhaG09-i0wD0oEwKZ19s3K2DKQhpRqiTVU5YblXxrIiq0XVcKYYTkW6hGT4LuQ9Cu8Ud-wJyU6TCrDhoSjFZV5Kr6Gss-PaWjYUmLLQopsjrJeuJwBGNA/s1600-h/IMG_1895.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDFasAfui3f3yzxEPw1TR0D3VUhaG09-i0wD0oEwKZ19s3K2DKQhpRqiTVU5YblXxrIiq0XVcKYYTkW6hGT4LuQ9Cu8Ud-wJyU6TCrDhoSjFZV5Kr6Gss-PaWjYUmLLQopsjrJeuJwBGNA/s320/IMG_1895.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375132228187378018" /></a>I woke up several minutes before my alarm clock this morning. Judging by my lively movements without the accompaniment of caffeine, I could tell that I'm very excited about these next few days. I threw everything together and made it out of the door by 7:00AM and pedalled ferociously to Vida, for a quick breakfast stop. Knowing I only had about 40 miles left until Eugene, I ate a very small portion and got back on the road in no time. As I got back onto my bike, I began to notice that my rear rim was rather untrue. I stopped for about 15 minutes and trued the wheel as best as I could, only to find that it was rather fruitless. Upon closer inspection I had found that my rim was done for. I had fractures in several sections on the rim and I just hoped I could make it to Eugene without the wheel falling apart on me.<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvP1GwLOfTpG5-aYksgAGnbBbJfbYDsjKX-sNXByJQfBPyOSDXrcbBNqQ1VSMc_tDVaYhyphenhyphenCxlVOX-jFfZ5zewxZwf5DmfRGiyj1ixlmsQZmkZ8U48YJgjCxyWUJk2yEffifp1o-lB_mLZ9/s1600-h/IMG_1897.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvP1GwLOfTpG5-aYksgAGnbBbJfbYDsjKX-sNXByJQfBPyOSDXrcbBNqQ1VSMc_tDVaYhyphenhyphenCxlVOX-jFfZ5zewxZwf5DmfRGiyj1ixlmsQZmkZ8U48YJgjCxyWUJk2yEffifp1o-lB_mLZ9/s320/IMG_1897.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375131861900411634" /></a>I pushed forward with great rapidity, all the while looking very awkward with my wobbly rim. I made it into the outskirts of Eugene by 11:00AM and quickly found a UPS Store to ship my excess baggage back to Massachusetts. I said "goodbye" to my pannier bags, filled with many cumbersome items, and said "hello" to a faster, more agile bike. This newly unencumbered bike also made the presence of my wobbly wheel feel much more apparent, therefore I set my eyes to the nearest bike shop. Riding to the shop, I was treated to nice bicycle lanes and I started to notice cute girls with library glasses and others with dreadlocks. They all were riding bikes that were equally attractive as them. I then thought to myself: "This is my kind of town..."</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUZrFneNAD-Sig2TON1ksHSVqGG94AJgG-K3H3C43Q-7TrpE7C_ryxDPnl3YaRTk_ZLUUvxAlpq6tpVZjL_fQYqxCunilUZMlZPf9l7KAjfwyxkei90U7ZQePq3-afNvGB1iDGXDNwD3di/s1600-h/IMG_1898.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUZrFneNAD-Sig2TON1ksHSVqGG94AJgG-K3H3C43Q-7TrpE7C_ryxDPnl3YaRTk_ZLUUvxAlpq6tpVZjL_fQYqxCunilUZMlZPf9l7KAjfwyxkei90U7ZQePq3-afNvGB1iDGXDNwD3di/s320/IMG_1898.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375131401898107586" /></a>I found a gem of a bicycle shop called "Paul's Bicycle: Way of Life." I was helped in figuring out the cheapest opportunity of replacing the rear rim and I'll be pleased with anything that gets me to the shore by tomorrow evening. As I left the shop, I realized it was too early to look for motel rooms, so I headed next door to "The Beanery." There I had a delicious Panini and some iced coffee. There I also witnessed a very adorable event. An older lady had tied her pet Beagle's leash to a patio chair outside the shop. While she was waiting in line, the Beagle proceeded to drag the chair into the store and knocked over several items. This precocious pup eventually found it's way to his surprised owner. Everyone in attendance had a good laugh.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYTlc4ayHy-SupFIT5s2X418u-qGel5A15gN4JUnkyVDwNI74XijJU9PVq3DEtI2m5ofSndzGg3pIfsFcrCXoYdYwpiNg-8epZSG4tNuMHPDarIAzlfA7UAt4B4walSp8ct_76pfXWeH_i/s1600-h/IMG_1899.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYTlc4ayHy-SupFIT5s2X418u-qGel5A15gN4JUnkyVDwNI74XijJU9PVq3DEtI2m5ofSndzGg3pIfsFcrCXoYdYwpiNg-8epZSG4tNuMHPDarIAzlfA7UAt4B4walSp8ct_76pfXWeH_i/s320/IMG_1899.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375131029882725458" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZLVdGtkUoCig7-L425x3wHiXVRLq2dLPNI5kTFd6G97DfFxetNP4z5hGIIxvfV0BofHbh_hOmM0fszxXGwjIo5IDpKOFqmtsf1dy6eawEBuP_QU6M8rayApJS370VWGzmGZxELaLMejE/s1600-h/IMG_1899.JPG"></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZQkwHmP6HV7QWcj-TeVvPHrw_IU9g7VYEN-2huFcvsxM9YdlcWtHr_UxbEfzkZ-N9_bD3JmEavrUVcJH7Qu3lTwYhicwoNvPsTG0rrtR4a44OVXKj68PsljaYiUCh-Uo8RjBsY90t08mF/s1600-h/IMG_1900.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZQkwHmP6HV7QWcj-TeVvPHrw_IU9g7VYEN-2huFcvsxM9YdlcWtHr_UxbEfzkZ-N9_bD3JmEavrUVcJH7Qu3lTwYhicwoNvPsTG0rrtR4a44OVXKj68PsljaYiUCh-Uo8RjBsY90t08mF/s320/IMG_1900.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375129023397358962" /></a><div>It's starting to rain, and the forecast calls for better weather tomorrow. I'll be glad to have good weather on my final day. But that's not to say I'm complaining about the rain. I mean, what would a trip to Oregon be like without any rain? I plan on spending the rest of the day catching up with people on the phone and planning my next few days. I think I'm going to be in Florence until Monday, exploring the coast as much as possible. Anybody familiar with the Oregon coast in the area surrounding Florence? Let me know of anything worthy of a bike trip. Thanks!</div></div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-29441690525208892192009-08-27T21:02:00.005-04:002009-08-27T23:28:18.137-04:00Day 58: Redmond, OR to McKenzie River, OR (67 Miles)<div>When you find an incredibly cheap motel, you usually have an "ah-hah!" moment that explains why you paid so little for lodging. I had thought I found a gem of a motel last night, with new sheets, a clean bathroom, and functioning appliances. I went to bed last night, fully pleased with not having such a moment. However, I woke up at 2:30AM to (surprise, surprise) have such a moment, indeed. A road work crew outside the motel was hard at work, drilling furiously into the ground. They were kicking the crap out that cement! If the heavy drilling sound was constant, it could have lulled me into a deep, fulfilling sleep. But no, it was sporadic and changed enough to bring enough attention to it's unnecessary loudness. Don't city laws restrict such loud activities near residential areas? But is a motel to be considered a residential building or commercial? In any case, the moral of the story is: I didn't get enough sleep last night.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6QtzLYW-Kl5hap_xowddthRAv_3IgHzmM9v1cFxQC3-z-gE1mDObAY3CYhXGkBsvBrM4TOyZncUeuJ0lChf3FISxo31WvnL0ypWq09Gu4eo2fFckD_f_Wbnxr68IvG7JeJmZmaewz2GZ3/s1600-h/IMG_1870.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6QtzLYW-Kl5hap_xowddthRAv_3IgHzmM9v1cFxQC3-z-gE1mDObAY3CYhXGkBsvBrM4TOyZncUeuJ0lChf3FISxo31WvnL0ypWq09Gu4eo2fFckD_f_Wbnxr68IvG7JeJmZmaewz2GZ3/s320/IMG_1870.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374842729076667602" /></a>I reset my alarm to 8:00AM and reluctantly began packing my stuff up and left the room within the hour. It was already warm and I was upset to miss out on the cooler early morning temperatures. Sweating more than I'd prefer to, I pushed uphill to Sisters and stopped for an early lunch at Subway. Sisters seemed like a cute little town, but I had a mountain pass to conquer! I was feeling very motivated to get this last mountain range behind me and cross over into "Western" Oregon. The dissimilar climates separated by the Cascades are worlds apart and I'm not too fond of the dry, arid climate I've been riding through for the last few weeks.<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvSPZzjCaBC6OH-05HJyw4zWi6uqoqrSrwIiz7NO5-ZKu7UafwZanhhXiEqcljW7GvZx9AFtRsxRFuxC7w4Dm2ejkKF16OKuefi0fj6I1sgFp0QbFvYEDAIUCJCoXeD2Hai8DTepfKiGcf/s1600-h/IMG_1873.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvSPZzjCaBC6OH-05HJyw4zWi6uqoqrSrwIiz7NO5-ZKu7UafwZanhhXiEqcljW7GvZx9AFtRsxRFuxC7w4Dm2ejkKF16OKuefi0fj6I1sgFp0QbFvYEDAIUCJCoXeD2Hai8DTepfKiGcf/s320/IMG_1873.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374840675451016146" /></a>As I rode up towards McKenzie pass, I was motivated by other cyclists riding up with their carbon fiber bikes. I kept pace with these riders and found myself at the summit before I knew it. I stopped and spoke with a few cyclists and they told me interesting information about the area. The summit featured several volcanic magma flows and a beautiful 360 degree view of the "Three Sisters" and Mount Washington. I also met a few riders who were riding from Astoria, Oregon to Missoula, Montana. They informed me that I had a thrilling 20 mile descent, equipped with sharp switchbacks and freshly paved segments. Excited to experience this ride down from the pass, I rode on around the many bends on the pass and finally began my descent. Without hyperbole... I must say that this was the most enjoyable cycling experience I've ever had. Without a doubt, I will let any of my cyclist friends know that the descent of McKenzie pass is thoroughly enjoyable and equally thrilling. And that they need to ride this before they can't pedal anymore in their old age. It's just a damn shame that this road is closed 9 months out of the year!</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDTOCXLYYXjB8lxRsCj9vVTzB0MJ-2wRIRSufyahIi7whQrcxQERt2419Qkcy-oz2ayp4-A5Wf_OGJcGzyJwRACjTTv6WssHfDbHY-yd95SpIS1pIrrds_uj6rZ7C62aUqxAo6aTFza1E1/s1600-h/IMG_1875.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDTOCXLYYXjB8lxRsCj9vVTzB0MJ-2wRIRSufyahIi7whQrcxQERt2419Qkcy-oz2ayp4-A5Wf_OGJcGzyJwRACjTTv6WssHfDbHY-yd95SpIS1pIrrds_uj6rZ7C62aUqxAo6aTFza1E1/s320/IMG_1875.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374840314086770754" /></a>The ride down from the pass also introduced me to the wet, fruitful climate of the Pacific Northwest. The astonishing tree canopy consisting of Western red cedar and Pacific silver fir provided for shade from the blistering sun. The sights and smells of the forest almost felt like a baptism from the dry and brutal climate of the Columbia Plateau. The drop in elevation was also very drastic. Within twenty miles, I dropped from over 5,000 feet down to 1,500 feet above sea level. All in all, I'm very glad I didn't have to take the alternative, less scenic route through the Santiam Pass.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4O5uKm5WfQO0mG81p3pQyyryVbZ2SMK9hfbF0WTHztncupOHNg6mOjM5FZk2Xnq28xv3KBzFrBtqpl70dgbhi61ZyDk59PBhtG5LFQr4oxd_YtAAZ4TMk3oNARsWlhIaLcy9uKIoO650E/s1600-h/IMG_1881.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4O5uKm5WfQO0mG81p3pQyyryVbZ2SMK9hfbF0WTHztncupOHNg6mOjM5FZk2Xnq28xv3KBzFrBtqpl70dgbhi61ZyDk59PBhtG5LFQr4oxd_YtAAZ4TMk3oNARsWlhIaLcy9uKIoO650E/s320/IMG_1881.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374839866484463922" /></a><div>I had the ambitious idea that I would reach Eugene by the end of the day, but my late start made me second guess this plan. The presence of powerful headwinds at the base of McKenzie sealed the deal in calling it a shorter day. I continued down Route 126 and found a gas station to stop in. I asked about places to stay for the night and the teller recommended the motel 3 miles down the road. I rode by a camp site and debated stopping there, but the temptation of a hot shower and a cool bed was too tempting. In terms of finances, I've done pretty well. I've spent more than I should have on this trip, but I still have a good portion of the money I saved... hence my weakness for motels. However, I must say that I will definitely be more frugal on my next journey and will hopefully not depend on currency as much as I have on this trip.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Yb8D682whVQhg35QS3TFXrDViufeUoAXyUdYAeJhfeZVXE9Rimu4jSoFhr42OdtiofF_MvVxlj6E4vyTRto_X5toP_oM35ricS7nY0mf93Oc9pEkfHX-R_U0tNIhw06PWrn1zR1PUjCP/s1600-h/IMG_1890.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Yb8D682whVQhg35QS3TFXrDViufeUoAXyUdYAeJhfeZVXE9Rimu4jSoFhr42OdtiofF_MvVxlj6E4vyTRto_X5toP_oM35ricS7nY0mf93Oc9pEkfHX-R_U0tNIhw06PWrn1zR1PUjCP/s320/IMG_1890.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374839331697428754" /></a>My plan for tomorrow consists of getting up early and riding 60-something miles to Eugene in time for lunch and attempt to ship back a good portion of my gear. I'd like to mail most of my heavy stuff back to Quincy and have a very light load for the ride to the coast. A fully loaded bike compared to just carrying field repair gear, water bottles and a few snacks makes a world of a difference! With that plausible scenario in mind, I'll have no trouble with the last 70-something miles to Florence. We'll see how that goes! I also found out that my parents purchased a flight for September 3rd, but I could attempt to change for an earlier flight so that I can attend the service for George on the 2nd. I also spoke with Kelsey, my boss, and she told me that I can get back to work on the 7th, which will be wonderful for getting back into my "regular" life and have time for catching up with friends. I'm positive that I'm going to miss this cyclical renewal of new adventures, faces, smells, sights, and sounds... but I'm strongly looking forward to getting back home!<br /></div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-41393510257379061622009-08-26T22:20:00.000-04:002009-08-26T23:50:59.873-04:00Day 57: Mitchell, OR to Redmond, OR (73 Miles)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZlZEPlxv3RRQR8PxL3dreSvnClFitoGrjcsRHaSf-kNlH921e5txfzj2mTnYrATV4Rwor70QecTeOtdgZXECt18GOKy6pRtgyhzWZr04DBDl3IDIriWUo6DprPuZ8Bn0Gp4TamguYAH4q/s1600-h/IMG_1829.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZlZEPlxv3RRQR8PxL3dreSvnClFitoGrjcsRHaSf-kNlH921e5txfzj2mTnYrATV4Rwor70QecTeOtdgZXECt18GOKy6pRtgyhzWZr04DBDl3IDIriWUo6DprPuZ8Bn0Gp4TamguYAH4q/s320/IMG_1829.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374434811051522642" /></a>They are not Henry. That's Rich and Rob, two really nice photographers who gave me a wealth of knowledge regarding Portland. I'm really excited to spend some time in the city; however, I need to get to the coast first!<br /><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7PZkvM_0A9cBCiu5A8OAytf2HdNwOAxbGHO9HVqbjRDKXN5zMaDwGl3fiWiA2ndnkXnMOQTD7j3KUaDmEsXnPiaNeTtNv0A8LFvMytuznREaGJnTdMuqCtvMoFzUmTIjeMTL8wSwTlkdM/s1600-h/IMG_1834.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7PZkvM_0A9cBCiu5A8OAytf2HdNwOAxbGHO9HVqbjRDKXN5zMaDwGl3fiWiA2ndnkXnMOQTD7j3KUaDmEsXnPiaNeTtNv0A8LFvMytuznREaGJnTdMuqCtvMoFzUmTIjeMTL8wSwTlkdM/s320/IMG_1834.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374434558664892594" /></a>That's Henry. He's overweight and bored. Please save him. Anyone interested in the "Free Henry" cause, please travel to Mitchell, Oregon with a pair of wire clippers and a good pair of running shoes...</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtfdlp059Vcm-fxqzb_Po76u0C08s-2mLi_h9rkK2F95l8H0vrKFde1pvnLj9CPEkZZThR3OK2pwWLS42w781wpOPOCDQ5qnYm3yh3M6b9RrrtpE1jBSOdhcaywgKEyx0zNsGZyQ8hCdol/s1600-h/IMG_1837.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtfdlp059Vcm-fxqzb_Po76u0C08s-2mLi_h9rkK2F95l8H0vrKFde1pvnLj9CPEkZZThR3OK2pwWLS42w781wpOPOCDQ5qnYm3yh3M6b9RrrtpE1jBSOdhcaywgKEyx0zNsGZyQ8hCdol/s320/IMG_1837.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374434135044298722" /></a>I wasn't necessarily looking forward to riding this morning. This feeling usually accompanies the fact that I have to face a mountain ascent. This morning featured such a climb up to Ochoco Pass. This would be a 2,000 foot climb in just under 10 miles. On the other hand, the morning is the best time to conquer such climbs, due to cooler temperatures and stronger muscles. I stopped a few times to eat some "complimentary" muffins I took from the hotel and chug down some water. The climb went by a lot faster than I was dreading and I was already heading down from the Blue Mountains and towards the Cascades.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJLbHa1YAvJdu1v9LR7W8diU792cyAVHtgn9ro-MtG3QuqAO1Hb5781jRpW-iMG31I6CmoI5fs-qmGMCPl0aPWHxb7Wfoy3QEFk7F6Ci8MwWIdpjZf06ZC6nkR1o1oWM9bt2v5P6hJZGRK/s1600-h/IMG_1840.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJLbHa1YAvJdu1v9LR7W8diU792cyAVHtgn9ro-MtG3QuqAO1Hb5781jRpW-iMG31I6CmoI5fs-qmGMCPl0aPWHxb7Wfoy3QEFk7F6Ci8MwWIdpjZf06ZC6nkR1o1oWM9bt2v5P6hJZGRK/s320/IMG_1840.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374433850688951170" /></a>The descent wasn't as enjoyable as it should have been, due to a strong enough headwind that made the ride feel like a slight uphill. A strong wind during descents is quite the insult, but I didn't let it get to me. I thoroughly enjoyed the smell of pine and the breeze kept me from sweating too much. I noticed small forest fires on the horizon, which the photographers had warned me of. Apparently, these fires are so common, that you could be stopped by local firefighters and given a shovel to help out in deterring the fires. I'm sure these winds are quite the nuisance to firefighters as well. I passed Ochoco Lake and found myself in Prineville for lunch. I stopped at a Quizno's and studied the maps. I planned to try to make it to Sisters, with a quick stop at a bike shop in Redmond to look at my slowly deflating front tire. As I turned up a bend on Route 370, I soon faced a terrible, terrible wind.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj40Zd7VW8yEvXkJ743NPlB_VgZ9-kmptBAhuRt2nzg3RYL-AJ2QAu2WBKPtE3IwNiKGULntMxNd85x9PHIFytmuEq7Yfsvp2M9cgqtQ996_iCztZzM_FsV6ii-ypO3xvkMvUdVcppTue4D/s1600-h/IMG_1841.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj40Zd7VW8yEvXkJ743NPlB_VgZ9-kmptBAhuRt2nzg3RYL-AJ2QAu2WBKPtE3IwNiKGULntMxNd85x9PHIFytmuEq7Yfsvp2M9cgqtQ996_iCztZzM_FsV6ii-ypO3xvkMvUdVcppTue4D/s320/IMG_1841.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374433530974278162" /></a>The ride to Redmond was far more challenging than I had envisioned. The slight uphill, matched with very strong winds, made for a slow, dreadful crawl. The sun also began to bare down on me and by the following picture, well... you can see how I was feeling...</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7WIxznsQNlf_WEC1Z7uJ2qfkJwZRz6c31-cmjrNmDWM6nL1qsWYJTsEahjNGuKp77KekQoyB5Opu1AHAQwvTGinRlho9noVGQ0FTWUGNAiGE21ZQZOO3iF5vBdVhBd8Hv8wcV8r_WwK8q/s1600-h/IMG_1808.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7WIxznsQNlf_WEC1Z7uJ2qfkJwZRz6c31-cmjrNmDWM6nL1qsWYJTsEahjNGuKp77KekQoyB5Opu1AHAQwvTGinRlho9noVGQ0FTWUGNAiGE21ZQZOO3iF5vBdVhBd8Hv8wcV8r_WwK8q/s320/IMG_1808.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374433092286514178" /></a>I made it into Redmond a little after 3:30PM and I decided to call it a day. I found a place called "Trinity Bikes" and found a shop run by some young kids. They definitely knew their bike stuff and we took a look at my front tire. Due to the longer Presta stem, I had caused a small puncture near the stem and we replaced the inner-tube, one with a smaller stem. Problem solved. I hope.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm0u6cqCVsRdnYISoUHVix2B_HCunDyLatz4uoadRnCnLCB9-GfD7Ev6Vug1QP0yzzcCyBqVjDEmoZJMqXUwgur6Vra6qQfFoW2BP6-QIM-EXZ0a9JppQnEi7Q5iXkGFZ_74d3n-AfFI6c/s1600-h/IMG_1856.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm0u6cqCVsRdnYISoUHVix2B_HCunDyLatz4uoadRnCnLCB9-GfD7Ev6Vug1QP0yzzcCyBqVjDEmoZJMqXUwgur6Vra6qQfFoW2BP6-QIM-EXZ0a9JppQnEi7Q5iXkGFZ_74d3n-AfFI6c/s320/IMG_1856.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374432871263398210" /></a>Tomorrow features the last major climb of my trip, McKenzie Pass. This pass is located near Mount Washington (7,794 ft) and Black Crater (7,251 ft). This pass is typically shut down up until July, due to snow. This is the doorway leading into West Oregon and a very wet climate. As you can tell, I've grown tired of arid climates and I'm really excited to delve into this final stretch of Oregon. I'm almost there... almost there.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3CoLdtcCBGa8ZElt_uufdCKoIPDVyvVc_KZT7c_8HV-BpyJX1q7JXpGU5-K5ADwsPxZbkinw3eOcbGIdikvsL7qR50BGuTu8UXOMUnPUjAiscMCYl_ob5hjhRtu8ByA7f9lnfawosQlV/s1600-h/IMG_1859.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3CoLdtcCBGa8ZElt_uufdCKoIPDVyvVc_KZT7c_8HV-BpyJX1q7JXpGU5-K5ADwsPxZbkinw3eOcbGIdikvsL7qR50BGuTu8UXOMUnPUjAiscMCYl_ob5hjhRtu8ByA7f9lnfawosQlV/s320/IMG_1859.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374432645720928898" /></a>In response to Ashley May's request, I'm going to do one better than my last post and attempt to explain why I'm riding...</div><div><br /></div><div> I think I'm riding for the sole reason to better myself. It would be disingenuous of me to say I'm solely riding for the kids of Montaña de Luz. The fundraiser is just an amazing side-effect of this selfish act I've set forth and I'm forever grateful to those who made this an outstanding success. I'm riding to remove myself from the things I take for granted... my apartment, my friends, my job, my dog, etc. I'm riding to remove myself from any form of complacency and giving myself over to the hospitality and kindness of other people. I'm riding to cleanse myself of unhealthy habits and for a renewal in energy... a high colonic of the soul, if you will. I'm riding for the adventure. I'm riding to make new life-long friends and to spur on others to share in this universal experience. There's an unknown "something" about riding that I've seen in the eyes of fellow travelers, a twinkle of pure joy that goes unspoken. I'm riding because I can and I'm already longing for another experience just like this.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's the reason... I'm riding, because it's life amplified to it's fullest extent.</div><div><br /></div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-26589058065678696252009-08-25T21:37:00.026-04:002009-08-26T22:26:58.036-04:00Day 56: Prairie City, OR to Mitchell, OR (84.5 Miles)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_k4zZyjBWw_bzIDGoFS6tLq35ZlJVbC1lxGF8kCW1pCImKbXCOIDfkLXNqr_EZXdz_Qx4PWWdXqk8SlfahIAijLtWZn8T8zfVjX-Hd5PWWkC-5m_ZCagLjn1_VNCEaJnVEKxTuV0bwrTT/s1600-h/IMG_1785.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_k4zZyjBWw_bzIDGoFS6tLq35ZlJVbC1lxGF8kCW1pCImKbXCOIDfkLXNqr_EZXdz_Qx4PWWdXqk8SlfahIAijLtWZn8T8zfVjX-Hd5PWWkC-5m_ZCagLjn1_VNCEaJnVEKxTuV0bwrTT/s320/IMG_1785.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374431635623257170" /></a>The temperature decided to dip down into the upper 30's last night and made my tent seem all the more worthless. They should include a caveat when selling this tent: "Eureka Single Season Tent: Not Applicable to the NorthWest." Falling out of my tent, I walked over to the bathroom and came upon a small family of deer. There's a lot of wildlife out here. I heard an interesting trifecta of canine noises last night... an eclectic mix of long wolf howls, short coyote calls, and rapid domestic barks. I wonder if they all understand each other or they're just trying to out-shout the other like O'Reilly and Olbermann?<br /><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ7cJ2c_kvdAX12dBugCldoQCRdOnreGFirteh0N4eWX2sbTocRnRKCMSm0cQ0C9C624az9u266ugrKmIDgewF40to2bfqQITwQxtcBv35wZJDYEGjPxS501EI4CwjHBD6bm0xXnreIosI/s1600-h/IMG_1788.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ7cJ2c_kvdAX12dBugCldoQCRdOnreGFirteh0N4eWX2sbTocRnRKCMSm0cQ0C9C624az9u266ugrKmIDgewF40to2bfqQITwQxtcBv35wZJDYEGjPxS501EI4CwjHBD6bm0xXnreIosI/s320/IMG_1788.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374430825647443170" /></a>I broke camp and got on the road by 7:30 and began a pleasant ride to John Day, only thirteen miles away. I made it to my breakfast stop within 45 minutes and found a nice little restaurant to serve me a very delicious french toast breakfast. They not only had great food... they also supplied free WiFi, so I hung around for a bit updating the travel blog and checking emails. I had a short day planned, so I was in no hurry to get back on the road. However, I soon became bored with the internet world and quickly got back on the road. I noticed that my front tire had a very minuscule puncture and I decided to see how long it could last with each inflation. I stopped again in the town of Mount Vernon to send off my last batch of post cards and was assaulted with questions by a group of curious children. "Where are you from?" "Where are you riding to?" "Why are you riding?" The last question actually stumped me... maybe there are too many reasons or just one simple, yet allusive, reason?</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQqaH0277bpCF2TmlFBUxbLJxK9zCWl0jd2G8HD3_U9fvIsY2o6TFRcXu_V1T6fr-V2Z-BFc7tu379gx738JGqTPSKog7Qb-CKvQyI8-8h3dvfxAGTIJVPgaAdebyeik77Y1NUNHK2qq6Z/s1600-h/IMG_1789.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQqaH0277bpCF2TmlFBUxbLJxK9zCWl0jd2G8HD3_U9fvIsY2o6TFRcXu_V1T6fr-V2Z-BFc7tu379gx738JGqTPSKog7Qb-CKvQyI8-8h3dvfxAGTIJVPgaAdebyeik77Y1NUNHK2qq6Z/s320/IMG_1789.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374430209723423410" /></a>I arrived into Dayville a little before noon and I instantly realized I couldn't just stop here for the day... in spite of a free stay at the local Presbyterian Church. I stopped in at a gas station, purchased some junk food and looked over the maps. The next stopping point was about 40 miles away and included a 2,000 foot climb up to Keyes Creek Pass. My legs were feeling just fine and the afternoon heat was somewhat tolerable due to some prevailing winds, therefore I quickly decided to keep riding. Little did I know that I was in for a very scenic, albeit challenging, afternoon of cycling.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhCuLuCe2v6aeNH9IIc6YxmKOfUH54cThyphenhyphenr7aF6KYZC144av6nDG_mg0q-6y7j1pd4p10xzr8n_I04NOJRxGj77_cWAF2fsu0L_WCSgFdSxkYk-FijYm6WW0e8IPY3oIEBcx_v8DRw-Tep/s1600-h/IMG_1793.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhCuLuCe2v6aeNH9IIc6YxmKOfUH54cThyphenhyphenr7aF6KYZC144av6nDG_mg0q-6y7j1pd4p10xzr8n_I04NOJRxGj77_cWAF2fsu0L_WCSgFdSxkYk-FijYm6WW0e8IPY3oIEBcx_v8DRw-Tep/s320/IMG_1793.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374429689115447602" /></a>The climb up from Dayville was very gradual and surprisingly enjoyable. Within minutes, I was riding towards the John Day fossil bed area. The gorge was very scenic and very windy. As I've written before, these narrow valleys and gorges funnel down winds and concentrate them into steady deterrents for cyclists. The next trip I do, I'll be sure to check out trends in wind patterns and will hopefully not have as many headwinds as I've had on this trip!</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq0xEHlF901H7xomSzkOzDEMrdgG-qR8WGTeCHUXPGCxA-LyngTC_s0LRuzImxg5RVCuGDJK8ksiwo-0kYu09uT-65UA4XMU8bER8mhCDNfSsYcCjKtpr7RaIgQX_cbYzUJFJrklYW5w1T/s1600-h/IMG_1800.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq0xEHlF901H7xomSzkOzDEMrdgG-qR8WGTeCHUXPGCxA-LyngTC_s0LRuzImxg5RVCuGDJK8ksiwo-0kYu09uT-65UA4XMU8bER8mhCDNfSsYcCjKtpr7RaIgQX_cbYzUJFJrklYW5w1T/s320/IMG_1800.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374429205064323154" /></a>This section of the ride featured a multitude of snakes. The sight of slithering creatures makes on think they're seeing mirages. It's only when you ride up on to a nasty rattle snake, do you quickly recognize that threat and try to bike around them. Now, I have the knack for being susceptible to stereotypical phobias, poisonous snakes being one of them. It's not the bites or the creature that scares me, it's what they violently send into your bloodstream. The conscious awareness of a deadly substance traveling through your body is not very desirable. With that in mind, I was very aware of my surroundings when I stopped to take pictures or to eat a snack. Blake no like snakes!</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mPkbpx8Ko14CW2B2wAu6ke8cIPdpTPNuCErk1U6uozOqVZwbWjzmAn2MFacyA8L6u47TKFO1qDK1P5wM6nnSVQddQu2ltj5Fw45HSyjIcrRX2x7tWoZYftD9uawJw1RxgF4Ls_3abgHP/s1600-h/IMG_1802.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mPkbpx8Ko14CW2B2wAu6ke8cIPdpTPNuCErk1U6uozOqVZwbWjzmAn2MFacyA8L6u47TKFO1qDK1P5wM6nnSVQddQu2ltj5Fw45HSyjIcrRX2x7tWoZYftD9uawJw1RxgF4Ls_3abgHP/s320/IMG_1802.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374428727983838898" /></a>As I was riding upward, my phone began to rang. Apparently, I had turned it on during my stop in Dayville and forgot to turn it off. The voice on the other hand was Chris Holmes (one of the lads) and he told me that he, Callum, and Dowds had met up to ride with the Chrisses, the Bernsteins, and Matt from Manchester. I would have loved to be riding with these guys, but I was happy to be this far along (I'm about 3 days ahead of these guys). I told Chris to send everyone my love and got back to the road. The ride up from the gorge was thrilling and beautiful, but I was not rewarded with my climb up into the high plains. I hit more winds and slowly inched forward as best as I could. I stopped to change out water in my bottles and then noticed a tree full of shoes. If I had an extra pair, I would have loved to build upon this beautiful work of art...</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDC9h6sUABikaqBONH-HklER0MqdpZ2JUXgcTnlp-3bNwGQIbBX018NbgQSvHYpq6m7VbAUilV-gyvUJM-Mz6ddjUqs8lzAK58MSn2eSfjm6FxwH5GX9-N7K4OGapi8WJfUKJYYKE1eTgQ/s1600-h/IMG_1811.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDC9h6sUABikaqBONH-HklER0MqdpZ2JUXgcTnlp-3bNwGQIbBX018NbgQSvHYpq6m7VbAUilV-gyvUJM-Mz6ddjUqs8lzAK58MSn2eSfjm6FxwH5GX9-N7K4OGapi8WJfUKJYYKE1eTgQ/s320/IMG_1811.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374425365530420818" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIZbdj-Gi2hpBmWyaWAQ0eXWEV6BAgt2r9T5DBXHIp7HiZE0oD9M7gLk7thPVakt_IPEBRmhCna71Ba5lWpsa2HDhpqYVCgHzl0ImkyBCw5OD2xiGwX9K_iqked-TsgHzx_PDcFIFzWsVp/s1600-h/IMG_1816.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIZbdj-Gi2hpBmWyaWAQ0eXWEV6BAgt2r9T5DBXHIp7HiZE0oD9M7gLk7thPVakt_IPEBRmhCna71Ba5lWpsa2HDhpqYVCgHzl0ImkyBCw5OD2xiGwX9K_iqked-TsgHzx_PDcFIFzWsVp/s320/IMG_1816.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374425153855380098" /></a>At about 4 o'clock in the afternoon, I finally climbed over the pass and headed down towards the town of Mitchell. This descent was still slow, due to the omni-present headwinds. When I finally did pull into town (if you could call it one), I had to look hard for a person to ask about lodging/camping. I found a big bear of a man (who, ironically, takes care of a bear) and he told me that the local hotel offers a bunk and shower for 15 bucks. This sounded like a deal and I headed across the street to check in. After dealing with a very rude/impatient lady, I carried my junk up to the room and found two men already claiming their bunks. Robert and Rich were out from Portland on a photo expedition. I chatted with them a bit, took a shower, and headed next door for a bite to eat. I had the greasiest food and was attacked by flies and promptly paid the bill. It was probably the quickest dinner I've ever had. The waitress was nice, but she showed me a crazy picture of her feeding the local bear, "Henry." In one hand she was holding the large carrot into Henry's mouth and in the other hand, her baby. Good parenting 101. Oh, and I also met another Brit who was riding from Portland to Chicago. I told him what to expect and he headed off into the blazing late afternoon heat... I did not envy him. I'm going to head back to the room to hang out with the guys and hopefully talk more about photography. G'night! </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3eKtHqucXW2V45m4JCpYeq0D6i6O9nL9Ikemu5u8jP1bfB3EUaI9m32wRBPKXN9MWBXNbmvzCzwcph7rm1aGXAVfzQ3WR8q6ow2LKdqvfHkMhoTn5PQFFgsdQbzoLSUfCbr33NHMlDbWV/s1600-h/IMG_1823.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3eKtHqucXW2V45m4JCpYeq0D6i6O9nL9Ikemu5u8jP1bfB3EUaI9m32wRBPKXN9MWBXNbmvzCzwcph7rm1aGXAVfzQ3WR8q6ow2LKdqvfHkMhoTn5PQFFgsdQbzoLSUfCbr33NHMlDbWV/s320/IMG_1823.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374424231004832178" /></a><br /></div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-33274970398111183782009-08-24T21:45:00.001-04:002009-08-27T23:01:36.738-04:00Day 55: Baker City, OR to Prairie City, OR (69 Miles)<div>I got a late start this morning. I had to wait around for the local "Flagstaff Sports" shop to open so that I could use their truing stand and purchase some more inner tubes. The guy was a little late to open the shop, but he arrived on a bike followed closely by his faithful dog. The mere presence of a dog can make me forget about trivial issues such as "time." I never caught his name, but the employee seemed like a really nice guy and we chatted it up a bit when looking over my tire. I spent about an hour in the shop and finally got on the road. By the sweat already accumulating on my skin at such an early hour, I could tell it was going to be a hot one...</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidRvdQWq3aXDMbKc1-U-sPdSRnxxdsVHHUY30uOgLty69fu0YUF8uaczGwSRB3fvnRIloWambM1B2Sd6vDmpGwYGqSfx3cm0d5OJRiTc83N5AWlzcBvmW4tnhg9hqtMG9hofHSTauz8Mlb/s1600-h/IMG_1752.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidRvdQWq3aXDMbKc1-U-sPdSRnxxdsVHHUY30uOgLty69fu0YUF8uaczGwSRB3fvnRIloWambM1B2Sd6vDmpGwYGqSfx3cm0d5OJRiTc83N5AWlzcBvmW4tnhg9hqtMG9hofHSTauz8Mlb/s320/IMG_1752.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373943542463764978" /></a><div>The day's ride was going to be a challenging one. I had the option of either riding over three mountain passes and conquering the Elkhorn range in one day, or stealth-camping somewhere after the second pass and saving the last climb for tomorrow morning, and cooler temperatures. Suffice it to say, I chose the former option over the latter, in spite of a scary dehydration-situation... but I'll get to that soon enough...</div><div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj46vmXONh3euf9NrelgUS0Vubibhk2k9PWrBlTCYQ4PZQ0kNJnESvIcEFaHOMwXVnFfAFRecTqBIfKNa_Dt3hOpIB03bAKTGeOE00UU5izd1Rd483hD-7DmonHlWORX_s8fFGpwt2jb6qU/s1600-h/IMG_1755.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj46vmXONh3euf9NrelgUS0Vubibhk2k9PWrBlTCYQ4PZQ0kNJnESvIcEFaHOMwXVnFfAFRecTqBIfKNa_Dt3hOpIB03bAKTGeOE00UU5izd1Rd483hD-7DmonHlWORX_s8fFGpwt2jb6qU/s320/IMG_1755.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373941938555632002" /></a>As I rode towards Sumpter Pass, the first climb of the day, I witnessed something straight out of a BBC Planet Earth special. I saw a hawk swoop down to pick up a critter, I'm assuming it was either a fat chipmunk or some sort of prairie dog. As it had it's prey in it's talons, a smaller black bird flew down and began assaulting the hawk. The hawk subsequently dropped it's potential breakfast and it bounced once and ran off to the nearest hiding place. It was the most fascinating display of nature I've seen on the trip thus far, and I imagined the sultry voice of David Attenborough narrating the scenario in my head (which makes things all the more interesting).</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyways, I rode over Sumpter Pass with relative ease, but I noticed that I was getting low on water. Checking the maps, there was a whole lot of nothing until Austin Junction, which was beyond Tipton Pass. I decided to reserve my energy on the next climb and try to drink more conservatively from then on. In spite of these efforts, I already took down my last drop when about half way up Tipton. The challenging climbs mixed with the 95 degree weather made me sweat enough to make my mouth go dry and coarse in moments. I took my empty water bottle and would shake it out upside down at RV's and cars that passed by, but no one stopped. I actually fulfilled the desert movie cliché and whispered "water" from time to time. I've passed out from dehydration/heat stroke before. Once when I was mountain biking with a friend and another when I rode from Rome to Naples. Thinking the third time might be the charm and finally get me, I kept my mind awake and took breaks to stave off the act of passing out.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLyfZJle8N1yrJv_Ix88zGA1yF-qYBIv-7eZlQkxzATeEXUMNmanIciT13gqg7pJoU0u2XkzDQ5bsosmSlxjHpGGpw-pIlxZIQ7YZossugo3cCRL7rol3mZTjv7BAB9fA7fqVGyIvayU9p/s1600-h/IMG_1761.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLyfZJle8N1yrJv_Ix88zGA1yF-qYBIv-7eZlQkxzATeEXUMNmanIciT13gqg7pJoU0u2XkzDQ5bsosmSlxjHpGGpw-pIlxZIQ7YZossugo3cCRL7rol3mZTjv7BAB9fA7fqVGyIvayU9p/s320/IMG_1761.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373941360848382018" /></a>Salvation came in the form of a small pipe, spewing forth the sweet nectar of life. Luckily, there were a few farmers at the spring and they told me it was definitely safe to drink. I quickly filled my spare liter bottle and drank it down within seconds, then proceeded to repeat this action. Dehydration was my biggest fear when preparing for this trip and I was relieved to overcome this dire situation I found myself in. I'll have to stop in the next town and purchase another spare liter water bottle, for the purpose of not repeating the same mistakes.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir-OMNpadUgCtgQhnVTvoEOzQskMrCoeCnp_XXYMm6qSqXfJgol-U8VJeuYfReTjeNwcbn9GEejgQc_FfOZQTQrUfofk7ned2rdCUENjTIUFctdXfPjYbpg7mEpCr_yOhJV8-UJRiVoTK-/s1600-h/IMG_1764.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir-OMNpadUgCtgQhnVTvoEOzQskMrCoeCnp_XXYMm6qSqXfJgol-U8VJeuYfReTjeNwcbn9GEejgQc_FfOZQTQrUfofk7ned2rdCUENjTIUFctdXfPjYbpg7mEpCr_yOhJV8-UJRiVoTK-/s320/IMG_1764.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373936391129270082" /></a>I rode a few more miles to find a gas station/cafe/grocery store at Austin Junction, and not much more. It was only 3:30PM by the time I reached this potential stopping point, so I grabbed my map and thought it over with a milkshake. Feeling that I had enough energy to make it over Dixie Pass, the third and final pass of the day, I pumped myself up and climbed over my last ascent in the Elkhorn Mountains. Before I knew it, I was quickly riding down a thrilling descent into a beautiful valley. Within minutes, I was pulling into Prairie City and quickly found a place to pitch my tent. I'm camping near a defunct railroad depot and will be eating crappy Ramen noodles tonight (for the sake of saving money). Looking over the map, I'll probably have a shorter day and stop in Dayville, where there's a Presbyterian Church that offers "hostel-like" accomodations. I'm getting close now... I can nearly smell the ocean!</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWqhnZ8z4vPQj7m-ZIp5YV6Vt4wmTGMiKFOQOZAsMI1CatojXPAfPHUha1IhiA9QeYwIMboDOy5QG-Um3E_-lUdOH62D6LvKUCfrHO3GV7iksWmwj6lNSDoPWyKwFhYkvB9bE0Gmina480/s1600-h/IMG_1771.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWqhnZ8z4vPQj7m-ZIp5YV6Vt4wmTGMiKFOQOZAsMI1CatojXPAfPHUha1IhiA9QeYwIMboDOy5QG-Um3E_-lUdOH62D6LvKUCfrHO3GV7iksWmwj6lNSDoPWyKwFhYkvB9bE0Gmina480/s320/IMG_1771.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373933764570963810" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMIPTIu1Xt_VJ4nz_soWi5p-Xovhr_G8P4DbdVfwisjf4MVIfYnyw8XaNT7e6Ze5wtWb5bKhaMqPr3MQsS99aGBC7alZxCHD5V1CgD2JB_PIw32-QSPO-jojE6McjiNo_pLMVvyXFou-zu/s1600-h/IMG_1779.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMIPTIu1Xt_VJ4nz_soWi5p-Xovhr_G8P4DbdVfwisjf4MVIfYnyw8XaNT7e6Ze5wtWb5bKhaMqPr3MQsS99aGBC7alZxCHD5V1CgD2JB_PIw32-QSPO-jojE6McjiNo_pLMVvyXFou-zu/s320/IMG_1779.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373932149815737922" /></a><br /></div></div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-69894045010265233472009-08-23T20:29:00.002-04:002009-08-23T22:09:30.567-04:00Day 54: Oxbow Dam, OR to Baker City, OR (71 Miles)<div>I hit a wall today. I had pushed my body so much the day prior, that my mind could not compensate for the anguish of today's ride. On the map, it looked like a feasible 70 miles up through Hell's Canyon and into a large valley next to the Elkhorn Mountains. Conversely, this was to be the most painful and dreadful section of the trip so far...</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzLARFLw2v0v2PLd3Qsa44wxNYivM1X4I2FODl-pLq94_gdRfwfqcIHGMkxZ7Ni6dotRpU75D0oysQcJyKl2h3fOSPhVcGiZrlweoq6LsqXV11hukzZsJAozliu2sMxT2D7Zf2aiRqtLC4/s1600-h/IMG_1732.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzLARFLw2v0v2PLd3Qsa44wxNYivM1X4I2FODl-pLq94_gdRfwfqcIHGMkxZ7Ni6dotRpU75D0oysQcJyKl2h3fOSPhVcGiZrlweoq6LsqXV11hukzZsJAozliu2sMxT2D7Zf2aiRqtLC4/s320/IMG_1732.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373308140562950498" /></a>I woke up well before my alarm clock and got to work on repairing my tires. It appeared that the front tire had deflated entirely overnight, while the rear tire was still holding about 30 psi. Deciding to see how long I can last on the rear tire, I only took care of the front tire. I also attempted to true the rear rim, but I only saw minor improvements. After patching the front tube, I packed up myself and said goodbye to the Hell's Canyon Angels and got on the road by 8:00AM. The morning climb out of Oxbow was going along pretty well, until my stomach began to sound off rumbles of fury. I stopped for a granola bar, but found that this was not going to do the trick. I kept pressing on and debated taking a 2 mile detour to the town of Halfway, but decided to press on towards Richland.<br /><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0X87Do2NRXrWAArGWzsdjA3Jv9VTSeqYyBWEzgjzVmc20lTvH5V_OLUzMk_jCBKVSS6S6VndWmxR57dpz856AFI6uxtcPLL26-tn-Sgcq-SbEYZQZm2uS4gvmpvNxNe7-hKxcM23fUNpM/s1600-h/IMG_1741.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0X87Do2NRXrWAArGWzsdjA3Jv9VTSeqYyBWEzgjzVmc20lTvH5V_OLUzMk_jCBKVSS6S6VndWmxR57dpz856AFI6uxtcPLL26-tn-Sgcq-SbEYZQZm2uS4gvmpvNxNe7-hKxcM23fUNpM/s320/IMG_1741.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373307127993754226" /></a>Seperating my hungry stomach and a diner in Richland, was a beast of a hill. This 1,000 foot climb was rather steep and this is when I began to feel the ramifications of yesterday's ride finally catching up with me. My left knee was periodically jolting with pain and my stamina decreased rapidly. After taking a break and keeping my eyes open for rattlesnakes, I finally got over the summit and began the ride down to Richland. I knew I was in for a treat, when a horrible side wind pushed me several feet as I was riding down at speeds above 30mph. Sadly, the winds were coming from the direction I must next face, the West. As I hit flat land, the next mile to lunch was almost unbearable. The wind was thrown at me so fierce, I almost broke down into tears. Hell's Canyon is certainly living up to it's name.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfkOvZ_V_6NMeKTPcfdSGiCzN1Vx5qjIwm4sCQeakGGIIsxqkuUWaRSp34UedzAGU5ZQ-agzQUbiVCZqlZ34PmYpaxI7Nb071j1e7P8GbVzlzB2s7tYllhw1Ecj8UvKtKID25Ij8WfWOrG/s1600-h/IMG_1745.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfkOvZ_V_6NMeKTPcfdSGiCzN1Vx5qjIwm4sCQeakGGIIsxqkuUWaRSp34UedzAGU5ZQ-agzQUbiVCZqlZ34PmYpaxI7Nb071j1e7P8GbVzlzB2s7tYllhw1Ecj8UvKtKID25Ij8WfWOrG/s320/IMG_1745.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373306778312700018" /></a>Looking over the maps, I debated riding further to Baker City. There was nothing for the next 50 miles except the wind, heat, and rattlesnakes. This desert climate can certainly get to you, and it got to me today. I first got the idea of hitching a ride, but Richland took on the resemblance of a ghost town on a Sunday afternoon. About 10 miles out from town, I began to notice my rear tire was deflating rather quickly. I stopped, pumped it, and rode another mile to find it deflated completely. I tried replacing the inner-tube, and periodically "thumbed it" when trucks and SUV's drove by. After realizing that I didn't have the patience and energy to force the wheel off my rear rim, I broke down and started looking for a cab service. Much to my chagrin, the cab service in Baker City consisted of only one man with a broken down Ford Pinto, so I kept "thumbing it" until a nice elderly couple pulled up in a smaller sedan. I explained to them my situation, and they told me they were on their way back from church and will return with a pickup truck in another 20 minutes or so. Looking at my surroundings, this sounded like the best plan in the world!</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVy_eOGd71sIh8M6mTdmBubdh16oENjXTrLvo4H_fNyUZlIydi48pc4J2Rc3oA4wuwLh8oSJ7EdRxGyt9BOGEFgvupi9qki8VZR-gKBYFwJWoDey5cCahxSd-FlFy1mW2kIoUSw7FEQsh3/s1600-h/IMG_1747.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVy_eOGd71sIh8M6mTdmBubdh16oENjXTrLvo4H_fNyUZlIydi48pc4J2Rc3oA4wuwLh8oSJ7EdRxGyt9BOGEFgvupi9qki8VZR-gKBYFwJWoDey5cCahxSd-FlFy1mW2kIoUSw7FEQsh3/s320/IMG_1747.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373306205689021714" /></a>The Sholds welcomed me into their home and fed me a delicious lunch. We sat at their table, telling stories of shared experiences from Honduras and life in general. It was really refreshing to see a family bring in a complete stranger and make him feel at home. I also played around with their Border Colley, who was bitten in the face twice by a rattle snake. The dog had the last laugh, though... having killed it as retribution. After playing with a puffy-faced dog (from the venom) and thanking them, Steven offered to drive me further to Baker City. Feeling I had no other options, I graciously accepted his offer. In return, I offered to pay for gas... saying "Hey, I've made it this far without gas!" Now most people will stop and say: "Hey! Isn't hitch-hiking considered cheating?" First off, I've made so many side-trips on this journey, that I'd have to hitch a lot longer than 30 miles to not make up the miles. Secondly, I'm not doing this trip for the "accomplishment factor" alone, (technically, I've ridden enough miles to be in the Pacific Ocean by now)... No, I'm riding for the adventure and for the kids of MdL. I could quit right now, without ever having seen the ocean and still walk away from this experience with a sense of fulfillment that I've never had before. The more I convince myself that this trip is about milestones and achievements, the more it will delude me from what this experience is really all about.</div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-31779432061032448742009-08-22T22:02:00.005-04:002009-08-23T20:21:03.843-04:00Day 53: Riggins, ID to Oxbow Dam, OR (127.5 Miles)<div>I forgot to mention a funny story from yesterday. I was riding through the various bends leading from the town of Kooskia and I began hearing the sounds of gunfire. As I turned one bend, I found a man firing a sniper rifle into a large embankment. I wanted to stop and take a picture, but then again... Who fires a sniper rifle at the earth on a Friday morning? Idaho provides a host of interesting sorts, including a drugged out individual who saluted me with a very passionate "Aye-aye captain!" I'm assuming he lives in a place much akin to this following Waco-esque homestead:</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6NAOAVugtPF9qE-Z0YRlFZhv0up5OCRxMeWjrwibfWvRd6y6dA_R-kqDArhjWWQBbsKjMjuUrh9ypT3GLMjDn7yvefXoDytgHFdw5J1QHv5WIcupYbk3H8b2VXPqcNdIx3C55HcIlFMwB/s1600-h/IMG_1710.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6NAOAVugtPF9qE-Z0YRlFZhv0up5OCRxMeWjrwibfWvRd6y6dA_R-kqDArhjWWQBbsKjMjuUrh9ypT3GLMjDn7yvefXoDytgHFdw5J1QHv5WIcupYbk3H8b2VXPqcNdIx3C55HcIlFMwB/s320/IMG_1710.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373305409549621698" /></a>Idaho is beautiful, but I was getting quite antsy when straddling the border of Oregon for so long; therefore, I channeled my inner Kevin Costner from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xdbPTege7Cg">American Flyers</a> and put in some solid mileage to make it to the Oregon border. On top of the miles, I also had about 4,000 feet of climbing to do throughout the day...<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj33rWhOnQIXA6Rz8ReEjKnOJnp9xNiMhQCg0ZgBkyQfcgFBVZaOnijzxykSxDbNoRm0mdqxk32Vvxdb7VVAHyOE_zDQjRI2YNa7cTztAmMMHKmSqNyPyJKLwb1a2xsVo_A34666vTb4WOC/s1600-h/IMG_1712.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj33rWhOnQIXA6Rz8ReEjKnOJnp9xNiMhQCg0ZgBkyQfcgFBVZaOnijzxykSxDbNoRm0mdqxk32Vvxdb7VVAHyOE_zDQjRI2YNa7cTztAmMMHKmSqNyPyJKLwb1a2xsVo_A34666vTb4WOC/s320/IMG_1712.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373304991974887314" /></a>In spite of steady climbing, I was keeping very good pace and made it to New Meadows for a quick lunch. At this time, I decided that I would only stop in Cambridge for dinner (my initially planned stopping point for the day) and keep riding over a 4,131 foot pass and back into Hell's Canyon. Luckily, the winds were weak enough for me to keep a good momentum and push through several challenging climbs.<br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYsQfpiaHF4CxV56aif_7aNmt45P3Avnh-6m0Gjs5kZ-LNePkFSVnkq5n3EzvSEXQAbj2nk_ObVSJApfIq-uR6WQkL6yAGuYrGTbcpbEXRR9c3g22BTCjSb3sD5Ojd2WhYLkTHQwonhFcQ/s1600-h/IMG_1714.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYsQfpiaHF4CxV56aif_7aNmt45P3Avnh-6m0Gjs5kZ-LNePkFSVnkq5n3EzvSEXQAbj2nk_ObVSJApfIq-uR6WQkL6yAGuYrGTbcpbEXRR9c3g22BTCjSb3sD5Ojd2WhYLkTHQwonhFcQ/s320/IMG_1714.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373304608145266978" /></a>I was extremely motivated to make it to Oregon, realizing that this was a very important benchmark. I couldn't wait to cross into my tenth and final state.... I kept repeating "Oregon, Oregon, Oregon," when I began to grow tired of cycling through narrow roads. In spite of it being a weekend, the traffic was very manageable and there were very few 18-wheelers on the road. Just adjacent to route 95 was the Weiser River Trail, an unpaved trail that use to be a railroad line. If I had thicker tires, I would have definitely taken advantage of this beautiful trail! Here's the trail's website: <a href="http://www.weiserrivertrail.org/">http://www.weiserrivertrail.org/</a>.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8YeycRBWKPNE6EwuTMSowT0V8hNPfCeTcps7bKxb9rEsdRwhBYSkbrLCJGmj3GZ-BQxxWOJx9JS-mWWhtRZ1v09rBxrJT_1vL_esvk7Z7PrQJJ7k0oOcwRRO1aqyjc8_4kYiDWOw0CRwl/s1600-h/IMG_1727.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8YeycRBWKPNE6EwuTMSowT0V8hNPfCeTcps7bKxb9rEsdRwhBYSkbrLCJGmj3GZ-BQxxWOJx9JS-mWWhtRZ1v09rBxrJT_1vL_esvk7Z7PrQJJ7k0oOcwRRO1aqyjc8_4kYiDWOw0CRwl/s320/IMG_1727.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373302875043986114" /></a>I stopped in Council for a chocolate milk and a candy bar, then pushed on to Cambridge for dinner. I got into a conversation with the diner owner and she explained to me the details of the climb ahead. It sounded like it was going to be challenging, but I would be rewarded with the thrilling seven mile descent into Hell's Canyon (which would be my second ride back into the winding canyon). Excited to get into Oregon, I paid the bill and headed back into the afternoon heat.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXVe_evJkrt6Rtj41zJg509k1Ke-P6SrsEnp5B6sjSVl-yWGCtZrBdX8fna4GjtnK_Gl1gm96URcvvhsaQvmdNudfIp5NItskUBdFHN6AJMZ2Egknlop4Is4qNY_Yyib9GSopobPthT6x8/s1600-h/IMG_1730.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXVe_evJkrt6Rtj41zJg509k1Ke-P6SrsEnp5B6sjSVl-yWGCtZrBdX8fna4GjtnK_Gl1gm96URcvvhsaQvmdNudfIp5NItskUBdFHN6AJMZ2Egknlop4Is4qNY_Yyib9GSopobPthT6x8/s320/IMG_1730.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373301234296893746" /></a>After a slow crawl up to the pass, I was rewarded with a thrilling descent; however, I began to notice my front tire was losing air at a rapid pace. By the time I crossed the Brownlee Reservoir Dam and into Oregon, I noticed that not only my front wheel had a puncture, but my rear tire was bouncing. Expecting the worst, I found an air bubble between the tire and the tube. Having never seen this before, I was quite baffled. I removed the sharp rock that had caused the small puncture and the bubble dissipated. I pumped up both tires and rode another 20 miles up the canyon towards Oxbow. I found that the front tire's leak was far more serious, but my rear rim had become warped, or "not true." I was losing daylight, so I pumped up the front and made the final climb up to the Oxbow Dam camping area. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi8LP0-Wqe-I0O2HSybRIKnNhOLwjWEfQi7vBSyc2po7gVkBpbz2VN855ontHXZUrLMlhCR8z-tf6AlTOaA94WLE4OtNufZkuY_iOCr3Ckv5eExBr1aInjFlVEllDr1d1_SWkF1niow_uL/s1600-h/IMG_1731.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi8LP0-Wqe-I0O2HSybRIKnNhOLwjWEfQi7vBSyc2po7gVkBpbz2VN855ontHXZUrLMlhCR8z-tf6AlTOaA94WLE4OtNufZkuY_iOCr3Ckv5eExBr1aInjFlVEllDr1d1_SWkF1niow_uL/s320/IMG_1731.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373300647059010530" /></a>As I pulled in, I asked a drunk elderly couple where I could find water and they pointed me in the direction of the camping area. I rode to the nearest green patch and threw my bike against a tree, when a nice lady approached me with a drink. She then invited me over to meet her friends and then proceeded to feed me. These friendly families were from Portland, and were going to raft down the Snake River for the next week. We sat for a while and swapped some fun stories... it was a fantastic way to end a long grueling day. I thanked them for everything and proceeding to pitch my tent, take a shower, and fall asleep. I've decided to wait for tomorrow morning to deal with my tires. I'm only hoping that this is the most trouble Oregon throws my way... oh well, at least the people here are great!</div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-82428150107466941042009-08-21T22:15:00.021-04:002009-08-21T23:37:28.428-04:00Day 52: Kooskia, ID to Riggins, ID (77 Miles)<div>These odd time zone changes have been throwing my eternal alarm clock for a loop. I woke up way before Jon and spent the morning looking over my maps. I'm still needing to average about 70 miles a day to finish in Florence by August 31st, not bad considering I've had an accident in the Appalachians and fierce winds have been thrown my way. After crunching numbers and making cheap motel coffee, I said my goodbyes to Jon and hit the road. I'm glad I stopped in Kooskia, because the climb up to Grangeville would have been horrific in the afternoon heat.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixaBlUWTsjvkEFrBEeXNuVNws-OAXRTXFkzPb7f6ih26uEY52urQIH7dpPzFzsQRrka0_cYD2ZXI0cZVjxcdgoJFwNhY69TWQGwAOAXZAx-_NHXIenJz6_UaJI3-netlKW90Lhkotd4jO3/s1600-h/IMG_1687.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixaBlUWTsjvkEFrBEeXNuVNws-OAXRTXFkzPb7f6ih26uEY52urQIH7dpPzFzsQRrka0_cYD2ZXI0cZVjxcdgoJFwNhY69TWQGwAOAXZAx-_NHXIenJz6_UaJI3-netlKW90Lhkotd4jO3/s320/IMG_1687.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372614197608229346" /></a>I climbed about 3,000 feet and found myself eating a horrible breakfast at "Hillside Cafe." I could tell that the waitress really disliked her job and her bad mood was cast over the entire room. Negativity spreads like the H1N1 Virus through gringos in Cancun. I was actually glad to leave this place and get back into the heat. The ride over Old White Bird Hill was gradual enough and the trees provided some shade, which was greatly appreciated. I could tell from the livestock finding shade under trees and those lying close to the ground, it was going to be a scorcher.<br /><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsV5lBYRV6rugfOSZuD2ByqiXEDmmfSH24FfR9R6VMa_Gwq8HjzDKy2N2mNieRpSIpgXkIf-PTi3y-VsA9hgsMzZB5zqeoARQozQbROHYrTsals1To4_dtqohARQHVXOixy9BiipMRmnsi/s1600-h/IMG_1692.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsV5lBYRV6rugfOSZuD2ByqiXEDmmfSH24FfR9R6VMa_Gwq8HjzDKy2N2mNieRpSIpgXkIf-PTi3y-VsA9hgsMzZB5zqeoARQozQbROHYrTsals1To4_dtqohARQHVXOixy9BiipMRmnsi/s320/IMG_1692.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372612986835886674" /></a>A scorcher it surely was... it got up to a sultry 102 degrees and I was descending into the fittingly titled "Hell's Canyon." This canyon is deeply carved with steep walls lining the entire way. The canyon follows the Snake River, a popular rafting destination. The ride down into the canyon was the most thrilling experience of my life. The descent was a seven mile steep ride down a series of switchbacks carved on the side of a mountain. Again my hands were aching from breaking so much, but I didn't mind... the scenery was breathtaking and there was no traffic on Old Highway 95. I quickly reached the bottom and grabbed a quick snack from a general store in White Bird... Yellow Gatorade and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, part of this complete snack break.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmJq3NFeXE0eZKugCSqbFG6Yz45vOISD_zfVNQbKNIURuGn27a1rsNMDYA3iKW35Ur9x1xNgXdkoX3o8Z62lC6FZM9sVDktyLERqWQvhKOMfodSlK5xyJaT30YZRbkZs9iGeyF_66UtHUm/s1600-h/IMG_1695.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmJq3NFeXE0eZKugCSqbFG6Yz45vOISD_zfVNQbKNIURuGn27a1rsNMDYA3iKW35Ur9x1xNgXdkoX3o8Z62lC6FZM9sVDktyLERqWQvhKOMfodSlK5xyJaT30YZRbkZs9iGeyF_66UtHUm/s320/IMG_1695.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372611307316063394" /></a>The rest of today's trip was hardly enjoyable. I had to ride on the broken shoulder of Highway 95 and dodge recreational vehicles and 18-wheelers, all the while wiping the stinging sweat from my eyes. Today was certainly the hottest day of my trip. Luckily, I had an extra stockpile of water and this kept me energized to reach my final destination of Riggins. Feeling frugal, I checked a local RV park and their costs for camping and showers were borderline absurd... so I rode down further to find another cheap motel. The more I sleep in these motel beds, the more cumbersome and unnecessary my camping gear becomes. Here's to hoping that Oregon is more camper-friendly than Idaho and Montana has been...</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgFZpJ3tErho2q6TtYVF4nHfdh5cTKLPR_zOwD9Qynzy-LRGGUzgiUwmW40RngQJ4elL-xmXnk9uHM9aftyHzHPGerumFYBe2qP99jy2-_MrcRxdBBFQ_arfCqWF_wqIL7OfTyWfWV9m9N/s1600-h/IMG_1702.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgFZpJ3tErho2q6TtYVF4nHfdh5cTKLPR_zOwD9Qynzy-LRGGUzgiUwmW40RngQJ4elL-xmXnk9uHM9aftyHzHPGerumFYBe2qP99jy2-_MrcRxdBBFQ_arfCqWF_wqIL7OfTyWfWV9m9N/s320/IMG_1702.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372610109143905666" /></a>Before I crossed into Riggins, I went back into "Mountain Time," losing an hour. This route has put me in a strange time paradox. And, if I'm looking at my maps correctly, I'll cross back into Pacific Time Zone when I cross into Oregon.... strange.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi0hYPo77vmX8b-rpcKtc4s5-MwjUKhHHEtS0NfkFsyxTl5NyhVF7u3GZ_TtxE3pg9qUDL_JWFo8xcZDtkEPxM262IjHvUMN6cDFyQkLexVHFK42eR_kc6DlGmSJadzEDJVAimVdEohpDY/s1600-h/IMG_1704.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi0hYPo77vmX8b-rpcKtc4s5-MwjUKhHHEtS0NfkFsyxTl5NyhVF7u3GZ_TtxE3pg9qUDL_JWFo8xcZDtkEPxM262IjHvUMN6cDFyQkLexVHFK42eR_kc6DlGmSJadzEDJVAimVdEohpDY/s320/IMG_1704.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372609088129156130" /></a>I spent the good portion of tonight talking on the phone with my dad, who informed of some sad news that I'll address at the end of this entry, and with friends. The more I speak with these people, the more I long for the end of this journey. I'm sure this is an unhealthy desire and will only distract me from the beauty of these last few days. But it's true.. I long for returning to my apartment, to be with my dog, to work at a job I truly enjoy, and to be with people I truly love. If this trip has taught me anything, is that I have a great life to return to.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3spptB-wqhEhLOiJmXvtv4DrQIX_AuBJcSVjjvOruUyeoTLC96vqKbsMs6V3Nhc8pgi6pOZR3ab3_RIyZ38OyqUC2V5CM7QksfZKHZIETfpo8PZCq8cSRx4lzsPF9OS6aaKw-NgfrnODi/s1600-h/IMG_1707.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3spptB-wqhEhLOiJmXvtv4DrQIX_AuBJcSVjjvOruUyeoTLC96vqKbsMs6V3Nhc8pgi6pOZR3ab3_RIyZ38OyqUC2V5CM7QksfZKHZIETfpo8PZCq8cSRx4lzsPF9OS6aaKw-NgfrnODi/s320/IMG_1707.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372608031892147170" /></a>Lastly: I'm sorry to write that today the world has lost a very great man. George Mitchell passed away this afternoon amongst family and friends. Known for being the life of every party, his laughter could be heard for miles around and his enjoyment of life was truly palpable. He was the first person to ever give me a nickname that stuck, "Joe Cheeseburger Blake." I loved George, and my heart goes out to the Mitchell family. I'm sorry I could not be around during this difficult time... but please know that I'll be thinking and praying for you guys while I ride. God bless!</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_-U8EBuPzVZ1iO3HiYesBHURKoC0BY9IFHIbw3FtljsxDerjg86k1KJMjo0d9xk4miISmLrCVZ8ZbDPvFn2U-WXa62Cv2X346lxL4g9Js3Si0EltP8PVp_fQg0ylFsC_pRczYtaYx0tXb/s1600-h/IMG_1709.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_-U8EBuPzVZ1iO3HiYesBHURKoC0BY9IFHIbw3FtljsxDerjg86k1KJMjo0d9xk4miISmLrCVZ8ZbDPvFn2U-WXa62Cv2X346lxL4g9Js3Si0EltP8PVp_fQg0ylFsC_pRczYtaYx0tXb/s320/IMG_1709.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372607293660039234" /></a></div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-84015410443895491342009-08-20T20:23:00.022-04:002009-08-20T23:10:56.763-04:00Day 51: Lolo Hot Springs, MT to Kooskia, ID (110 Miles)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOC6V8F-pxmIBADlIKLS_Ch_pYRk2jPHnd73O922BOt7Uh6JszgdeDeHiMoyJ4foRLhRIKrLvqZp_D2yc4oZKm_Y3kV-huqEyjyb_hzYmdadjIBWeO6qLtk8MrsD8g8Bu-4x3xs6OlbkLo/s1600-h/IMG_1666.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOC6V8F-pxmIBADlIKLS_Ch_pYRk2jPHnd73O922BOt7Uh6JszgdeDeHiMoyJ4foRLhRIKrLvqZp_D2yc4oZKm_Y3kV-huqEyjyb_hzYmdadjIBWeO6qLtk8MrsD8g8Bu-4x3xs6OlbkLo/s320/IMG_1666.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372236590399173346" /></a>Another cold night followed by another cold morning... it's time to say goodbye to Montana. I climbed over Lolo Pass and crossed into a new state and a new time zone. My introduction to Idaho was very enjoyable. I spent my first few miles riding down from Mount Fuji and into the Lochsa River Basin. This was a very scenic and quiet ride, fully accompanied with docile deer and warming sunshine. Before I knew it, I had already arrived to my morning breakfast stop, the Lochsa Lodge...<br /><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgklwNd2TyQ6W17uYil6UcRMLh5XnTplGcSPi-1iXSjwTWW6kiJvt1Z1Nzd7AzYFSMNDElxcLJWxQUMK7VrnOPKuuUcn0r9H1jyC8GBtq6LPYCfdh-fW_nR_HL5L1_dOoWHLj1_20VGTeEI/s1600-h/IMG_1669.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgklwNd2TyQ6W17uYil6UcRMLh5XnTplGcSPi-1iXSjwTWW6kiJvt1Z1Nzd7AzYFSMNDElxcLJWxQUMK7VrnOPKuuUcn0r9H1jyC8GBtq6LPYCfdh-fW_nR_HL5L1_dOoWHLj1_20VGTeEI/s320/IMG_1669.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372236032604157090" /></a>Pulling into the lodge, I spotted a cyclist loading up his bike. I approached him and Brendan introduced himself. It turns out that he's from Marshfield, MA and was riding with another neighbor. Jenna came out of the lodge and we all got to talking. Jenna and Brendan were riding in memory of their friend, and Jenna's fiancé, who was killed in a kayaking accident. They have a facebook page called "TOUR DE HUNTER" and a <a href="http://tourdehunter.weebly.com/">website</a> as well. They're riding into Missoula and spending some time there, and will eventually end up in Massachusetts by late November. We chatted some more and eventually parted ways and I made my way towards eating a scrumptious breakfast. Idaho knows how to do breakfast and this french toast plate was, by far, the best morning meal I've had all trip.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBzbw4trL9a-UpCtHtX6w6dS4z0LJKOxaLC76W2YbOQXYG5-UjdHpkS_MJNchPikfA4ALYZtvZ1RV3FZeQjClRZfoFJCZffH-ZCK13CLg2OlAZj-qmrkPkahvw0y7v7eYc4-2-WdTUZGgj/s1600-h/IMG_1673.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBzbw4trL9a-UpCtHtX6w6dS4z0LJKOxaLC76W2YbOQXYG5-UjdHpkS_MJNchPikfA4ALYZtvZ1RV3FZeQjClRZfoFJCZffH-ZCK13CLg2OlAZj-qmrkPkahvw0y7v7eYc4-2-WdTUZGgj/s320/IMG_1673.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372235490517159682" /></a>Fully satisfied, I rode on with the Lochsa, enjoying the smells of fresh pine and the sounds of waterfalls. The temperature was increasing dramatically and I was prepared to face "near record high temperatures" later in the afternoon. I was feeling good and made it an effort to keep a good momentum until a lunch stop in Lowell, and this meant no stops for photos or pee.. the latter fact has been easier to do now that I've perfected my cycling-while-urinating technique (don't worry, I don't pee all over myself). This momentum was going well until a large 18-wheeler drove me off the road. Luckily, I fell onto some soft sand/gravel and was not seriously harmed. The trucker was not fully at fault... route 12 is much akin to a super model... very curvaceous, narrow, and features tiny shoulders. The trucker probably did not see me until it was too late and his exuberant horn usage was probably not malicious.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtYzcdz6VT2MpJvk8j4R-2RM0XI-dH4SiJCiKwqkJMBD_PK4GFBJTYLszx3hFT8qXr5ODFx8zRaZQmUjnEAHEh-TUY-9pFgRWQYCWBcgi531_TG1NnFkuMMa3GZaGge9HlIlOQGY2cGBXV/s1600-h/IMG_1675.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtYzcdz6VT2MpJvk8j4R-2RM0XI-dH4SiJCiKwqkJMBD_PK4GFBJTYLszx3hFT8qXr5ODFx8zRaZQmUjnEAHEh-TUY-9pFgRWQYCWBcgi531_TG1NnFkuMMa3GZaGge9HlIlOQGY2cGBXV/s320/IMG_1675.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372234793753736818" /></a>My momentum began to slow down when I hit road works in process for the next 26 miles. To make things easier, I met a new friend. Jon's from Bristol, UK and is riding from New York City to Seattle. Here's his <a href="http://newyorkvancouvercycle.blogspot.com/">travel blog</a>. We spent the next 20 miles riding behind pilot cars and sharing stories. Jon and I then stopped in Lowell for food and milkshakes. I've found that these sugary treats are quite delicious and great for energy. I didn't realize it, but I had already ridden close to 80 miles by lunch time and we decided to call it a day in Kooskia, a town located in the Nez Perce reservation.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj_pQnVDFpJpSuugJvZt-TeF_pC0XIrg2c6Iuc9gJAtW48KBmsbpvJfTBm8HBqj7hxPDSR59RVgOTG13UoUqXO1XqXuKwzoyN7GfB3GMxVNWrULtEDI5EiVIPqdq98oWtqUs9HzmOVqNyv/s1600-h/IMG_1684.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj_pQnVDFpJpSuugJvZt-TeF_pC0XIrg2c6Iuc9gJAtW48KBmsbpvJfTBm8HBqj7hxPDSR59RVgOTG13UoUqXO1XqXuKwzoyN7GfB3GMxVNWrULtEDI5EiVIPqdq98oWtqUs9HzmOVqNyv/s320/IMG_1684.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372234546162416738" /></a>Surprisingly, I could have ridden for longer... but my new hungover friend was keen on sharing the expense of a cheap motel room. Feeling like 100+ miles was a long enough day, I gladly complied. We checked into a dive, showered, and quickly gravitated to the nearest cafe for more milkshakes. Jon commented on how it's a shame we had to ride in separate directions the next day (he's riding West into Washington and I'm riding South towards Oregon) and I agreed. Riding alone has very few benefits, and I'm very fortunate for the times I've shared the road amongst new friends. When riding with fellow cyclists, you develop a sense of camaraderie... a universal appreciation for a fellow adventurer and a comforting acknowledgement that you're not all alone out there on the road... they're a Godsend.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVDV7rea2APfRpmqZhyGlscqgg6sP3vTSmmygBmUhnjpBCqo5RzFVSc5cf6ohM4af0FPOEmwgLz9rTj639zsrKCJfCd-LyUGWaCyF9cMojha00Kj6LjLnYCI6bnGm4Il4KSgTAau7OZNzo/s1600-h/IMG_1685.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVDV7rea2APfRpmqZhyGlscqgg6sP3vTSmmygBmUhnjpBCqo5RzFVSc5cf6ohM4af0FPOEmwgLz9rTj639zsrKCJfCd-LyUGWaCyF9cMojha00Kj6LjLnYCI6bnGm4Il4KSgTAau7OZNzo/s320/IMG_1685.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372234222100616722" /></a><br /></div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-84656865961607645682009-08-19T20:01:00.020-04:002009-08-20T20:23:21.504-04:00Day 50: Stevensville, MT to Lolo Hot Springs, MT (70.5 Miles)<div>I did not want to leave the hotel this morning. It was, by far, the most luxurious and comfortable room I've ever stayed in... and the price was a steal! I got up around 7:00AM and lounged around with breakfast and coffee. In terms of total distance, I didn't have a long day planned... but, the majority of the day would be spent climbing. The maps have you ride 15 miles off route and into Missoula, solely to visit the headquarters of <a href="http://www.adventurecycling.org/">Adventure Cycling Association</a>, a non-profit cycling organization. I got onto the road around 8:30AM and the majority of the morning was spent on a pleasant bike trail that kept me away from the nasty four lane highway; however, I had to rejoin the highway to get into Missoula.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFH1PafQpycxr-IdrIpdRFYFvu8ahXY8nb2_ltVPHPPIsUERVNaLcoLlRqvTr2pG8hkrUBcBX7s3T7LVbwPyI3pOOdKYeASSevxGpWUaZy4wgtW7TnudDbkL4SeKx49EoZfQ3_87QrPGrz/s1600-h/IMG_1637.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFH1PafQpycxr-IdrIpdRFYFvu8ahXY8nb2_ltVPHPPIsUERVNaLcoLlRqvTr2pG8hkrUBcBX7s3T7LVbwPyI3pOOdKYeASSevxGpWUaZy4wgtW7TnudDbkL4SeKx49EoZfQ3_87QrPGrz/s320/IMG_1637.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371836130326789010" /></a>With the amount of debris (i.e. glass, shredded tires, metal shrapnel, etc.) on the small shoulder, I was genuinely surprised I never got a puncture. On the other hand, I almost urinated myself with a few close calls with semi trucks and dump trucks... It really reminded me of my prior highway predicament outside of Naples, Italy... only I could understand the obscenities being shouted at me.<div><br /></div><div><i>Dear Adventure Cycling: Please raise some funds to create an easier/safer alternative route to get to your headquarters. The most unpleasant experience of my trip was riding to and from your location. This is a big no-no, guys</i>. <div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxLZnGHlcaMKW54g6lxJ-6SWOm6L82AOjFx2jx2QdHjpC_scmYSgjlK5bxBgefPNgrhx-IGJxHP2h9mscfRzEraFAg5g2njwPMxArkULwcFGgHGBxc9a3OWFzEFaWUp5o13Rxu7T6kfUQ4/s1600-h/IMG_1641.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxLZnGHlcaMKW54g6lxJ-6SWOm6L82AOjFx2jx2QdHjpC_scmYSgjlK5bxBgefPNgrhx-IGJxHP2h9mscfRzEraFAg5g2njwPMxArkULwcFGgHGBxc9a3OWFzEFaWUp5o13Rxu7T6kfUQ4/s320/IMG_1641.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371835097075418946" /></a>I did make it into town and by the amount of hipsters giving me judgemental glances, I could tell I was in a college town. Missoula seemed like a cool enough place to waste some time, and that's exactly what I did. I stopped into the first bike shop I came across and replaced my rear breaks and had a technician look at my squeaky headset. I then rode towards the Holy Mecca of cycling, the Adventure Cycling Association headquarters...</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw1qNKcwPQMtooZ-xOBsV1ARmy8-M2sLbK49WPLWIZvjC6woTEds4dAvkZnHc8tt-Vh80hRKasz4IlAUWo-_yYkMRzj7wM0RGSjbd06Gli2DogeC4z_4IpWnULeZb9KKCHQsy1HEI1eMmi/s1600-h/IMG_1650.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw1qNKcwPQMtooZ-xOBsV1ARmy8-M2sLbK49WPLWIZvjC6woTEds4dAvkZnHc8tt-Vh80hRKasz4IlAUWo-_yYkMRzj7wM0RGSjbd06Gli2DogeC4z_4IpWnULeZb9KKCHQsy1HEI1eMmi/s320/IMG_1650.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371834123382863506" /></a>At first glance, the headquarters looked exactly like a church. This, I found out later, is not far from the truth. The building used to be an old church and was renovated into an office/complex. Much akin to a church, they welcomed me in with great hospitality. I was treated to ice cream and "pop." A younger lady gave me the grand tour and I was almost overwhelmed with the amount of history that covered the walls of the building. I spent a lot of time just looking at photos and reading articles. The bike in the photo below took part in the 1976 ride and belonged to a cartographer (a guy who works on maps).</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq38pTVmzbbgixdIfYjX_B_UNMICUbgNIb7SPLorC7Ml7Lp4SnBkxPmNFWnjVUDUj-mDbSdJC9f1hgWzRDsSWyaioga8_ed2be7vSvZ_nt_d5ImtbE_qN69Rku6HNH_2UfhW0perxX8W0S/s1600-h/IMG_1653.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq38pTVmzbbgixdIfYjX_B_UNMICUbgNIb7SPLorC7Ml7Lp4SnBkxPmNFWnjVUDUj-mDbSdJC9f1hgWzRDsSWyaioga8_ed2be7vSvZ_nt_d5ImtbE_qN69Rku6HNH_2UfhW0perxX8W0S/s320/IMG_1653.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371833379196723330" /></a>I also found a wall of 2009 cyclists. Most were taking part in smaller tours (like Seattle to Denver, or Missoula to Chicago, etc.), but there were a lot of Trans-Am riders that I recognized. I later had my photo taken and took my humble place amongst these amazing people...</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqHfLC7M4wJSgrAtoejP-fYIIQoYLfhtQX_bNEd455eSwLFRufX_6QAuDUbydOF01yuhS0JwQCq4ksDdhaA03uSmQBmYaaW5zYi7IUDhAvJZkTe16cY7kEZSWs2kN1PjLZhQAIWG56BBGo/s1600-h/IMG_1652.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqHfLC7M4wJSgrAtoejP-fYIIQoYLfhtQX_bNEd455eSwLFRufX_6QAuDUbydOF01yuhS0JwQCq4ksDdhaA03uSmQBmYaaW5zYi7IUDhAvJZkTe16cY7kEZSWs2kN1PjLZhQAIWG56BBGo/s320/IMG_1652.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371832714531259618" /></a>Realizing I could have spent all day here, I decided to finish my Dr. Pepper and hit the road. On my way out I met Dale, a Seattle native riding to Florida. Dale was riding an old Schwinn Varsity and is lugging all of his stuff in a dog trailer. Dale's adventure can be followed from the following website: <a href="http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/rideout">http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/rideout</a>. I spent some more time hanging out with Dale and then heard my watch ringing off it's noon o'clock alarm, thus I had say my goodbyes and began riding out of town...</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyhdF1Lwkq8PL__53fyoqTTBmlqVa-mVDgWvDEPvdIvcL6NJ83I212uku2VrpWWrMVc4NR7DoTlsDz6FaZvOPSzXITtOSrjAYkeSHlJRAlCIdY385GZdfi721t7857EBl-WlUFjtpKiH1b/s1600-h/IMG_1656.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyhdF1Lwkq8PL__53fyoqTTBmlqVa-mVDgWvDEPvdIvcL6NJ83I212uku2VrpWWrMVc4NR7DoTlsDz6FaZvOPSzXITtOSrjAYkeSHlJRAlCIdY385GZdfi721t7857EBl-WlUFjtpKiH1b/s320/IMG_1656.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371831799500594242" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJlpZTXhd60uIDvvuqOAwcQ_Picnz2g9K1mg2jC0v_Y1YRKpGCpWDTtTrDLDBc8R8pgbs4J_QnpgMphpt4RNSziiQ3T9ghegRMyAULq9bioIZ5TbLLVECPOl6zzYJNBfXpqPIc-0seum11/s1600-h/IMG_1662.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJlpZTXhd60uIDvvuqOAwcQ_Picnz2g9K1mg2jC0v_Y1YRKpGCpWDTtTrDLDBc8R8pgbs4J_QnpgMphpt4RNSziiQ3T9ghegRMyAULq9bioIZ5TbLLVECPOl6zzYJNBfXpqPIc-0seum11/s320/IMG_1662.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371831028873135330" /></a>I stopped for a burrito, which subsequently gave me stomach problems for the rest of the day. I was unpleasantly surprised to find that the temperature had increased dramatically and was in stark contrast of the last few days. I took off any unnecessary layers and slowly rode towards my final destination, Lolo Hot Springs, which was located right near the Idaho border. I decided not to ride any further than that, mainly due to a 66 mile stretch past the border that featured nothing more than trees and assorted wildlife. The afternoon ride was slow and painful. My left leg has been acting up more and I definitely felt it during the climb up from Lolo. Pain aside, it was a beautiful route that brought me through a narrow valley with river streams on each side. I'm sure this area had inspired a local author, David James Duncan, in writing novels such as <i>The River Why </i>and <i>The Brothers K</i>. I'm currently sitting in a bar, snacking on an appetizer and debating my options for the night... it seems they're not many. Hmmm... should I get stung with exorbitant prices from one lodging place or bike across the street and get ripped off by them? Hmmm...</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrHpPSObSIk5jySppk-Qd_IxYTICCeErlVNVGm856Lq2w68cq9QNKGZ5EJLKPguZm_2ER6JY9rX9l1Xe8KbrtAv__pM5nmAAK1kyZRxJA-pNsYsADax3cqE0QN8t7o4E43M0lCG1MHtRjB/s1600-h/IMG_1664.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrHpPSObSIk5jySppk-Qd_IxYTICCeErlVNVGm856Lq2w68cq9QNKGZ5EJLKPguZm_2ER6JY9rX9l1Xe8KbrtAv__pM5nmAAK1kyZRxJA-pNsYsADax3cqE0QN8t7o4E43M0lCG1MHtRjB/s320/IMG_1664.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371830241467755266" /></a><br /></div></div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-26597442039403555122009-08-18T20:38:00.001-04:002009-08-18T22:01:29.159-04:00Day 49: Wisdom, MT to Stevensville, MT (94 Miles)<div>Last night was a pretty low-key affair. I got some dinner at Diane's restaurant, played with some local dogs and went back to the cabin to pop in a VHS tape. After some debate, I finally decided on the 1983 film entitled "The Big Chill." What? A movie with Jeff Goldblum AND William Hurt? Sold! All in all, it was a solid film that portrayed a pretty realistic depiction of friends and it made me long for the days of hanging out with the old "gang." It's a shame that distance and time can seperate people like Alex Limage, Jonathan Youngman, and Greg Lanham from my life. I love these guys and it pains me to think that I'll only be able to spend short vacations with them. Oh well, it can only make me appreciate those in my currently in my life all the more greater.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicr7pXDHmvkJveosll1mZ6re9AkkHuTWtHRtExbFdppOtgwpsaTP6zthDvA4_ZQdukNgw1gy8eHXVy2qYZZptUjJV0Aii3WQAxuNSE2oLlGpnxnH_ybiuaWz10Jksm6x6lRhP4KpJsn4YW/s1600-h/IMG_1611.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicr7pXDHmvkJveosll1mZ6re9AkkHuTWtHRtExbFdppOtgwpsaTP6zthDvA4_ZQdukNgw1gy8eHXVy2qYZZptUjJV0Aii3WQAxuNSE2oLlGpnxnH_ybiuaWz10Jksm6x6lRhP4KpJsn4YW/s320/IMG_1611.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371471779197035538" /></a>I got on the road around 7:30AM, but had to swing by the restaurant to drop off the keys to Diane. She persuaded me to eat, like any good mother would do... mainly because there wasn't any other stops for the next 40 miles or so. After quickly eating a breakfast sandwich, I said goodbye to Wisdom and hello to Chief Joseph Pass, the last time (I think) I will pass over the Continental Divide. The pass was at 7,241 feet, but had a nice 3,000 foot descent into a valley. The climb up to the pass was gradual enough to convince me to muscle up the entire way. I reached the top without a need for a break and quickly rode down to the other side. The descent had a quick stop and turn onto Highway 93. As I was turning right, I did a double-look and noticed a "Welcome to Idaho" sign about 50 yards off to the left. I hadn't realized that today's trip would bring me so close to the border. Not feeling like backtracking, I'll save my crossing over into Idaho for tomorrow...<br /><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh70KphUw00FHcGdriPyHeutFcgpxO7qt8PBg_ZK7CHuPrUtHuayVwud-VeoyinViE7nev-uUmRYoGfVmf_HYvMhEQZNsNjrXrTGZUSJDHSlSuoUk9uXFc4tz3Q-4tXpbXetXQ45SYFAYCt/s1600-h/IMG_1616.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh70KphUw00FHcGdriPyHeutFcgpxO7qt8PBg_ZK7CHuPrUtHuayVwud-VeoyinViE7nev-uUmRYoGfVmf_HYvMhEQZNsNjrXrTGZUSJDHSlSuoUk9uXFc4tz3Q-4tXpbXetXQ45SYFAYCt/s320/IMG_1616.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371471529719274098" /></a>The ride down to Sula was thrilling and semi-dangerous. There were several switchbacks, with fallen rocks on the shoulders and I'd have to decrease speed drastically to avoid them. On my way down, I saw a mother mountain lion and her two cubs running across the road and quickly disappearing behind a guardrail. Sadly, I was too mezmerized and had too much momentum to stop and get my camera out... which is a common theme. These photographs are only poorly timed glimpses of the beauty that surrounds me. They fail at portraying the sense of scale and majesty of mountains, valleys, and forests. They capture smiles, but not the voice or soul of that person. It's quite the fool's errand to fully illustrate this experience via photographic evidence, so I hope that my words can somehow help fill this gap.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSUMCYqFJBsguLvWanCRsG3NVFbxco0beVlSXvaVVS_pwrp9ace7p8Lj6hJiYF_3DeRbk6521YDiCegKl3zSP63AxpY44gBv_UiF1Tt0DG1k8QtGKlESHu2iQZ0XsTnVzsz4eXQ0WEC6E-/s1600-h/IMG_1623.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSUMCYqFJBsguLvWanCRsG3NVFbxco0beVlSXvaVVS_pwrp9ace7p8Lj6hJiYF_3DeRbk6521YDiCegKl3zSP63AxpY44gBv_UiF1Tt0DG1k8QtGKlESHu2iQZ0XsTnVzsz4eXQ0WEC6E-/s320/IMG_1623.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371470668931755762" /></a>I spent the majority of the afternoon riding at high speeds, in spite of a slight headwind. I felt energized enough to challenge myself and push my muscles to their quasi-maximum potential. I also only stopped in a few towns for a chocolate milk and snack. Before I knew it, I was already close to my final destination at 3:00PM. I had made good time. But then it hit me, I had completely forgotten a good portion of the last three hours. I had been focusing so much on pushing myself, that I had forgotten to stop and appreciate the beautiful Bitterroot Valley I had ridden through. It's strange how single-track a mind can be...</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiTuUGEwxQSaZOGUQtSFKM26oupLz7WgwToucOu-CippGrY5kpSv1GLLzDuzp7oyQuu7yP6zGoMCF1p00hYvKCifjSYnNScYPgWVFUe6Tv0aa1s1PRVvBmUIIK_XScIz7-5xsGpUJ8HsUF/s1600-h/IMG_1627.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiTuUGEwxQSaZOGUQtSFKM26oupLz7WgwToucOu-CippGrY5kpSv1GLLzDuzp7oyQuu7yP6zGoMCF1p00hYvKCifjSYnNScYPgWVFUe6Tv0aa1s1PRVvBmUIIK_XScIz7-5xsGpUJ8HsUF/s320/IMG_1627.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371470333042248754" /></a>I arrived into Stevensville at 3:30 and was told to check out the Stevensville Historic Hotel. A local lady with a tie-dye shirt said they had special deals for cyclists and that sounded mighty-fine to me. I found the restored building and walked into the lobby. By the look of things, I instantly thought this place was above my pay grade. Fortunately, it wasn't... I got a room, with a huge bed, and an amazing bath tub with jacuzzi jets! I think I'm gonna soak in this thing for a long time and relax in the bathrobe they supplied (I've never worn a bathrobe before... it's like a comfortable hospital gound, but I have to remember the opening is in the front this time!)</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWj5drbpva7I2eG89xWZMWd6NNTHGbTdQ_y9nPYtJHgxALojnB7zRujSOnkm-mQs_UHv1JT2phHp7gVq7g3OZpNXz9tk9UcKf-fx4C71YDoixjFQPcy2BlCl2lvMDIFfmNfudq5ar-P36Z/s1600-h/IMG_1634.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWj5drbpva7I2eG89xWZMWd6NNTHGbTdQ_y9nPYtJHgxALojnB7zRujSOnkm-mQs_UHv1JT2phHp7gVq7g3OZpNXz9tk9UcKf-fx4C71YDoixjFQPcy2BlCl2lvMDIFfmNfudq5ar-P36Z/s320/IMG_1634.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371470049109118354" /></a><br /></div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-1876484924560862692009-08-17T20:13:00.004-04:002009-08-18T09:50:43.251-04:00Day 48: Dillon, MT to Wisdom, MT (66.5 Miles)<div>So much for that epic 160 mile day I had planned. For some odd reason, I thought I could wake up early enough and have enough energy to conquer three passes and make it into Stevensville by sundown. This, obviously, has not come to fruition. For one, I did not go to bed at a proper time. I hung out with the motel clerk, Cassie, last evening and got into bed around midnight. Therefore, I rolled out of bed at 7:30AM and took full advantage of the continental breakfast. After such a lackadaisical morning, I already resigned myself to a more moderate goal for the day. Looking over the maps, it looked like the town of Wisdom was the only logical stopping point, leaving another 90 miles or so to go for the following day. I had no idea why I thought I could conquer three mountain passes and pull in that many miles. Maybe I've grown too confident?</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4QpoAzfy2PgAbYuMs6bsoSw46aoeJxmJFyZXPiF_6pCF7vgKbcEJwik7CBmHOcXQzK4LUgDtnyEIxQ9I9zmQno5ReNUGodulOKlUOQEd0nFLuQAmfScjspecGkAEqBKIacZHcK4nwFz7V/s1600-h/IMG_1600.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4QpoAzfy2PgAbYuMs6bsoSw46aoeJxmJFyZXPiF_6pCF7vgKbcEJwik7CBmHOcXQzK4LUgDtnyEIxQ9I9zmQno5ReNUGodulOKlUOQEd0nFLuQAmfScjspecGkAEqBKIacZHcK4nwFz7V/s320/IMG_1600.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371094056600475410" /></a><div>I initially thought the town of Dillon was rather small and depressing; conversely, I had only stopped just on the outskirts of the town and realized I missed out on the "heart" of the town completely. "Oh well," I thought and I kept on riding. There's not much thinking going on when cycling. I saw this trip as an opportunity to think, but most of my philosophizing occurs when I'm off my bike. I mostly just sing songs in my head or just repeat "wow" when looking at beautiful vistas. For a Monday, the traffic was very light... though I believe this is because I'm riding through very rural areas. The majority of the day was spent riding through Badger and Big Hole passes, with not much in between. I stopped a few times to chew on some old beef jerky and I found a pack of brown sugar and cinnamon Pop-Tarts, which gave me way too much excitement over such a sugary treat...</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW33M-75u-KnHNg0QJ_BMArtmlCxqE60jUVuOwVr4-u2I6EIbCsEPvImVSzt-DnwS98zW3yiuxB9x3AxlsxMU9Zm_OOJiSyPKzeHwt13Ul4nFsBD9YeD57DVnWRaDY8kyRMhkEDFdPyPbm/s1600-h/IMG_1596.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW33M-75u-KnHNg0QJ_BMArtmlCxqE60jUVuOwVr4-u2I6EIbCsEPvImVSzt-DnwS98zW3yiuxB9x3AxlsxMU9Zm_OOJiSyPKzeHwt13Ul4nFsBD9YeD57DVnWRaDY8kyRMhkEDFdPyPbm/s320/IMG_1596.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371092468352963042" /></a>In contradiction to the local weatherman proclaiming "warmer weather," it was still a chilly day. I sporadically took off clothing during climbs and quickly donned them again on top of breezy mountain passes. I strolled into Jackson, home to more natural hot springs, and found another rider. For the life of me, I can't remember her name.. but we spent an enjoyable lunch together. She was riding from Wisdom and thinking of calling it a day in Jackson. She had originally planned on riding cross-country; however, she's run into so many "side-adventures," (such as boating down Snake River with complete strangers in Idaho) that she's altered her plan to end the trip in Denver, CO. Eager for more company, she begged me to stay in Jackson for the night.. but I had to keep riding and ride I did.<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQidE3FqJ5AtHDwC4TpM6n3X5YpOUmcZsx8F9vv972ZYXIVz3xgFcGIU2DhsTTpeX4-CcmjLp3ablvWt0KN37B5KbhIiNOxpkKXijJJlwuhFfUhsuL_ZWw-9Zx1ph-HZrNFqnse5gsIWqO/s1600-h/IMG_1603.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQidE3FqJ5AtHDwC4TpM6n3X5YpOUmcZsx8F9vv972ZYXIVz3xgFcGIU2DhsTTpeX4-CcmjLp3ablvWt0KN37B5KbhIiNOxpkKXijJJlwuhFfUhsuL_ZWw-9Zx1ph-HZrNFqnse5gsIWqO/s320/IMG_1603.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371091202049531154" /></a>Facing the wind again, I rode on towards Wisdom. This latter section of my trip went by fairly easy and uneventful, with the glaring exception of some insect stinging my neck.. which friggen hurt, man! I arrived into town some time after 4:00PM. I was told by locals that it had gotten down to 29 degrees last night. Realizing that my single season tent would fail miserably at protecting me from these frigid conditions, I began my search for a roof to put over my head...<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNhTYnG1Oetmq0mvrK367zav3e4hFtkHgheFrkP72rLsw9FFtvAOnobq0xlVCh8w833V4a6UKsKyJJaPqTrx3-fLAZ9KaGJgjtkJqPHN8ddH-qpZYN73dlWWRKbuwVEVAedSiVo6rlAiv/s1600-h/IMG_1604.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNhTYnG1Oetmq0mvrK367zav3e4hFtkHgheFrkP72rLsw9FFtvAOnobq0xlVCh8w833V4a6UKsKyJJaPqTrx3-fLAZ9KaGJgjtkJqPHN8ddH-qpZYN73dlWWRKbuwVEVAedSiVo6rlAiv/s320/IMG_1604.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371090207182193282" /></a><div>As it turns out, an Adventure Cycling group of cyclists were staying in town for the night and they had booked all the motel rooms available. A lady then told me to head over to Big Hole Restaurant and talk with Diane, the owner. I met Diane, a lady with an infectious smile, and she threw me the keys to her cabin. Expecting another place to sleep not unlike Guffy, CO... I found really nice lodging and for a cheap price too! - This is a good thing, if this cold weather keeps up, I'll be lucky to have enough cash to buy my bus ticket to Portland!</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim3077gLUSiQkzOYR8nE5GMDVB60lm-ZHAE-kPkQerb_ZLr5n_QGE8a3iBdHIOsWzPuV_NgrQvInty-YzShuFYht5N_jIE_GmJ8KjfUobyOXp1J4U4nfxUEruYpLC5s7iDqvMjcYwH_ACb/s1600-h/IMG_1605.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim3077gLUSiQkzOYR8nE5GMDVB60lm-ZHAE-kPkQerb_ZLr5n_QGE8a3iBdHIOsWzPuV_NgrQvInty-YzShuFYht5N_jIE_GmJ8KjfUobyOXp1J4U4nfxUEruYpLC5s7iDqvMjcYwH_ACb/s320/IMG_1605.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371087924744565666" /></a>Now, if you'll excuse me.. I'm gonna go play with some puppy-wuppies!!!</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtYtxKZoYZFOadG6_yiQ68vJDz1SDskxfqFnZ55-q8ROd6abO8Z_qhHS5gCQ-lemCahDYEbj_DzdGq-yXfJJPoEBT-epSDVb3WJEgAOf0YMmBS0SJv8OK5RCWdZd90ns-PWUzuohErTB-p/s1600-h/IMG_1610.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtYtxKZoYZFOadG6_yiQ68vJDz1SDskxfqFnZ55-q8ROd6abO8Z_qhHS5gCQ-lemCahDYEbj_DzdGq-yXfJJPoEBT-epSDVb3WJEgAOf0YMmBS0SJv8OK5RCWdZd90ns-PWUzuohErTB-p/s320/IMG_1610.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371086657690035666" /></a><br /></div></div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-43696806599712932142009-08-16T19:22:00.020-04:002009-08-16T23:20:38.751-04:00Day 47: Ennis, MT to Dillon, MT (76 Miles)<div>I woke up this morning to find a chilly 35 degrees of frigid temperature outside the door. I wasn't prepared to encounter such coldness, so I decided to wait until 9:30AM to leave. I met a local guy last night at Subway and we talked it up a bit about how some drivers can be really rude to cyclists around here. I told him I've yet to run into any of these encounters... it seems I spoke too soon. I had about seven notable "rough encounters" with other automobiles. Most of them consist of laying on their horns and giving me only inches of clearance... and each time there was no shoulder and no oncoming traffic. I try my best at not being visibly angry, to not even give them the pleasure. But it does put me in a funk. I become perplexed with how and why anyone would do something like that? Such blatant disregard for human life... and for what? A laugh? It's not like I'm making some political statement they can disagree with... or that I'm inconveniencing them in any way... then what is it? Sadly, I think human nature is open to inexplicable crudeness to the other for no just reason... not race, not ideologies... just "because."</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWLr34dyg-5ZzMvlmsP2KzFFEOlBY2GDNcHlFCRaBR1hGiZhYUZmd-WzahzMmScze342wdvVKv7s4sW4oe1GIPPotI29bOM5infhjosEBz11-54-sSonjHz92L1r08aevNEBin00HnZpKH/s1600-h/IMG_1567.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWLr34dyg-5ZzMvlmsP2KzFFEOlBY2GDNcHlFCRaBR1hGiZhYUZmd-WzahzMmScze342wdvVKv7s4sW4oe1GIPPotI29bOM5infhjosEBz11-54-sSonjHz92L1r08aevNEBin00HnZpKH/s320/IMG_1567.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370712901275705090" /></a>This morning was spent climbing over 3,000 feet from Ennis to Virginia City. The climb was long, but not very difficult. I was proud to note that I didn't have to switch into "granny gear" and I never stood up the entire ascent. I also limited myself to one picture/water break, and that was only a minute. I can't wait to get back to my little 25 mile loop through Quincy and see how well I manage. I also can't wait to get back into running. I feel like I've built enough stamina to overcome the "hump" of getting back into the hobby (I often become extremely discouraged when barely surviving a three mile jog) and now it seems all I need is some new running shoes (May, if you're reading this.. maybe we could go shopping for some when I get back?).<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6SqNA5y32XoI7MJeU29apn4YktkFZ5beKx4EBbIExMeXcZZumHl7YqDfIcchqIhjwMgWWMxc_7hHqAijDWU9GWiqaTTvOHCOJeHID6IwDQkPdZBpMswvoivUtadMO8Um2a0Y4adCovo-r/s1600-h/IMG_1572.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6SqNA5y32XoI7MJeU29apn4YktkFZ5beKx4EBbIExMeXcZZumHl7YqDfIcchqIhjwMgWWMxc_7hHqAijDWU9GWiqaTTvOHCOJeHID6IwDQkPdZBpMswvoivUtadMO8Um2a0Y4adCovo-r/s320/IMG_1572.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370711459092732274" /></a>I rode down a thrilling and very fuh-fuh-fuh-freezing 7% grade descent into Virginia City, a cool little tourist town that was once a mining village. I stopped into a small diner for breakfast and had a long conversation with the owner. She was very supportive of what I was doing and told me that she had MS, and that a few riders came through and it touched her greatly. I also interacted with an interesting fellow who is a self-described retired cowboy, tourism guide, and aspiring television narrator. He told me he has "work" on PBS and is working on getting some work with the History Channel. We then talked about inflection, tone of voice, and accents. I wish I could've talked for longer, but I had miles to bike. Today's riding wasn't very thrilling, besides the aforementioned "rough encounters" I had with a few cars. It mostly consisted of riding through a large valley and, yes, against the wind. To make things more tolerable, today's wind only ranged from 5 to 10 mph and for that I was thankful.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAMP8bKC9Si88edxjjcHSPgLOxdRDzi_i5cqD-_kJbVxwgMZuy4yC8Z80nmBpV31JWjIXXNufqOEMJ7wfejDEin1GB_8FOUOagTTAr7g4N4xg4g4dV3WlMwvdVR5Ob84j7HlmJXW9DbJZg/s1600-h/IMG_1582.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAMP8bKC9Si88edxjjcHSPgLOxdRDzi_i5cqD-_kJbVxwgMZuy4yC8Z80nmBpV31JWjIXXNufqOEMJ7wfejDEin1GB_8FOUOagTTAr7g4N4xg4g4dV3WlMwvdVR5Ob84j7HlmJXW9DbJZg/s320/IMG_1582.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370710049043828546" /></a>I stopped again in Twin Bridges for a taco salad. The service here was slow and I was antsy to get back on the road. The last 25 miles or so were the most challenging. The wind became more consistent and resistant. I rode up to a scenic overlook area and the couple there said they had met me at Old Faithful. It clicked and we had a "small world" moment. They told me I must've been "hauling it" to make it here, and I assured them I've certainly been trying.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOMDlJOQBCmXbb6L22RvTDXvgJBjgZIuUeuc_sh717ZkWahbzvRZJKRSmHBVhml44qdHGbmgJRE0zGpOc2-jSt8-YMcSMXSVpft05pf4Q6IWmspHbzVy1LRMKZE1S7_wk81UWi4Wo7mmK3/s1600-h/IMG_1589.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOMDlJOQBCmXbb6L22RvTDXvgJBjgZIuUeuc_sh717ZkWahbzvRZJKRSmHBVhml44qdHGbmgJRE0zGpOc2-jSt8-YMcSMXSVpft05pf4Q6IWmspHbzVy1LRMKZE1S7_wk81UWi4Wo7mmK3/s320/IMG_1589.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370708633950077154" /></a>I rode into Dillon at 4:30PM, feeling rather tired. I couldn't find any place for WiFi.. so I'm here at McDonald's, getting nickel'd and dime'd with their charging for internet, sauce packets, etc. First they indoctrinate you to obesity at a young age with their "Happy" Meals and then they have the gull to charge you for internet! Damn you, Ronald.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVicuduEf0z6V5QrXEwgeIV1WbTC0IggSCs_6Swl8kZtF3wnRsahDg_GxyENwrdFLOTC_f5Oh6KLCpuSTZYjVCXl7yAU8ihrvjtAYtQ6Om2AvWOwqHEpbXs9vRrQtZgbNBht1gfLr-G-C/s1600-h/IMG_1590.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVicuduEf0z6V5QrXEwgeIV1WbTC0IggSCs_6Swl8kZtF3wnRsahDg_GxyENwrdFLOTC_f5Oh6KLCpuSTZYjVCXl7yAU8ihrvjtAYtQ6Om2AvWOwqHEpbXs9vRrQtZgbNBht1gfLr-G-C/s320/IMG_1590.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370707625973118354" /></a></div><div>There's a small cineplex in town that's playing Michael Mann's "Public Enemies." I might see this film, despite mixed reviews, and call it an early night. I'd love to put in a long day tomorrow, God willing, and make it into Stevensville; however, two passes and the wind may have something to say about that. Wish me luck!</div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-24343554956120599252009-08-15T19:21:00.003-04:002009-08-15T21:44:14.992-04:00Day 46: West Yellowstone, MT to Ennis, MT (74 Miles)<div>I got a late start this morning. I looked over the elevation chart and was relieved to find that today's ride was going to be non-taxing on my body. There was a gradual decline of 2,000 feet down to Ennis, my final destination. In theory, this would be an almost effortless day of cycling. This, obviously, turned out not to be... but I'll get to that later. I spent the majority of the morning updating the last of the blogs and eating "complimentary" breakfast foods. I finally got out of the room by 10:00AM and was on the road shortly thereafter. The ride out of West Yellowstone was nice enough, albeit colder than I expected from a mid-August day. The highs never got over 60 today, therefore I was bundled up pretty well. About 10 miles into my journey, I noticed an absurd amount of Montana highway patrol cars driving by at high speeds. I then spotted a collection of people waiting on the side of the highway. I stopped and asked a few guys what was going down. They informed me that President Obama's secret service/motorcade was coming through. It was only minutes when the fast moving black SUVs filled with bald guys with glasses came rolling through. They drove in an interesting/impressive zig-zag formation. I was only able to snap this uninteresting photo:</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVBblMutM1d-JCk7UlHKZrBWSsbL7SWT0afFvnMIXun_LUSJ1r_jQ2eTPAogUdkhrcwUGp_5MnxPPq8bPfVKRRsw1lnPu4TmQagBuU5KknjdjHQ7uMQTgnap9gTr01PwiLQV1OCtOq3XY-/s1600-h/IMG_1532.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVBblMutM1d-JCk7UlHKZrBWSsbL7SWT0afFvnMIXun_LUSJ1r_jQ2eTPAogUdkhrcwUGp_5MnxPPq8bPfVKRRsw1lnPu4TmQagBuU5KknjdjHQ7uMQTgnap9gTr01PwiLQV1OCtOq3XY-/s320/IMG_1532.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370353017080689986" /></a>After the motorcade passed through, I chatted with the guys and they believed Obama was being flown into the local airport by helicopter and these cars just obtained his entourage. They then joked about the overt amount of police in the area and commented that they should be "back east, robbing every bank they could find." I wished them luck and turned left onto route 287. It was then I faced a headwind that would stay with me to the final destination of the day. My plan for a leisurely ride went out the window in that very moment.<br /><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyx8rXdSI0OJKeYpmCX3NTEK0l1xa_aEnskbeQbXN77KG0fJRWoW7TgQDkut-C8dBFEMLA854t4-Hp6OOouOyZu0ayPiGZnM0Bws7E7_QgUz0z_7P8VJwWj6p9m1j1SiX8Shuew0qdebrg/s1600-h/IMG_1542.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyx8rXdSI0OJKeYpmCX3NTEK0l1xa_aEnskbeQbXN77KG0fJRWoW7TgQDkut-C8dBFEMLA854t4-Hp6OOouOyZu0ayPiGZnM0Bws7E7_QgUz0z_7P8VJwWj6p9m1j1SiX8Shuew0qdebrg/s320/IMG_1542.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370344665980107650" /></a>I rode against the wind and stopped at RV park store for a Heath bar and some potato chips. Today was going to be another snacking day, with no planned stops for lunch or dinner. I then continued on up the Madison River and rode over the Hebgen Dam. Riding down into the Missouri Flats, I was hit with winds that almost sent me off my bike.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh30QZnw7WCIxGfQN6-fTXlxGVpQGFPXKTir1XbDZSYy5qQDDsR4SS3HfspAPn3fzX7qFC-6hAUyUpdiCmZXIZQOBLYr__j1NdYcD7SG7gw7L_h1sCWkXP5oFKB-81MuGet_iD65SQDYzl9/s1600-h/IMG_1540.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh30QZnw7WCIxGfQN6-fTXlxGVpQGFPXKTir1XbDZSYy5qQDDsR4SS3HfspAPn3fzX7qFC-6hAUyUpdiCmZXIZQOBLYr__j1NdYcD7SG7gw7L_h1sCWkXP5oFKB-81MuGet_iD65SQDYzl9/s320/IMG_1540.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370344016177315298" /></a>The feeling of having to push yourself down a hill is the worst feeling a cyclist could ever have... well, I guess saddle sores are worse. Anyways, I kept pushing and found a rest stop to give my legs a break. I sat down at a picnic table next to two motorcyclists, a father and son from Utah, and began chatting with them about the wind. They explained that the wind even pushes them around, especially when riding by trucks. We talked for a while and decided to get back on the road again and back into the wind.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT4iLgmB0VA3ojBwjzcLKb5qGqlZULMrScNjMsd8gH0-_l36lMfT2VXnBUk0OS7HrYdHiZb3LAQWZ1oPv3DUpiv4kUexY9x_n0oUEtNEnhyR4LMrUlxTCcBFJ_s_bVim2LfowCuOlLmIYv/s1600-h/IMG_1545.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT4iLgmB0VA3ojBwjzcLKb5qGqlZULMrScNjMsd8gH0-_l36lMfT2VXnBUk0OS7HrYdHiZb3LAQWZ1oPv3DUpiv4kUexY9x_n0oUEtNEnhyR4LMrUlxTCcBFJ_s_bVim2LfowCuOlLmIYv/s320/IMG_1545.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370343221772053954" /></a>My last stopping point was going to be the small town of Cameron, which turned out not to be a town at all... just a post office and a closed restaurant. About five miles out from the town, I began noticing dark and ominous clouds coming over the mountains to the West. It was only moments later when it began to rain, then hail. These hail pieces were only the size<img src="http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif" alt="Check Spelling" border="0" class="gl_spell" /> of small pebbles, but man-oh-man... did they hurt. It was like being pelted by paint balls, except very cold paint balls. The hailstorm only lasted about 10 minutes, but it felt like an eternity. I spent the whole time slowly riding with my head titled down at the road. The hail really stung my face, especially my nose... so it was not easy riding. The hail then turned back into cold rain and I pressed on to my final destination.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiPTEQ42KmR24JeNWWqDVMLb_uIRvvVzd-L9oqHVBFp0Kr8cwrqh1R98mYq_U3R8zNTiuocWg2ZYzXDTQiJhqTPdh5O2oPKqPwul3cyn2ShE3x2cL99xGV5s0W0H_txxgTstmJe4v6KXSY/s1600-h/IMG_1547.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiPTEQ42KmR24JeNWWqDVMLb_uIRvvVzd-L9oqHVBFp0Kr8cwrqh1R98mYq_U3R8zNTiuocWg2ZYzXDTQiJhqTPdh5O2oPKqPwul3cyn2ShE3x2cL99xGV5s0W0H_txxgTstmJe4v6KXSY/s320/IMG_1547.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370342679307975394" /></a>Ennis is a nice little town at the base of a 3,000 foot climb I must face in the morning. I could have rode over this and ended the day in Virginia City, but the wind definitely changed my mind on this. The scenery today was not any less spectacular than prior days; however, my appreciation for these settings was dwindled due to the abysmal elements I had to face. I think I've been spoiled by the near-perfect weather I've had during this trip. Sure, the wind has not been friendly... but I couldn't complain about anything else. If I had to ride in the rain for the rest of the trip, I'd say it would be fair enough. Alright, the Subway dude just gave me a look that said: "Dude, this not a library and/or Internet Cafe," so I should go! Peace, peace, and chain grease.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil-UZ-852eM_-uAHFTI3hzfYh3P7sttev21LgWmU3DgKnlMJYmldEtaukuWWcF-hAnIkG3rVpWhXXe8IeTUjwCtIGk8nx5wfLR2t6XckdWNMlnlSmlGrkEy1Np88sGL1njA8pKepo6Plzm/s1600-h/IMG_1552.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil-UZ-852eM_-uAHFTI3hzfYh3P7sttev21LgWmU3DgKnlMJYmldEtaukuWWcF-hAnIkG3rVpWhXXe8IeTUjwCtIGk8nx5wfLR2t6XckdWNMlnlSmlGrkEy1Np88sGL1njA8pKepo6Plzm/s320/IMG_1552.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370341674938469490" /></a><br /></div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-56909724355598599052009-08-14T23:07:00.001-04:002009-08-15T11:27:22.260-04:00Day 45: Colter Bay, WY to West Yellowstone, MT (91.5 Miles)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA2kKQWy-0SjISyWUVtFOnUA9G5VUdml6E0S4RBvU3-XpgbJ_g8d1BYUGap4wTEHfCVOXTGPn_036PpQPSW_VXmoOa71QNeHS_gyuqn2OC6iCFBGcUSumau28Q9lxgPnkEtnyK12iWlXcV/s1600-h/IMG_1475.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA2kKQWy-0SjISyWUVtFOnUA9G5VUdml6E0S4RBvU3-XpgbJ_g8d1BYUGap4wTEHfCVOXTGPn_036PpQPSW_VXmoOa71QNeHS_gyuqn2OC6iCFBGcUSumau28Q9lxgPnkEtnyK12iWlXcV/s320/IMG_1475.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370191861198745538" /></a>An impressive display of nature came rolling through our campsite last night. No, sadly, it was not a stampede of elk or a family of bears... it came in the form of a fast-moving thunder/hailstorm. It rocked our tents and came through within a few minutes. After the storm passed, I looked out to see clear skies again. Chris woke me up around 5:30AM and I started making some coffee. I was feeling very groggy and moved slower than the others. I realized that I needed to pick up the pace when Chris and Aaron were already done breaking camp. I told them to not wait around for me and I'd catch up to them. A half hour later, I was finally on the road.<br /><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipLRQUwaiwR1TwYl5ycyJOQK-4bf3a7WQnnbOVlWcujWtjfsHdD4FIxVK0uL4qD_1h51gBgcZEf2gJ-vTYhnnPTbWuNJ0j0mOk4Uhm2zJvJ4xr932AM3Y5GC_zRgo3JE4Glx5zoV9isAcm/s1600-h/IMG_1479.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipLRQUwaiwR1TwYl5ycyJOQK-4bf3a7WQnnbOVlWcujWtjfsHdD4FIxVK0uL4qD_1h51gBgcZEf2gJ-vTYhnnPTbWuNJ0j0mOk4Uhm2zJvJ4xr932AM3Y5GC_zRgo3JE4Glx5zoV9isAcm/s320/IMG_1479.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370190331585041618" /></a><div>I first caught up to Saz and successfully "scared the crap" out of her. I then found Aaron overlooking a beautiful panoramic of the Tetons over Jackson Lake. We stopped and just looked on in complete silence... I rode on ahead and found signs saying "Loose Gravel Road Next 8 Miles" and "Pavement Ends 500 Feet." Expecting another free ride in a pilot car, we had no such luck. It was a slow crawl up to the pass and a scary descent. By the end of my slow ride down, my hands were aching from pressing firmly on the brakes for 30 minutes or so. I looked back and saw that I had left Aaron and Saz behind and it was the last I saw of them.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaiO1EPuis8A-rpV4sVCHPpnC6lTutdf-_EICDR_7kOVJA2776vkr2zEVAyZoa_eHErzyQE9KkCvbQk5CwuzWJn5_sueiXaKXffGDkD096pAiUsLw5lHMrkjZ2aDQ_20MPkILtLJKDoi02/s1600-h/IMG_1483.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaiO1EPuis8A-rpV4sVCHPpnC6lTutdf-_EICDR_7kOVJA2776vkr2zEVAyZoa_eHErzyQE9KkCvbQk5CwuzWJn5_sueiXaKXffGDkD096pAiUsLw5lHMrkjZ2aDQ_20MPkILtLJKDoi02/s320/IMG_1483.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370189384886780082" /></a>I never saw Chris and Chris either... I'm assuming I passed them somewhere in the park. I had to pay twelve dollars just to ride through. The Yellowstone National Park represents the best and worst things about National Parks. For one, they have great preservation efforts and have great hiking trails. However, they also carve roads through a pristine area and allow for RVs and SUVs to drive through at all times. I think I saw one "fuel-efficient" vehicle in about 100 gas guzzling beasts. I actually saw one RV hauling a Hummer behind it. I'm glad my friend Matthew Reginald LeBlanc wasn't there to witness this, otherwise I'm sure he would've caused a scene. The first part of my trip was plagued by these large vehicles careening by me at high speeds. There were no shoulders for most of the ride through the park and really kept my eyes turned away from the scenery and focused on not getting hit by tourists.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZL1pxad9O9Ktw1YEShetXbWBkFMz_CFMDpbq7VPIBtKpFCRa4I2vukIeSyVZe3u-0SSFMuw57tsctvPqGEIWaKNF__AN-4m2Iu9bZ5dZvLSHqhQ35ftU-ffPs0VAu3NCqS6IaB7x9swaa/s1600-h/IMG_1490.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZL1pxad9O9Ktw1YEShetXbWBkFMz_CFMDpbq7VPIBtKpFCRa4I2vukIeSyVZe3u-0SSFMuw57tsctvPqGEIWaKNF__AN-4m2Iu9bZ5dZvLSHqhQ35ftU-ffPs0VAu3NCqS6IaB7x9swaa/s320/IMG_1490.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370188412049330978" /></a>I had to keep good pace through the park, in spite of the heavy climbing. I crossed the Continental Divide three times in just under an hour, and still had time to wait for Old Faithful to blow. Along the way, I met another rider named Mike. He's riding with two other guys from Texas and I'll probably see them along the way tomorrow.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEior2VOll_YxAoKBlRzNMJb-hETThqQgZVtWHWmwtwlv04G8XhuTniP38Jb6ACsnJgZZuO3-IgY4f7pLWZuNNUJNRx2zPtCvQBKb2fOt-Vg06LcvFkt8hD3mB_DB1EoIuE_ftanU-rNQlwk/s1600-h/IMG_1510.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEior2VOll_YxAoKBlRzNMJb-hETThqQgZVtWHWmwtwlv04G8XhuTniP38Jb6ACsnJgZZuO3-IgY4f7pLWZuNNUJNRx2zPtCvQBKb2fOt-Vg06LcvFkt8hD3mB_DB1EoIuE_ftanU-rNQlwk/s320/IMG_1510.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370187522120027138" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJdDFXR9HcJX3H84_wmo25cvuGqOI0EY39fq550HKI7Bj4yuNpNRl7sHJlJLAvEdEnxwN8hSALDTmBQ970SAw5efHik8Kt23KL24M2DcUNX5K5qNlxJvTLZZM3KsMiu1i0cvzA961eAVL0/s1600-h/IMG_1498.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJdDFXR9HcJX3H84_wmo25cvuGqOI0EY39fq550HKI7Bj4yuNpNRl7sHJlJLAvEdEnxwN8hSALDTmBQ970SAw5efHik8Kt23KL24M2DcUNX5K5qNlxJvTLZZM3KsMiu1i0cvzA961eAVL0/s320/IMG_1498.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370186705036703986" /></a>Leaving Old Faithful, I had an impressive tailwind that made me average about 27mph, even going uphill. However, my luck changed and it quickly turned into a crosswind, then a headwind. I started feeling the miles and contemplated camping in Madison, but snacked some more and rode towards the Montana border.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ZFv15t7qR0gDmzYaw2a2H33WFtX03MCt9Rr2uMmFYYuuiwLCnEz5YH1yfG7YaajH0VAbrZexKN9k1KaSOuS_8gLwuWi_lPFpUCsEyM5TiIoCls1vPO1Tvmwh6Ef8ybGXaQ7sYMoCu_WY/s1600-h/IMG_1515.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ZFv15t7qR0gDmzYaw2a2H33WFtX03MCt9Rr2uMmFYYuuiwLCnEz5YH1yfG7YaajH0VAbrZexKN9k1KaSOuS_8gLwuWi_lPFpUCsEyM5TiIoCls1vPO1Tvmwh6Ef8ybGXaQ7sYMoCu_WY/s320/IMG_1515.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370184639392372930" /></a>The last 20 miles were rather difficult, as I rode along Madison River I was hit with headwinds that would really kill any momentum I tried to build up. On the bright side, these winds slowed me down enough to enjoy the views and witness some wildlife. I saw buffalo, elk... but no bears. I was hoping to see a Grizzly from afar, but no such luck! I've heard from some locals from Montana/Oregon and they informed me that I still can see Grizzlies outside of the park. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyw-W4zG2-eHYjBWjO905EB4jYqruVBtmuubzPQap7xJ7U9PeXN-RnD_yPV3w2Hv1I8Qu33DoQ4MS_3LwRStThQiYOzqLLxoPazEKBn-wf-ZY2mIiGpXmVOB6RNMZbPT6nl4Mej3UWFelL/s1600-h/IMG_1519.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyw-W4zG2-eHYjBWjO905EB4jYqruVBtmuubzPQap7xJ7U9PeXN-RnD_yPV3w2Hv1I8Qu33DoQ4MS_3LwRStThQiYOzqLLxoPazEKBn-wf-ZY2mIiGpXmVOB6RNMZbPT6nl4Mej3UWFelL/s320/IMG_1519.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370182919560240690" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAr4N54uaEJ22iyp_ASyK4omYAklbEc0pNWnXmR1Fi6yRhMPy21BlUicsscp1HpNVrs9m_YTsqb7jqojL6EFzmKcgScwuRg3xzcSMxuLpjI2p3w1MdZxVbgCGtn6vBbhpWRbVJTMdjSgs1/s1600-h/IMG_1528.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAr4N54uaEJ22iyp_ASyK4omYAklbEc0pNWnXmR1Fi6yRhMPy21BlUicsscp1HpNVrs9m_YTsqb7jqojL6EFzmKcgScwuRg3xzcSMxuLpjI2p3w1MdZxVbgCGtn6vBbhpWRbVJTMdjSgs1/s320/IMG_1528.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370178658654249266" /></a>I came across the very humble Montana state sign and rode into West Yellowstone. Not feeling like riding through town to find a campsite, I spoiled myself and found a motel room. I spent the rest of the night trying to update the backlog of blog posts I had, in spite of spotty WiFi. Not wanting to leave the comforts of the room, I also ordered a pizza and ate it in bed. It was a hard day of riding, but I feel like ending the day with a little luxury is more than welcome. Now I'm in Montana, and I'm going to sleep thinking of Montaña.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWI8ehV-8uRYkgFD1as-_l_OOqANzQCXOWgql6ESEP050cE7OMMymBUEGbcPedF8LDJMzR-VnSx_rP3Z1HWouF5xkKa9t0f5xWO-ejhJWyisoyxwMeHSwK147hn17dqRoWqHTqNMd2xfpF/s1600-h/IMG_1531.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWI8ehV-8uRYkgFD1as-_l_OOqANzQCXOWgql6ESEP050cE7OMMymBUEGbcPedF8LDJMzR-VnSx_rP3Z1HWouF5xkKa9t0f5xWO-ejhJWyisoyxwMeHSwK147hn17dqRoWqHTqNMd2xfpF/s320/IMG_1531.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370177667087780162" /></a><br /></div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-48655993192882142352009-08-14T22:25:00.020-04:002009-08-15T11:23:47.915-04:00Day 44: DuNoir Creek, WY to Colter Bay, WY (61.5 Miles)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheKdvRRXE5i7up7821bRCqO-hv-f9BGl547vmDQUHxCrjK6ZhheR0dYhJfMVYiPdJ8_j6jMQDnfLkrecIp23ujXCD4pBcWl1gOmH0q3VAIUVsvg4THSwEf-wJJ26P6aw8xJ4750yegryCK/s1600-h/IMG_1385.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheKdvRRXE5i7up7821bRCqO-hv-f9BGl547vmDQUHxCrjK6ZhheR0dYhJfMVYiPdJ8_j6jMQDnfLkrecIp23ujXCD4pBcWl1gOmH0q3VAIUVsvg4THSwEf-wJJ26P6aw8xJ4750yegryCK/s320/IMG_1385.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370166948996022866" /></a>Back home, waking up at 7:00AM feels very early. On the road, I felt guilty for sleeping in so late. According to Aaron and Saz, there was a meteor shower last night. They were hanging out with a moose and saw a few fall from the sky. It's a shame I missed this. In any case, we got moving and helped with breakfast. I didn't eat too much, learning well from last night's mistake. We then packed up, posed for pictures, and hit the road. I left a few minutes before the others and kept a good lead during the climb up to Togwotee Pass, the second highest pass of the Trans-Am (9,658 ft). The ride up to the pass was pretty gradual and my legs were feeling great. I stopped for some chocolate milk in a general store about 10 miles before the pass and the counter had a bumper sticker saying: "<i>What's the similarity between Obama and God? They both weren't born in the United States. The difference? God doesn't think he's Obama.</i>" Oh, you silly red states.<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis9031ZM_-mBUKyJgDB8EUTnL8qD76X_xDPldu9qto_cNoeZqFxrOOsxLWGa13r9hUgs5Tavnoq8niTai7e6PvuZdFeAJ5tcfjpJUZSWrWL5uYdrweGkxI8NhVONBbcSwd5dKOPyxUilXr/s1600-h/IMG_1392.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis9031ZM_-mBUKyJgDB8EUTnL8qD76X_xDPldu9qto_cNoeZqFxrOOsxLWGa13r9hUgs5Tavnoq8niTai7e6PvuZdFeAJ5tcfjpJUZSWrWL5uYdrweGkxI8NhVONBbcSwd5dKOPyxUilXr/s320/IMG_1392.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370049771488500594" /></a>Much like a previous red state (Kentucky), my opinion of the state greatly improves as you move further West (or in this case, Northwest). The scenery has drastically improved and the people's demeanor has changed for the most part, but then again.. it seems everyone near the Teton and Yellowstone Parks are from other states/countries. Towards the top of the pass, I found signs warning me of construction and telling me "Be Prepared To Stop." I was fine with stopping after climbing for the last hour. Luckily for Eastbounders, there's road construction on the Western side of the mountain and require you to throw your bike into a pilot car (or in this case, truck) and ride for a few miles. Unfortunately for me, I had to forgo the thrill/satisfaction of riding down the mountain I just climbed. Instead, I had to hold on for dear life and bounce around with my bike on bumpy dirt roads.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl-2RvurvXONslzBN6SRAin_QBKKClssWDmK-WUAa_Rg_Bmf95Kd6Z2dLJrw4czvLUqlBnG6KAZAVJWkZvswFNye6NGbJuxk7UiCC7ZY78l7Fm8bQbwCRo4XcL01NGAjnP_3H9kOajxi7o/s1600-h/IMG_1403.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl-2RvurvXONslzBN6SRAin_QBKKClssWDmK-WUAa_Rg_Bmf95Kd6Z2dLJrw4czvLUqlBnG6KAZAVJWkZvswFNye6NGbJuxk7UiCC7ZY78l7Fm8bQbwCRo4XcL01NGAjnP_3H9kOajxi7o/s320/IMG_1403.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370048680975705874" /></a>I was hoping I'd run into Chris & Chris on the top, but I never did. I headed down the rest of the mountain towards Moran Junction and found an impressive first view of the Grand Tetons. Accompanying this view, was an incredible headwind that would bring my fast descent to complete stops. I used these breaks in momentum as opportunities to snap photos. And snap photos I did! I'm apologizing right now for the overt amount of photographs I've taken today and will, most likely, tomorrow. I'm just afraid that these beautiful scenes of majestic nature will coax you to promptly leave your jobs/families and head west in a personal manifest destiny. Actually, who am I kidding? I want you to do just that!</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyJYMhou52cIsxDz8aVKb2dSZNrptixEChNxj1esEQr3CKIj6anQR_4D9MZyubUDAP6xn5592OhpKhFjxn6mBHuKC19jQE4BP-4gwJt0xyoS6eY1NfCI0sVipx4ImKw_vusxDhaz_E40Pp/s1600-h/IMG_1410.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyJYMhou52cIsxDz8aVKb2dSZNrptixEChNxj1esEQr3CKIj6anQR_4D9MZyubUDAP6xn5592OhpKhFjxn6mBHuKC19jQE4BP-4gwJt0xyoS6eY1NfCI0sVipx4ImKw_vusxDhaz_E40Pp/s320/IMG_1410.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370047879943818306" /></a>I met Chris and Chris at a diner and we tried to stomach more food. I couldn't finish the fries I was eating and donated it to my friends. Fighting the wind again, we took into the valley and headed into the Grand Teton National Park. The Grand Tetons, when translated from French, virtually means "Big Breasts." Either the French were as immature as those who changed the rocks to "Fart Washakie," or they really thought it was a fitting name. I don't know.. all I know is that I was witnessing the most majestic/impressive mountains I've seen in my life (yes, they ousted the French Alps).</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUl5fJeSLIOcUNKWt0-JqwMUlPB6pjLDA2LqmDz7ipu5fZCnRjnb9yIxdl-Vl5-YPukCCDSkEre0rhxOCfxDLXe0jvfrjXC0jpIJjipUKeh59yuGWHj90xd0KgS8Ik1IB3KJCjQ2Ozd4Rl/s1600-h/IMG_1419.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUl5fJeSLIOcUNKWt0-JqwMUlPB6pjLDA2LqmDz7ipu5fZCnRjnb9yIxdl-Vl5-YPukCCDSkEre0rhxOCfxDLXe0jvfrjXC0jpIJjipUKeh59yuGWHj90xd0KgS8Ik1IB3KJCjQ2Ozd4Rl/s320/IMG_1419.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370046795810236514" /></a>In the park, we found a campsite near Colter Bay. In spite of the extortionist price of 12 dollars per cyclist, we got a site and read up on the "Be Bear Aware" pamphlet the park ranger gave us. They have bear boxes for each site, where you place all your belongings that may attract a hungy grizzly or curious black bear. Unfortunately, the site they assigned to us had no such box! Therefore, we had to utilize a nearby site. The funny thing is, there were no other occupants all around us in the hiker/biker site, with the exception of a few curious deer. Christopher and I gathered sticks for firewood and pitched our tents. We later met Aaron and Saz and left to check out the local scene.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQHbj_vXJKLFFp9ITp3y6KpYiHP5DAJkpJBAkoKxMAvzKDtyEyL9L7Z2J5Z_T2YMnVSK-aKmvTCLePsVP56XQI8GQcAAeEGdLtj9ZdQgfwi36o62dgmT1T6pA0tuS-8SWMzZP2T5_k9SG2/s1600-h/IMG_1441.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQHbj_vXJKLFFp9ITp3y6KpYiHP5DAJkpJBAkoKxMAvzKDtyEyL9L7Z2J5Z_T2YMnVSK-aKmvTCLePsVP56XQI8GQcAAeEGdLtj9ZdQgfwi36o62dgmT1T6pA0tuS-8SWMzZP2T5_k9SG2/s320/IMG_1441.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370046108490640754" /></a>We hung out in the bay for a bit and took a few photos. Feeling the hunger pang, we headed to a somewhat poshy restaurant with horrible service. Aaron and I ordered eggplant pasta dishes with garlic bread, but our bread came in the form of two little stubs that resembled croutons. The waitress was somewhat sympathetic and helped us get a proper meal. With full stomachs, we hung out and chatted for about an hour. Finally, we setted back to the campsite and roasted some marshmellows.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLMpSh9Baf-JDwyqyVVVsh0k-uoRrr4bBVm5_Fnt-T7ZYW_RpmhuNds6iq9kumRQzqaAOfRGtqKJfpJB2ZRiR9PTfZc9WFdZLOBhiOAdTyZ3Q4Z0MFL6OpvIT-6EbJp6iH-LI8ElxWQXZJ/s1600-h/IMG_1450.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLMpSh9Baf-JDwyqyVVVsh0k-uoRrr4bBVm5_Fnt-T7ZYW_RpmhuNds6iq9kumRQzqaAOfRGtqKJfpJB2ZRiR9PTfZc9WFdZLOBhiOAdTyZ3Q4Z0MFL6OpvIT-6EbJp6iH-LI8ElxWQXZJ/s320/IMG_1450.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370045323288100338" /></a>It felt like a good night to end my ride with these guys. I'm heading all the way through the Yellowstone and into Montana tomorrow, while the rest of the guys are going to spend the next three days in the park. Chris and Aaron are going backcountry hiking/camping and the girls are going to relax with spa-like luxuries. I wish I had the time to stop and truly enjoy the scenery; however, I've made a plan and I've got to stick to it. Good night, and don't let the bears bite!</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvoUmCBO6EyXYpgalFvnMIW5VxE_WMqEUBl4xBapolMMjf__gC7cgLI_4Trlp_zURbT4vVauosRhPbuNEBWHzJDXyW0vSWgn4x6y8f8u4B7vGL0YHaCV9RIaAHzF8nLXEpNlFwQo36f3sg/s1600-h/IMG_1468.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvoUmCBO6EyXYpgalFvnMIW5VxE_WMqEUBl4xBapolMMjf__gC7cgLI_4Trlp_zURbT4vVauosRhPbuNEBWHzJDXyW0vSWgn4x6y8f8u4B7vGL0YHaCV9RIaAHzF8nLXEpNlFwQo36f3sg/s320/IMG_1468.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370043544633293810" /></a><br /></div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-15938073382929347382009-08-12T23:10:00.022-04:002011-11-17T12:15:46.854-05:00Day 43: Lander, WY to DuNoir Creek, WY (88 Miles)<div>The small village of tents had grown even larger after I fell asleep. Amongst these new tents were three very familiar ones. I concluded that they probably concealed three tired Brits. After brushing my teeth, I walked over to their tents and put on an official voice and said, "<i>Excuse me... this is Lander police, we've had reports of non-US residents camping on the grounds. Please come out from your tents with identification</i>." I then found Dowds and Chris looking rather confused. We had a good laugh and apparently they had partied with the "artist" in Jeffrey City and then decided to ride all the way to Lander for the night. They got into the park well past their bedtime. Dangerous? Yes... nevertheless, it was good to see the lads one more time.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgZTdkIhQQjg9ptLFrN5X6VxHQ_moUOHSuwsZEGtylUYSCHbApHWHhEUmrZT0N73HarantJ0HdIjBroujviXk5L2X_RBLyUaOPAJK9SkjDKQ-E5Us0UZt7t2brjSNB5w9nt-kgvXxRWlrZ/s1600-h/IMG_1311.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgZTdkIhQQjg9ptLFrN5X6VxHQ_moUOHSuwsZEGtylUYSCHbApHWHhEUmrZT0N73HarantJ0HdIjBroujviXk5L2X_RBLyUaOPAJK9SkjDKQ-E5Us0UZt7t2brjSNB5w9nt-kgvXxRWlrZ/s320/IMG_1311.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370031127606772850" /></a>We also spent a bit of the morning with another Brit, Matt. We chatted for a bit and planned on meeting up again later in the day. Aaron and Saz were slowly waking up, but we also planned on ending the day in the same place, so we said our temporary goodbye's. We left Lander behind us and rode into Fort Washakie, a reservation town. We grabbed some chocolate milk and donuts. As we left the town, we also noticed that someone changed the rocks in the formation spelling "Fort Washakie" and changed it to "Fart Washakie." Immature? Yes. Funny? Yes.<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwEEMrXTQIPhaPbEwQyZGgd7FL7YXEEPJGKn9jvpTNO6pQ1NDmUSgeNMElu4hhUQsJIGdZQ7XMr2aE66r5s7RIl8Kc3E-dRXu43hwMS8n9mTHsF6p3kyOEBF9ValChq4dtoz3sqpsV7PYi/s1600-h/IMG_1338.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwEEMrXTQIPhaPbEwQyZGgd7FL7YXEEPJGKn9jvpTNO6pQ1NDmUSgeNMElu4hhUQsJIGdZQ7XMr2aE66r5s7RIl8Kc3E-dRXu43hwMS8n9mTHsF6p3kyOEBF9ValChq4dtoz3sqpsV7PYi/s320/IMG_1338.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370030543448830658" /></a>The morning ride was nearly perfect. There was hardly any wind and the temperature was simply serene. Sure, we were still running over thousands of grasshoppers.. but we felt good. When we stopped in Crowheart for the essentials from the local store... Gatorade, candy bars, hunting rifles, horse saddles... (you name it, they've got it), I commented to Christopher: "It's amazing, this is the first day without wind in Wyoming!" I should have bit my tongue.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFbC6vif5Tyj173Ds_4g4uLlYeUo3SrkdYBLf2KqGNSYuigWyz7ZqNqpAb00yxL2TcbEg0FJ8nO9SQXwdXeVfzOouckshCM7nZvjBXLL6uJaV_TdbvQJ123bx460eSItnAdYVMq7dCabuN/s1600-h/IMG_1325.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFbC6vif5Tyj173Ds_4g4uLlYeUo3SrkdYBLf2KqGNSYuigWyz7ZqNqpAb00yxL2TcbEg0FJ8nO9SQXwdXeVfzOouckshCM7nZvjBXLL6uJaV_TdbvQJ123bx460eSItnAdYVMq7dCabuN/s320/IMG_1325.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370029596182047266" /></a>Within a few miles of Crowheart, we began to encounter a fierce headwind. The wind was so strong, that we struggled to bike down a hill leading into a river basin. Now, I should have seen this coming... especially considering the river is called "Wind River." We later found that this stretch towards Dubois is notorious amongst Westbounders and have left grown men crying. I could only laugh. We made very slow time, but finally made it into Dubois and met Matt for an early dinner.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8nkGS6d6liuUX3F3wkC62AzjfQjkgvrqX0ygUyL-_23YlqJK8yl09AGVJ5lPgprnJBR65-rE4t7z80fkrCr9Xzuznj1xYqw-qeEzDANDDzA7OCxKn2kIMR_3du01J3Zo1kOwYfeQDBDvf/s1600-h/IMG_1318.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8nkGS6d6liuUX3F3wkC62AzjfQjkgvrqX0ygUyL-_23YlqJK8yl09AGVJ5lPgprnJBR65-rE4t7z80fkrCr9Xzuznj1xYqw-qeEzDANDDzA7OCxKn2kIMR_3du01J3Zo1kOwYfeQDBDvf/s320/IMG_1318.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370028374550887346" /></a>We debated riding 10 miles out of town, but hearing that the KOA charged $27.00 for a campsite sealed the deal that we would be moving on. After stomaching more greasy, nasty diner food... we kept riding against the wind... and wind it was. I was getting more confident in my strength/stamina; however, this wind made me feel weak and incompetent. Anyways, we finally arrived at a dirt road leading to a house owned by Dave and JoAnn. A lovely old couple, they offer "hostel" services to bikers on the Trans-Am and the Great Divide Trail. As we began to turn, we noticed Aaron catching up to us. We asked where Saz was and Aaron informed us that she hit a wall... the wind and heat was too much for her. I could relate. She got a ride to the hostel and was already waiting for us. After a short ride up a dirt road, we were home for the night.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq7HD1YAGpXASOn3HzBXOr5cF4fQ7A1hzVUhyV3i0n92_HTbxXYYAdxxno6zRcwX4UoY-pSpDlyFEwTZXjhA8TrsrmTYzlHZyJkF3aSKVkmcfmBMW28BlGgZFvZFBUzGzECknf33Fbh6bE/s1600-h/IMG_1349.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq7HD1YAGpXASOn3HzBXOr5cF4fQ7A1hzVUhyV3i0n92_HTbxXYYAdxxno6zRcwX4UoY-pSpDlyFEwTZXjhA8TrsrmTYzlHZyJkF3aSKVkmcfmBMW28BlGgZFvZFBUzGzECknf33Fbh6bE/s320/IMG_1349.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370027778645811554" /></a>Dave, JoAnne, Wrigley (their dog), and Saz were waiting for us and kindly showed us our sleeping quarters. Aaron and Saz were sleeping the log cabin, while the Chrisses and I were bunking on cots in their garage. We were then informed to be careful, because two moose were around the back of the house. We then flocked around to the back porch to get a look. Christopher was glad to have finally seen a moose, and now they "officially exist." We washed up and used their outhouse, while JoAnne prepared a wonderful pasta dinner.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmfZH_vlLGT4onUDcYj_M69Fc5XxUhO0RiXEr2lmCdgMlQ4Mp1Xunarx8Uittfm13OEoguSenok-IR5R3RF1QGUmyD8dFX9spz8Wl3J0XbJaVPkSI4CnBqiKvsSgTjve4XjGRNMXML4XSY/s1600-h/IMG_1361.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmfZH_vlLGT4onUDcYj_M69Fc5XxUhO0RiXEr2lmCdgMlQ4Mp1Xunarx8Uittfm13OEoguSenok-IR5R3RF1QGUmyD8dFX9spz8Wl3J0XbJaVPkSI4CnBqiKvsSgTjve4XjGRNMXML4XSY/s320/IMG_1361.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370025619812130738" /></a><div>It was a great dinner... but, I ate way too much. I didn't think this would be possible on this trip, but the second helping finally put me over. Not wanting to think about food, the rest seemed excited about the prospect of sleeping in and having breakfast at 8:00AM. I was more focused on keeping my stomach from imploding... I'll just have to be careful not to bump into a moose when stumbling through the dark in search of the outhouse.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASGgLsG0QdcU9yy1RLWzDsN0YD2YPQzhBdZaTA8J99D1Gbrmk4mXKFjrNBGzQzSRyUKL3V6jXxGuguqhvw4jV_V9mYL-HZTApKy-KhmWL6omINJOTjc7KhklS6NgcFhKO1_65-ej6PHyp/s1600-h/IMG_1368.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASGgLsG0QdcU9yy1RLWzDsN0YD2YPQzhBdZaTA8J99D1Gbrmk4mXKFjrNBGzQzSRyUKL3V6jXxGuguqhvw4jV_V9mYL-HZTApKy-KhmWL6omINJOTjc7KhklS6NgcFhKO1_65-ej6PHyp/s320/IMG_1368.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370024802458756354" /></a><br /></div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-35069585475023394932009-08-11T22:09:00.016-04:002009-08-15T00:24:20.653-04:00Day 42: Jeffrey City, WY to Lander, WY (58.5 Miles)<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Times New Roman';"><div style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 3px; padding-right: 3px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 3px; width: auto; font: normal normal normal 100%/normal Georgia, serif; text-align: left; "><div style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 3px; padding-right: 3px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 3px; width: auto; font: normal normal normal 100%/normal Georgia, serif; text-align: left; "><br /></div></div></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ-y5u35O35GUmHI7-Q2iS8_ICbOEnt5r5QSFHt9FT6P6YeAuJrSipk5v1TbGMbYgX_MlEgtVUEdv_nhhoNBhsCBzZbgMU6uhUOatBD7jTJsGKHJsCQtcYTIT-SdGuBv_R3vhkb61TTS10/s1600-h/IMG_1278.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ-y5u35O35GUmHI7-Q2iS8_ICbOEnt5r5QSFHt9FT6P6YeAuJrSipk5v1TbGMbYgX_MlEgtVUEdv_nhhoNBhsCBzZbgMU6uhUOatBD7jTJsGKHJsCQtcYTIT-SdGuBv_R3vhkb61TTS10/s320/IMG_1278.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370002984919488562" /></a><div>Waking up in the creepy motel, I decided I wanted to leave Jeffrey City ASAP. I took off by 7:00AM and found that Chris & Chris had already broken camp and left before me. I'm assuming they had a very interesting night and came to the same conclusion this morning. I rode by Aaron and Shaz's tent and headed West. The morning was crisp and chill, therefore I had to layer it up. I found the Chrisses at small rest stop near "Sweetwater Station." There were no restaurants all morning, so we just snacked as we rode...<br /><br /></div><div>The highlight of the morning came in the form of long 6% grade descent down into a beautiful valley. We rode down to find a Biblical amount of grasshoppers lying on the shoulder. Like a wave of green, they would try to avoid our bikes; however, we must have run over thousands of those little buggers. Lady Chris isn't the biggest fan of these little creatures and would get pretty annoyed if any bugs tried hitchhiking on her bike/trailer. I would often hear her beckoning to Christopher, "Get it off!!!"</div><div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8cpjqJMQvaL7GtonlOVF7qHRg9WbYMVM67Edb_ZZ6NK2MXcDNTevMvmFldJ6vGM9mcubAQLhLQFdHiLTqLooEzrGcR-oOZ5p5btlaLeI4tZimk8yqkl8jJxPDRvep56untsuWyRLDX-LZ/s1600-h/IMG_1286.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8cpjqJMQvaL7GtonlOVF7qHRg9WbYMVM67Edb_ZZ6NK2MXcDNTevMvmFldJ6vGM9mcubAQLhLQFdHiLTqLooEzrGcR-oOZ5p5btlaLeI4tZimk8yqkl8jJxPDRvep56untsuWyRLDX-LZ/s320/IMG_1286.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370002203177102322" /></a>Christopher was fiending for coffee, so we tried to stop at a small diner near the Little Popo Agie River. It turned out the restaurant was closed for renovations, but the lady let us sit in the shade and use their bathrooms. We talked with her for a bit and she explained that her daughter and son-in-law had purchased old buildings from a ghost town and renovated them into cabins. Sadly, it didn't look like it was the most successful business endeavor... mainly because it was smack-dab in the middle of nowhere! As Chris and Chris looked over the maps, I played with the local dogs, including a precocious little three-legged Chihuahua.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1wj3aU1yb08CYMrXI1hBIqeBNEw3MnatB1ndXCVFNc0VG-8i14J4hFoh1aQBaQXkVceAcCmh-J63PJ-VwPEq3LCOu0LcMyqR5wb5ddSjNj6XxVlLLlByL1IKD-ck27tCObU11wBSKyz_t/s1600-h/IMG_1291.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1wj3aU1yb08CYMrXI1hBIqeBNEw3MnatB1ndXCVFNc0VG-8i14J4hFoh1aQBaQXkVceAcCmh-J63PJ-VwPEq3LCOu0LcMyqR5wb5ddSjNj6XxVlLLlByL1IKD-ck27tCObU11wBSKyz_t/s320/IMG_1291.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369999089035824338" /></a>Snacking again, we made the short ride into Lander by noon. It felt great to get all my riding in within the morning. In addition, this place turned out to be the nicest town I've found in Wyoming. It's described as an "outdoorsy" type of place, and I could really tell by the quality of the city park. They allow for overnight camping and it was by far the nicest place I've pitched a tent in, and this includes all those 10-20 dollar campsites! We found a bike shop and I purchased some long trousers to keep me warm at night and for future use when riding in the cold Boston winter. Christopher bought some warm gloves and we rode down to the camping store so that Chris could find a better portable pillow. We grabbed some lunch and then split up to run some errands.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuuQjexYlnkM7GnLLpI3MU4N85L_S8uzFuIiCT9QdF4An7HrozQRZ3Z9Ms1PDoLKWfcfhsX1Z-WrZV338_g_kA3J3N96Vm9a9WBEZAzN8hl68ePWyWFwfamnyxGwZGBESDE2i8MCIOjePW/s1600-h/IMG_1298.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuuQjexYlnkM7GnLLpI3MU4N85L_S8uzFuIiCT9QdF4An7HrozQRZ3Z9Ms1PDoLKWfcfhsX1Z-WrZV338_g_kA3J3N96Vm9a9WBEZAzN8hl68ePWyWFwfamnyxGwZGBESDE2i8MCIOjePW/s320/IMG_1298.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369998149064028818" /></a>I spent some time updating blog posts in the fantastic town library. Aaron and Saz made it into town and also came to library to update their <a href="http://bikingbernsteins.blogspot.com/">blog</a>. We then talked about how it takes as much effort to keep a blog going then it is to keep biking. After sitting for hours infront of a computer, I felt really irritable and needed to relax. So I headed to a nice little pub/restaurant with the Chrisses and took in some more biking fuel. There were so many attractive young people all around and it really felt like I was back home. Sadly, we had to leave this place in the morning and so we headed back to our tents.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRt0lTEnRSJWQPg_g7wI3dhkTV05xZ9zMuuDU3j1iXmorrZJIQ9ycHI6DzjJf32ZyK-ITwWxa0pluOo-Y0SdcRbK9WkWVrqdAgT87V8V0TI12_RQltww5-YHu2OedZrgAF2L2pK4CyO8Qp/s1600-h/IMG_1304.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRt0lTEnRSJWQPg_g7wI3dhkTV05xZ9zMuuDU3j1iXmorrZJIQ9ycHI6DzjJf32ZyK-ITwWxa0pluOo-Y0SdcRbK9WkWVrqdAgT87V8V0TI12_RQltww5-YHu2OedZrgAF2L2pK4CyO8Qp/s320/IMG_1304.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369993903406261250" /></a>When we arrived back to our tents, we found a new community of tents that popped up within a few hours. Hiding in one of these tents was Matt, a Manchester fellow that rode along with the Chrisses through Kansas. We also saw the Bernstein siblings, who had to share a small tent because Saz somehow lost her tent poles! There was a softball game at play in the adjacent field, but it ended early and now it's time for sleep. Let's see if these new warm-pants do what they're advertised to do!</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyx5Th4gWCbFvlhlkaqMaY6tiCCrFs0OvMTaEu3wmyx_zL92QwLmBLA5_Yy2aRWXreiBWxt4Bkt4Vsf8sB0fj49y6d7T5xyLDwxGFmuCrHJsLW2s_74bfzrjb9pu0uGwKorUZ0fptEfQua/s1600-h/IMG_1307.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyx5Th4gWCbFvlhlkaqMaY6tiCCrFs0OvMTaEu3wmyx_zL92QwLmBLA5_Yy2aRWXreiBWxt4Bkt4Vsf8sB0fj49y6d7T5xyLDwxGFmuCrHJsLW2s_74bfzrjb9pu0uGwKorUZ0fptEfQua/s320/IMG_1307.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369993017424470898" /></a><div><br /></div></div></div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-21801251088804512762009-08-10T21:44:00.022-04:002009-08-11T20:56:40.508-04:00Day 41: Saratoga, WY to Jeffrey City, WY (110 Miles)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiIpnuxY4IkuJ9IxBvvYEy6xiQa4EiBNuc77qfuDpd6L_zlh_PRTTemUQ0l9yiONRZbpzXQYvTVTSHKFbG92T-7xOrRZMJ9AXQY9Eg3mMZD681utfmOP7AjAfwJNC8C0ROSAkeQeiUpgjU/s1600-h/IMG_1246.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiIpnuxY4IkuJ9IxBvvYEy6xiQa4EiBNuc77qfuDpd6L_zlh_PRTTemUQ0l9yiONRZbpzXQYvTVTSHKFbG92T-7xOrRZMJ9AXQY9Eg3mMZD681utfmOP7AjAfwJNC8C0ROSAkeQeiUpgjU/s320/IMG_1246.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368817385583507570" /></a><div>I woke up this morning with a cloud of ambiguity hanging over my head. Normally, I'd have a plan devised for rest stops and final destinations. Conversely, I had no plan for today and decided I would just ride until I got tired. I got out of the room by 7:30 and rode North towards US Interstate 80. I actually had a slight tailwind during the first 20 miles or so; however, it was so subtle (10mph) that it did not affect me as much as I would like... yet it still felt very nice. I kept looking back to see if the lads were following me, but I did not see them at all today...</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6THTJ3fiO3p4-WleBzF0NXAoLS4225suZZnFBq77ZQqB0AJ5GDH0fZ4f8mY0GP4g6owW3WMwhw4flj7bvPixfyBR6MBX9mtbMF-SsRhbTfvKVT5EwHQXNBTg4xpCnyXhqaNv_yBC9Y1NK/s1600-h/IMG_1228.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6THTJ3fiO3p4-WleBzF0NXAoLS4225suZZnFBq77ZQqB0AJ5GDH0fZ4f8mY0GP4g6owW3WMwhw4flj7bvPixfyBR6MBX9mtbMF-SsRhbTfvKVT5EwHQXNBTg4xpCnyXhqaNv_yBC9Y1NK/s320/IMG_1228.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368816572240161746" /></a>I arrived to Walcott, a town of 30 people, and purchased some chocolate milk and other snacks for the road. I rode onto Interstate 80 to find a decent shoulder. But within miles, the shoulder began to disappear due to road work taking place. The road turned into a nasty grooved pavement and soon became unbearable to ride on. I also noticed that the directional cones were getting uncomfortably close to the shoulder, making it virtually non-existent. I saw an opportunity to dart across the lane and ask a road maintenance worker what to do and he recommended walking over to the Eastbound double lane highway and ride on the freshly paved, blocked off lane. I did this and it saved me a lot of time and effort and, quite possibly, my life.<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Q24BWDdYntHZFpFOH2iIm4k6ALiBb43PG0ACrMCez1Ha8pGWh0nPFQhlf14MV5FMWPBrLDhYWwwumMW-OFL6_iLMxvzRxfHQEwxzzYxRYp2s4ZjPZpg7ZCO1Br7mGnVsEigdhBSF8vPb/s1600-h/IMG_1229.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Q24BWDdYntHZFpFOH2iIm4k6ALiBb43PG0ACrMCez1Ha8pGWh0nPFQhlf14MV5FMWPBrLDhYWwwumMW-OFL6_iLMxvzRxfHQEwxzzYxRYp2s4ZjPZpg7ZCO1Br7mGnVsEigdhBSF8vPb/s320/IMG_1229.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368816017513807426" /></a>After receiving awkward “<i>Umm,</i> <i>are you sure you're supposed to be riding there, buddy?</i>”-type looks from oncoming traffic, I sprinted across the highway again to get off at Sinclair, an armpit of an industrial town. I stopped in at a highway diner and ate a late breakfast. The waitress was very nice and talkative, and was almost taken back with my “polite” disposition. Apparently, the people of Wyoming are not very cordial or friendly, at least this is coming from the nice waitress lady. Yesterday's interaction with the disgruntled pickup truck driver can only support her hypothesis.<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh94-a5NkIbi98bj7y-MCu0G36RziaknZn4fgLmb6TdrydPM_vrrVZQqShMmosgYtO3KBIESHPxtoz-HdtfpT6P7cc51hHnMSL-ZBF52qCY5NOx1NsOeWw8uEkfnX7h9EtGRM0GxpFarQ5-/s1600-h/IMG_1231.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh94-a5NkIbi98bj7y-MCu0G36RziaknZn4fgLmb6TdrydPM_vrrVZQqShMmosgYtO3KBIESHPxtoz-HdtfpT6P7cc51hHnMSL-ZBF52qCY5NOx1NsOeWw8uEkfnX7h9EtGRM0GxpFarQ5-/s320/IMG_1231.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368814874437604498" /></a>I waited around a little bit with the expectation to see three smelly Brits pull into the parking lot, but this never came to fruition. Therefore, I set off again and rode toward Rawlins. The wind, of course, was daunting and kept fighting me the entire time. I entered town a little before noon and looked for the nearest bike shop. I received directions from a few locals, but I couldn't find the place. I even tried calling and the phone kept ringing. Realizing I'd have to true my tires myself within a few days, I decided to save the cash/headache and ride on to Lamont for a late lunch.<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijNZH5njnMFEtC-X0EvwG-ZdYHNCY2dTG5FCgD71RyUaGmO14hlG0RoRGhKFq2tQ4zfjbk_3VYGGi4sPwek1coSI6Y0h6cRifCuhAIVkXSsN8xdYHMHR617jt9BIXoD2JUCn2PnCCkTlvw/s1600-h/IMG_1250.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijNZH5njnMFEtC-X0EvwG-ZdYHNCY2dTG5FCgD71RyUaGmO14hlG0RoRGhKFq2tQ4zfjbk_3VYGGi4sPwek1coSI6Y0h6cRifCuhAIVkXSsN8xdYHMHR617jt9BIXoD2JUCn2PnCCkTlvw/s320/IMG_1250.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368814408943115154" /></a>When I arrived into Lamont, I found absolutely nothing... just abandoned buildings and tumbleweed. Realizing I'd just have to snack it for the rest of the day, I chowed down on some granola and beef jerky as I rode against the wind. I eventually came to a small shop at the “Muddy Gap Junction.” I bought some water, Gatorade, and a snack. I then sat down in the shade and was greeted by a man falling out of his van. His name was Kieth. He's originally from Florida, but, unlike most retired people, he left Florida in favor of exploration and adventure. He first bought a sailboat and sailed around the Gulf of Mexico. After getting bored of that, Kieth bought a van and hit the road with his old dog (“The only thing my wife left me!”). We chatted a bit about politics and how Kieth thinks we're all turning into crazy Pinko's.. thus, I decided to leave, knowing full well that I didn't have the energy/patience to engage in a serious conversation about politics.<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb2BnrlWOk8xMUR5-skkBZiBRUqmPGoqKPPllQUEMKZDdJ1G4ehkOdCzbxpDwA5Cms2qk0JJkrXjx0GgcIjLH316qYiHhcWYuAd_przFVZTBvwG85GsPGihO7Mo6WNJyRCPkCQ771YGfqj/s1600-h/IMG_1253.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb2BnrlWOk8xMUR5-skkBZiBRUqmPGoqKPPllQUEMKZDdJ1G4ehkOdCzbxpDwA5Cms2qk0JJkrXjx0GgcIjLH316qYiHhcWYuAd_przFVZTBvwG85GsPGihO7Mo6WNJyRCPkCQ771YGfqj/s320/IMG_1253.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368813851769022530" /></a>Looking at the map, then the sun, then the map... I realized my final destination of the day would be Jeffrey City. Now, let me preface my description of this town with a few stories. I read once that a rider saw a drugged out individual set his roof on fire. I also heard from a nice couple that they saw a bloody bar fight in the local saloon. I also read that there's only 100 people living there now, when it once was a booming uranium mining town. There were a lot more cautionary tales of this town, but I'll just tell my anecdotal account: When I pulled into this “town,” or a series of unkempt buildings, I first noticed the motel. Thinking it to be abandoned, I biked up to a man. It turns out he's the owner... and he's got the mouth of a sailor. He said he might have one “clean F'ing room, but they might've not have F'ing cleaned it.” We found that this room wasn't cleaned, but only one bed had been slept in and one towel had been used. He offered the room to me for 20 bucks, “take it or F'ing leave it!”.. and I reluctantly obliged.<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJKpiStJLziy4eaR0bL_TQhYuTnBniOsJZr74pLgJ24GMb4Z1KLDwFGbTsaIJ_Sqf_eHTIkHKjeSXTSDkKFphw5eY5IbzAqJCG4qa94uWTbrnDzn9stUtDsPkkMs50Yx96rL6g3D5njOXp/s1600-h/IMG_1255.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJKpiStJLziy4eaR0bL_TQhYuTnBniOsJZr74pLgJ24GMb4Z1KLDwFGbTsaIJ_Sqf_eHTIkHKjeSXTSDkKFphw5eY5IbzAqJCG4qa94uWTbrnDzn9stUtDsPkkMs50Yx96rL6g3D5njOXp/s320/IMG_1255.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368813351120526866" /></a>I wish I hadn't though, because the room is barely worth five dollars and then I later found Chris and Chris at the local bar/diner. There were chatting with two other Westbounders, a brother and sister from New York.. I believe their names were Aaron and "Shaz." They're going to camp outside some local “artist” workshop, where the “artist” said they could light a fire and get “mad high, man and do some things, ya know?” I'm beginning to think this is the guy who set his own roof on fire... Come to think of it, it was exactly then when I noticed that the town's inhabitants looked oddly familiar and then I realized they reminded me of Tom Hank's neighbors in the classic 1989 horror/comedy entitled "The 'Burbs." -Quite fitting, really.<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHi6QYnIC15u5dPJrSwntHueAgoFJZxNhPu8DUF1MkUcDpud4ALz_MQdZMJETyEAhzvDKlMboakwS5Jk0WBm5bGxP2vawzLj32v9EAo85gGL6iwTxdjgWiFEQyLCbHoValIS7Cm3trL1l-/s1600-h/IMG_1262.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHi6QYnIC15u5dPJrSwntHueAgoFJZxNhPu8DUF1MkUcDpud4ALz_MQdZMJETyEAhzvDKlMboakwS5Jk0WBm5bGxP2vawzLj32v9EAo85gGL6iwTxdjgWiFEQyLCbHoValIS7Cm3trL1l-/s320/IMG_1262.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368812606851378802" /></a>I sat down to chat with them and I asked the lady at the bar if they served food. She moaned... waited a minute and said “it's kind of late.” I looked at the clock and said, “Oh, it's only seven o'clock.” She then let out a large sigh and said “Ok.. all we got is burgers, you want one?” I nodded and proceeded to chat more with my fellow riders. I was then treated with the worst meal of my trip, but I didn't mind. I might be in the middle of the craziest town of America... but these fellow riders are sure to keep me sane. Good night and, please oh please, "don't let the bed bugs bite!”<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTx8T_dx0g45Em-xGKvxTHJDp9vpXYm-RXf47bAK8vybxESFWf3S1VTT1T6R7XqOrmVk_5INE7bZYX2eYm8v_2aAHpYyf7kJbEvKHQFEO5xm4czYjRH_vAk-OAjE9yUXXnsiEfYWXn6Gr6/s1600-h/IMG_1265.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTx8T_dx0g45Em-xGKvxTHJDp9vpXYm-RXf47bAK8vybxESFWf3S1VTT1T6R7XqOrmVk_5INE7bZYX2eYm8v_2aAHpYyf7kJbEvKHQFEO5xm4czYjRH_vAk-OAjE9yUXXnsiEfYWXn6Gr6/s320/IMG_1265.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368812100916835282" /></a></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-64592842984634651212009-08-09T22:02:00.001-04:002009-08-11T21:01:35.285-04:00Day 40: Walden, CO to Saratoga, WY (68 Miles)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVnKRFiWyisdyV1Ij6NtbTOfpzjXA1-JiHVJ5AIIs9YAhbXtbcBMmDTma-8UAoJT7XxAEg2tsa-pmbjPw9EQvGqdxmBiZCBWfIvI-sbwxN0HLcgCX6YOIC0qanmBEdq3bkLMbvELJ5auJK/s1600-h/IMG_1204.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVnKRFiWyisdyV1Ij6NtbTOfpzjXA1-JiHVJ5AIIs9YAhbXtbcBMmDTma-8UAoJT7XxAEg2tsa-pmbjPw9EQvGqdxmBiZCBWfIvI-sbwxN0HLcgCX6YOIC0qanmBEdq3bkLMbvELJ5auJK/s320/IMG_1204.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368166174146977954" /></a>This is not Henry David Thoreau's Walden. It's quite the unnatural human construct... a blip of civilization appearing in the midst of barren wilderness. I didn't hear any coyotes or wolves singing their primal howls, but I did have the privilege of listening to a small dog bark throughout the night. Feeling groggy, I coaxed the lads to wake up and get moving. We decided we needed breakfast in town, due to little-to-no services for the next 50 miles or so. We ate some more diner eggs and toast. I'm actually getting tired of eating. I can barely stomach diner food anymore and I long for the day I can return to my strict diet of spinach wraps and burritos...<br /><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9fmM9_HWPmJFYuzJNbVs02RNJ_ShE2QA8ly_u3uAjLYUOqpZc__PNrL9Mr29PTGo1YGqriYdYOQO2z6QK-39BWw1Wq1Pe8lCaL1g-ZHmzJvMug21GzHWt9b_ngEmNLGUy7hIe_aG6xGPd/s1600-h/IMG_1208.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9fmM9_HWPmJFYuzJNbVs02RNJ_ShE2QA8ly_u3uAjLYUOqpZc__PNrL9Mr29PTGo1YGqriYdYOQO2z6QK-39BWw1Wq1Pe8lCaL1g-ZHmzJvMug21GzHWt9b_ngEmNLGUy7hIe_aG6xGPd/s320/IMG_1208.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368162865648425314" /></a>We made it to the Wyoming border without viewing one moose, in spite of what many Eastbounders informed us. The only moose I glimpsed was the large plastic monstrosity hanging out on Main Street in Walden. Dowds won the sprint to the border, continuing his perfect record. We met Chris & Chris there and they took a few photos of us and took off. The moment we rode into Wyoming, a horribly strong headwind kicked in full force. The sign in the photo should say "Welcome to Windy Wyoming." I've heard stories about Wyoming's winds and for just reasons. It actually took a lot of effort to ride downhill. As I was riding into Riverside for lunch, I was honked at by a fat man in a red pickup truck. He then sheepishly flipped me the middle finger. "Welcome to Windy, Unfriendly Wyoming."</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM16n5tYJ7OiBDJeV0bevONyUWxjLz3R7aBDKQwCEhMk_pd14BkW1VwB_6zXMKYiNF2C1prNhh88StwH49oDGV77WVJnQ2AED5hf3xEa4RMShnSFTqN0xkCYh9A4TtfAFLIZyFl4tR03hU/s1600-h/IMG_1222.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM16n5tYJ7OiBDJeV0bevONyUWxjLz3R7aBDKQwCEhMk_pd14BkW1VwB_6zXMKYiNF2C1prNhh88StwH49oDGV77WVJnQ2AED5hf3xEa4RMShnSFTqN0xkCYh9A4TtfAFLIZyFl4tR03hU/s320/IMG_1222.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368161782859483218" /></a>With powerful winds fighting us all day, we chain-ganged it for another 30 miles and called it quits in the town of Saratoga. Where, unlike the resort-like Hot Sulphur Springs, had a natural and FREE hot spring. It flowed into a nearby river and mixed well for comfortable soaking. We relaxed there for a bit and said our goodbyes to the Chrisses, who were riding an extra 30 miles out of town. We later rode around and found a laundromat. No longer smelling like wet dogs, we found a place for dinner. Callum got another flat and he fixed it while we were enjoying ice cream at a small shop. The shop was run by a sweet Italian lady and I shared with her my stories from my summer semester in Rome. She was very nice and enjoyable to chat with.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8okoIOd_kr__MKr0j14jsgFUA3ymaNV3WCsiFf26MCcTHgaKy-xrRvT19qRqmTw91o8wiosEIAq8zlLVHHyXNzIkryx8JZlZVlqRToo0yHPq7ZMSTRqeus9Je9HJ-LXY6MD86uRGHYq3/s1600-h/IMG_1221.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8okoIOd_kr__MKr0j14jsgFUA3ymaNV3WCsiFf26MCcTHgaKy-xrRvT19qRqmTw91o8wiosEIAq8zlLVHHyXNzIkryx8JZlZVlqRToo0yHPq7ZMSTRqeus9Je9HJ-LXY6MD86uRGHYq3/s320/IMG_1221.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368159202982032834" /></a>Still feeling tired from a night of non-sleep, I decided to leave the shop early and set up my tent near the river. I stopped at convenient store and began chatting with a girl sitting outside and smoking a cigarrete. I told her what I was doing (riding my bike a lot) and she told me she's the daughter of the motel owner across the street. She then told me she could get me a "sick deal" and I followed along with her. In spite of her nasty smoking habits, she was pretty cute... so I kept tagging along. Before I knew it, I was in a room and calling the guys to tell them of my good luck. Sadly, the room was too small for a sneak in and I told them I'd see them tomorrow. I'm sure they won't mind, especially considering that they're camping outside a beautiful, natural hot spring.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2kaW-7QITGVB0hd_XoPUuirTRnrqoH7itdDCBWdRRXAH6czo7-v9oH7G4BZIaZ7AHsz4qJl3_mvfkKwoOx1YJt9MGRdpFi6MEdXzxFTqpxbMUhsFR0PQvIKt5GiabKqKe4GREvEOZyIQB/s1600-h/IMG_1223.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2kaW-7QITGVB0hd_XoPUuirTRnrqoH7itdDCBWdRRXAH6czo7-v9oH7G4BZIaZ7AHsz4qJl3_mvfkKwoOx1YJt9MGRdpFi6MEdXzxFTqpxbMUhsFR0PQvIKt5GiabKqKe4GREvEOZyIQB/s320/IMG_1223.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368156333113097634" /></a><br /></div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-56028552573791181592009-08-08T22:57:00.022-04:002009-08-09T09:22:24.200-04:00Day 39: Hot Sulphur Springs, CO to Walden, CO (62 Miles)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg3ipasRYorZC4KqnSeaUkYzmw6pa5K-tFubylgkmpvSg6ltOXqXa-2RZdG9wFxabjnc-YWKm4C-TQNyseCrpYaQe_t7uosx-N_ygpcoHwacT6sJNc6WlqfoCXY9KtPggtcnYUk8lprPmq/s1600-h/IMG_1170.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg3ipasRYorZC4KqnSeaUkYzmw6pa5K-tFubylgkmpvSg6ltOXqXa-2RZdG9wFxabjnc-YWKm4C-TQNyseCrpYaQe_t7uosx-N_ygpcoHwacT6sJNc6WlqfoCXY9KtPggtcnYUk8lprPmq/s320/IMG_1170.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367798835074451794" /></a>It got cold last night... very, very cold. I woke up often to find myself shaking and my visible breath denoted that I needed warmer sleeping gear. I had exchanged my Kelty 20 degree down "mummy" bag for Jonathan's lighter bag in favor of weight, but I had no clue it would get into the 30's anywhere in August. Feeling industrious, I quickly ran out to grab more clothes from my front pannier and fashioned makeshift trousers using extra underwear, shirts, and socks. This kept me warm enough to sleep through the morning. The lads needed to wait for 9:00AM, so that Callum could recieve a package containing his entire identity (that he somehow left back before Guffey) and I was glad to sleep in as well, especially considering how inconsistent my sleep was during the cold night...<br /><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4nm1QDSn5ZEeBYxmit0kZaH7rVD4_Fn4T1wdc8czGNRf57AbtY9ofgOTbBWktnaiEdBK3BCcVqj5X_Z-ntLjgy4S14a_Nytg3hgJVYwANKTw3gSJb6HnpFLXJ79_T8KzLrd0-EklePBFc/s1600-h/IMG_1176.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4nm1QDSn5ZEeBYxmit0kZaH7rVD4_Fn4T1wdc8czGNRf57AbtY9ofgOTbBWktnaiEdBK3BCcVqj5X_Z-ntLjgy4S14a_Nytg3hgJVYwANKTw3gSJb6HnpFLXJ79_T8KzLrd0-EklePBFc/s320/IMG_1176.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367797241767598802" /></a>We broke camp a little before 9:00AM and rode down the dirt path to find the local post office. Much to Callum's disappointment, the package had not arrived. I left them to figure out what to do and headed back to last night's diner for breakfast. I scarfed down some french toast and eggs and went to pay for my breakfast, hoping to get an early start before the guys. However, my card had apparently been blocked and was not working. Thinking it to be a simple glitch, I paid in cash and rode down to the next gas station to try out my card there. After attempting to buy some water and a Payday, my card was still getting rejected. Next, I tried the ATM... rejected! I then spent a good half hour on the gas station lady's phone with Bank of America, trying to figure out the problem. They said it should work and I hung up to promptly find my card still rejected. Realizing this was too much of a headache to deal with before a day's ride, I called Sands (aka "The Best Damn Dad on the Planet!") and informed him of my situation. He said he would call them back and try to fix the problem... a big problem, considering I only had about 20 dollars in cash and I couldn't access any money from my account. I didn't have cellphone reception anywhere in the mountains, so I decided I would try my card at the next store I could find...</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5pLnT8LIqrpJVV2sWIm-pKkNGw2nYxkqWVwuoN4_AS1dUhn_tEXinsoo1Yah0oKZDRki6QCqX2OFBgU1OfYCdFBddsHXHLMBauOBJ2EalQP_gb82bDTOlvDGLR3Aq32MXpT2HNnIuZNgW/s1600-h/IMG_1177.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5pLnT8LIqrpJVV2sWIm-pKkNGw2nYxkqWVwuoN4_AS1dUhn_tEXinsoo1Yah0oKZDRki6QCqX2OFBgU1OfYCdFBddsHXHLMBauOBJ2EalQP_gb82bDTOlvDGLR3Aq32MXpT2HNnIuZNgW/s320/IMG_1177.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367796539409892722" /></a>Setting off, I began my long ascent up to Willow Creek Pass. As I was huffing and puffing up the mountain, I bumped into Rob, a weekend rider from Denver. Rob shared with me information about sites to see in Wyoming and Montana and let me draft off him as well. With well wishes, he then pressed on ahead of me towards the summit and I lost sight of him within moments. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBzSlUvs-gUM79U-xSO6KHRBe4KgLEuIKlAztZrE1PIUm0w8YM3glEvZ58kkil4xiJgrLN_aRps0wNvO8sWXsw-TADJBhI1_QznbtF7uaV2ItdzLgq48jW3SnAWx-nJezfF4t7OnKpJgfZ/s1600-h/IMG_1179.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBzSlUvs-gUM79U-xSO6KHRBe4KgLEuIKlAztZrE1PIUm0w8YM3glEvZ58kkil4xiJgrLN_aRps0wNvO8sWXsw-TADJBhI1_QznbtF7uaV2ItdzLgq48jW3SnAWx-nJezfF4t7OnKpJgfZ/s320/IMG_1179.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367796005786841970" /></a>The climb up to the pass felt great. I could definitely feel my muscles have gotten stronger and my stamina has increased dramatically. Thinking I would wait on top of the pass for the lads, I started to hear some panting/grunting coming from behind me. I looked back to find Callum pressing upward with great ferocity, then followed by Chris. We met Dowds at the top and posed for a few pictures. There wasn't a great view from the top, but the promise of a thrilling 14 mile downhill ride into Rand was pleasant enough for us.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyR8_xf1B6QtknJ1ohohMBJPsLLwIx1yqHPSehk4PtCxl-FfdhN3bl1dY3JpoVD_ud-DQeHfhgfTE-JLfCa-QkUiEL4jXRxj-5Yrt9SmyNs-hicR-o332_URlG4VXZuFYJyKBJfm2pf4kq/s1600-h/IMG_1188.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyR8_xf1B6QtknJ1ohohMBJPsLLwIx1yqHPSehk4PtCxl-FfdhN3bl1dY3JpoVD_ud-DQeHfhgfTE-JLfCa-QkUiEL4jXRxj-5Yrt9SmyNs-hicR-o332_URlG4VXZuFYJyKBJfm2pf4kq/s320/IMG_1188.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367795150132013442" /></a>After eating some snacks, we grabbed our cameras and began videotaping our descent. It's thrilling to ride down a mountain at 38mph, let alone with a camera in your hand. We stopped temporarily to meet a nice Dutch couple and they warned us with stories of Grizzlies in the Yellow Stone / Grand Teton area. This scared Callum a bit, considering he's mortified of crickets, let alone bears. Mountains temporarily defeated and footage taken, we were then greeted by an incredible crosswind that nearly blew me off my bike. There were signs saying "Warning: Powerful Wind Gusts Next 20 Miles".. and they weren't kidding. As we rode on past the Arapaho National Wildlife Refuge, we saw a large herd of buffalo grazing in a field. It was my first time seeing these large, impressive creatures.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwKYPLOKxT8vAD4qmEjFA5WkHNJau6AKwHOK6z1e-EcSkiLl-9eX5jFN-r4RVXxk30FaYkatHQHODD160so7VPAp3KJ8Wi6Vm97MR7DXl_uqxFB_GT-gKEBaTmZjHEQ8_bGDDsB1ZtGLa4/s1600-h/IMG_1194.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwKYPLOKxT8vAD4qmEjFA5WkHNJau6AKwHOK6z1e-EcSkiLl-9eX5jFN-r4RVXxk30FaYkatHQHODD160so7VPAp3KJ8Wi6Vm97MR7DXl_uqxFB_GT-gKEBaTmZjHEQ8_bGDDsB1ZtGLa4/s320/IMG_1194.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367794210409625074" /></a>We eventually called it a day in Walden, a non-descript "last stop" town before entering into Wyoming. After finding my card still not working, I finally got cell phone service and talked with another Bank of America lady for a good half hour. It turned out some "glitch" had removed my checking account from my card access and with a few clicks of a keyboard computer, it was fixed. With a slide of plastic and the printing of a receipt, I was no longer broke. I met the guys in the local park, but I was warned that it was going to be another cold night and that the park sprinklers go off at 3:00AM. Deciding it would be better to share a motel, we set off and found the cheapest of the lot. We ended the night with a big meal and journaling in the room. We've got another 50 mile stretch of nothing tomorrow morning, so I think we're going to catch breakfast again in town. Well, it's getting late and Chris wants to upload some <a href="http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=582684241698&ref=mf">funny video</a>. G'night.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh690ERvxxm1ErGi5VtRnsPCVhex95wXAr2LBF932KuUnjLuSdI5GXajOUG8IzKJnl9oWtB_hXuc37YV_Z5dJtWxhUhUDc_f6l5n0hqQjQ5WAlHH7GAy0qkk7lCpJKMXKioUb9ZW3ny31sy/s1600-h/IMG_1198.JPG"></a><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh690ERvxxm1ErGi5VtRnsPCVhex95wXAr2LBF932KuUnjLuSdI5GXajOUG8IzKJnl9oWtB_hXuc37YV_Z5dJtWxhUhUDc_f6l5n0hqQjQ5WAlHH7GAy0qkk7lCpJKMXKioUb9ZW3ny31sy/s1600-h/IMG_1198.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh690ERvxxm1ErGi5VtRnsPCVhex95wXAr2LBF932KuUnjLuSdI5GXajOUG8IzKJnl9oWtB_hXuc37YV_Z5dJtWxhUhUDc_f6l5n0hqQjQ5WAlHH7GAy0qkk7lCpJKMXKioUb9ZW3ny31sy/s320/IMG_1198.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367793532606983426" /></a><br /></div></div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1642062306737357910.post-2629005987658316632009-08-07T22:23:00.003-04:002009-08-09T08:48:55.840-04:00Day 38: Frisco, CO to Hot Sulphur Springs, CO (63.5 Miles)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCVF6quKLPz4athXw0Xk8CiagB-OIN4HnsHV0Ma5v__KkgAHnOg8nSYI6bLZPQj-4MqXtWxk8WatMz2BRel0rJjHfhp6Z-ujJI4x22TXxQI4Vriiiw8K07Mce8g3zZRwCKjNk4VWNXUXOO/s1600-h/IMG_1119.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCVF6quKLPz4athXw0Xk8CiagB-OIN4HnsHV0Ma5v__KkgAHnOg8nSYI6bLZPQj-4MqXtWxk8WatMz2BRel0rJjHfhp6Z-ujJI4x22TXxQI4Vriiiw8K07Mce8g3zZRwCKjNk4VWNXUXOO/s320/IMG_1119.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367746912285228306" /></a>I started late again today. I was on the road by 8:30 or as the Brits would say "half eight." The morning held the most delightful riding experience of my journey thus far. I rejoined the bike path and headed North towards Silverthorne and was treated with spectacular views complimented by beautiful weather. The path was a little confusing to follow and the Adventure Cycling maps do a semi-adequate job of explaining where to go. Luckily, I ran into some locals that knew the path very well and they set me off on the right direction. Much like the previous day, everyone on the path were smiling and very hospitable.<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisOwFGqpGGAWfLhSgJOLM1JsVpnWAKlX_XYNAF4dpzNE4p08-x6vCdwQnQ6YJluCiVUTkVjtX-dzMIrtAY4nDPH7N10Zzy4_9WVtzwoVJ8mtQCvfD6Wm4D6NKeiS_lVL6eq47TW5PMrTaR/s1600-h/IMG_1124.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisOwFGqpGGAWfLhSgJOLM1JsVpnWAKlX_XYNAF4dpzNE4p08-x6vCdwQnQ6YJluCiVUTkVjtX-dzMIrtAY4nDPH7N10Zzy4_9WVtzwoVJ8mtQCvfD6Wm4D6NKeiS_lVL6eq47TW5PMrTaR/s320/IMG_1124.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367746479870898674" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">After a thrilling switchback climb down from the Dillon Reservoir, I found myself again in another bustling mountain town. I was a little turned around and finally discovered that the busy intersection around the gas stations was in fact route 9, the route I needed to follow. After grabbing a quick "brekkie," I began an effortless descent down the road next to the majestic and flowing Blue River. You know that you're in for an enjoyable ride when the adjacent river flows in the direction you're heading. As I was gaining momentum down the gradually declining hill, I came across this sign...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJP4wow2O2j-kJdG0iVemL1YT-qhdCVhLxMEUSVVHdnPRF9J-OpNrOxonaWUEG1aelZhjF7RukM_t5-4prnaD_dqiOgnzjlyh1RfFM53tdBqrswOxT6cmcUjV5I3aAEBjy3iP7dAZd5-Dh/s1600-h/IMG_1129.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJP4wow2O2j-kJdG0iVemL1YT-qhdCVhLxMEUSVVHdnPRF9J-OpNrOxonaWUEG1aelZhjF7RukM_t5-4prnaD_dqiOgnzjlyh1RfFM53tdBqrswOxT6cmcUjV5I3aAEBjy3iP7dAZd5-Dh/s320/IMG_1129.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367743697030082706" /></a>Apparently, a semi-truck had a nasty accident and they cleared off route 9; however, this turned out to be a mixed blessing for numerous reasons. For one, I was actually sent in the right direction according to my maps (that I would've easily overlooked) and made me follow Route 30 towards Heeney and the Green Mountain Dam. This was very scenic, albeit hilly, and was quite busy due to the detour. The downside to this path was that, somehow, I received my second puncture of the trip...</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIzXi3ahvLLkzsEfmDw8XcgCn6KJdKYhXKYEijcDlbRjSgqiMBG-O0Srt_y4YITX49kRzjtz8U4KPv-UP9DQX_C4YxtuWprSb74J0iPifzN8U2HhgIsUNQkfnyukSkirmq5_aY8o1zx2fF/s1600-h/IMG_1131.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIzXi3ahvLLkzsEfmDw8XcgCn6KJdKYhXKYEijcDlbRjSgqiMBG-O0Srt_y4YITX49kRzjtz8U4KPv-UP9DQX_C4YxtuWprSb74J0iPifzN8U2HhgIsUNQkfnyukSkirmq5_aY8o1zx2fF/s320/IMG_1131.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367743001383364098" /></a>After crossing the dam, I noticed I began to feel a bouncing sensation coming from my rear tire. I reluctantly stopped and checked the tire and found it to be losing pressure rather quickly. I pulled over to a dirt path and began weighing my options. The past attempt at replacing the rear inner tube led to much cursing and head aches outside of Hutchinson, KS. I looked ahead on the map and found that there was another bike shop in Kremmling, about 12 miles out from where I was. I decided to pump up the tire and ride it as far as I could. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV0SXYQFiTQxvdqco1xkCwqO_s5VhQc9i8t59z4VUSFAenLrpSPsrI2Ro4ZDVJGgi1KZ3NU3CXHGTW9VgLBNSmRucjg4TqfYQ0uCoBqskaH_k5WOUE9BFyArYx0P-o2U9XMr_nIRz2qDVs/s1600-h/IMG_1139.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV0SXYQFiTQxvdqco1xkCwqO_s5VhQc9i8t59z4VUSFAenLrpSPsrI2Ro4ZDVJGgi1KZ3NU3CXHGTW9VgLBNSmRucjg4TqfYQ0uCoBqskaH_k5WOUE9BFyArYx0P-o2U9XMr_nIRz2qDVs/s320/IMG_1139.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367742488072879810" /></a>It only took a couple of pump breaks to make it into town. It was there where I found a nice little shop, run by a really personable owner and his dog, Bopper. (See Photos Below). In place of pain and effort, I just relaxed with a fun little pup and let the owner of the shop have the privelage of replacing the tube. Even he, the expert, took about 20 minutes to properly replace the stubborn thing and then he asked for 5 dollars. It was the best 5 bucks I've ever spent.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiRfirBAfkiUPGHsGdjvDo996OvSnZeOlTu_RKWwddfWQ2hn_rbflcFkcQHzv4p4l4cP1XAd0xNBybVHctmoN0_8Po21hlpFaXLzbY3HyuoI80RN5vNg9_vEZWuUDSuYZUZMSbVuPeOmhe/s1600-h/IMG_1140.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiRfirBAfkiUPGHsGdjvDo996OvSnZeOlTu_RKWwddfWQ2hn_rbflcFkcQHzv4p4l4cP1XAd0xNBybVHctmoN0_8Po21hlpFaXLzbY3HyuoI80RN5vNg9_vEZWuUDSuYZUZMSbVuPeOmhe/s320/IMG_1140.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367741982814886002" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhofmqtqV6y_TaO5XFWL9Bp514IXTTk-R4_zLu1mXmgqxdflNtHXR2848YzgN20YiugBfNP00qQJkPlNkhIWCjXb1aC8-eUQLpyY3Oq3if-Jze7nFaN54h2vJqi01Izh2RJnb6nI60PiYK5/s1600-h/IMG_1141.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhofmqtqV6y_TaO5XFWL9Bp514IXTTk-R4_zLu1mXmgqxdflNtHXR2848YzgN20YiugBfNP00qQJkPlNkhIWCjXb1aC8-eUQLpyY3Oq3if-Jze7nFaN54h2vJqi01Izh2RJnb6nI60PiYK5/s320/IMG_1141.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367741656493796882" /></a>After having lunch in Kremmling, I only had 17 miles to get to my final destination. It went quicker than expected due to a pleasant tail wind (the irony of this is that I was heading East towards Hot Sulphur Springs). I've heard stories noting that heading West would not necessarily put me into the wind, but I'd beg to differ! In any case, I traversed a gorgeous canyon that led into town. I arrived shortly after lunch and had a lot of time to spend. I pitched my tent off a dirt road about a half mile towards the river and rode around the town looking for water. According to the locals, the water source has been contaminated, therefore water is sold by the gallon at most shops. I bought some water, checked some emails, played with some dogs, and caught an early dinner.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOXpj6drPsmfsNdX4KEFNHSKUqgp1DYLQyq-KSbMvgJMi-KmdVGS-lvMzlt-2k7obpP0q4JLmRc5tLzP7-_WCMJm-Qa5p6CyxuE0eaQr8TX8yyGChKNAO-69_osR7DDz-WPMBQUIpni3Pj/s1600-h/IMG_1160.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOXpj6drPsmfsNdX4KEFNHSKUqgp1DYLQyq-KSbMvgJMi-KmdVGS-lvMzlt-2k7obpP0q4JLmRc5tLzP7-_WCMJm-Qa5p6CyxuE0eaQr8TX8yyGChKNAO-69_osR7DDz-WPMBQUIpni3Pj/s320/IMG_1160.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367741033136056386" /></a>As I was enjoying my taco salad, Chris and Chris knocked on the window next to my table. It was great to see them, which I hadn't since Carbondale, IL. We chatted and hung outside a local shop and shared some stories and drinks. It was then when Callum, Chris, and Dowds showed up in all their smelly glory. It felt like a reunion. We hung out for a bit and I followed them to another diner for some free water and conversation. I took off early to leave them with their food and headed over to the "Hot Sulphur Springs," a series of pools the town was virtually built around. The natural springs heat up pools of water (that smell of rotten eggs) and are very therapeutic.. the springs were originally utilized for medicinal purposes. I soaked in these hot springs and were later joined by the lads. It was nice; however, the springs were less "natural" than I expected and there were a lot of annoying elderly couples commenting on how "faaaabulous" one spa was in comparison to another... but it was well worth the 11 dollars I'd spent. Chris and Chris opted for an early night and I hope to meet up with them in the next town on the map.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitTMuAzT5cXs1mw8DoYm-VYN6O0-ZACq22VpV2pnCZGqNwGWzoRfeIcpWO3nAQTyn5HGaY1LfvD11lt378dKMWo3IDWwYybs9U3eCnJSTlDSizCVCpkb2zkaz_KMBH841lyHUjNyoV9p7_/s1600-h/IMG_1164.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitTMuAzT5cXs1mw8DoYm-VYN6O0-ZACq22VpV2pnCZGqNwGWzoRfeIcpWO3nAQTyn5HGaY1LfvD11lt378dKMWo3IDWwYybs9U3eCnJSTlDSizCVCpkb2zkaz_KMBH841lyHUjNyoV9p7_/s320/IMG_1164.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367740755936201474" /></a>Feeling refreshed, I utilized my headlamp and rode back to my tent. The guys later joined me and set up their tents in very close proximity to mine. Apparently, setting up a tent in the dark is not the best idea due to Callum's bemoaning the slant of rocks and twigs he was trying to lay on. It's going to be a cold night and I don't have any trousers/slacks. I've heard people saying it will get into the 30's and I'm hoping that my non-3-seasons tent will hold in some warmth through the night. I can't believe it's August!</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjAeyOTxuk0k0dLeCMHjFZYQyYoYI5K2FV-nGJ3PXZnkjmgdHyvuVwZc2M87_h8MmLppUm0MJF1eaA_dQo0aSe7zFPjU-_3y1irJ8Y9hBRUcXyNOjQKJE1KCjlFYfWa6rJXieSC5wFBMpz/s1600-h/IMG_1167.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjAeyOTxuk0k0dLeCMHjFZYQyYoYI5K2FV-nGJ3PXZnkjmgdHyvuVwZc2M87_h8MmLppUm0MJF1eaA_dQo0aSe7zFPjU-_3y1irJ8Y9hBRUcXyNOjQKJE1KCjlFYfWa6rJXieSC5wFBMpz/s320/IMG_1167.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367740379433229586" /></a><br /></div>Blake Marshallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14185184720892319597noreply@blogger.com2