Blog Contest

Dear friends,

With an article about this bycicle adventure (in Dutch, sorry for my English speaking friends), I am nominated for a blogging-contest. Please help me win and click the link below http://www.damespraatjes.nl/2014/genomineerden-blogwedstrijd-lef-zijn-bekend
and then the blank next to my name (costs 2 seconds of your time). Forever grateful!

Love,

Fien

Reflection

So in the end, you just get on a plain, put your bike together, start pedaling and deal with whatever happens when it happens. Sometimes you loose yourself in the highs, other times you desperately look for a way out when you're crying and want to go home, 3 days into the trip. There is no way to foresee these happenings.

8368 kilometers or 5200 miles I bycicled through swamps, deserts, mountains, icy areas, urban and desolated fields. I can't help but feel a tide rip of nostalgia wash far off and tremendously close by faded and fresh memories on newly discovered shores. Places I didn't know the existence off, inside and out, opened up to me, showed me their passion, beauty and uniqueness.
I found myself surprised, intrigued, ecstatic, sad, loved, out of breath and cracked open in a smile. Talking to people, strangers, friends, fauna, landscapes and to myself.

This journey through time, I escalated on a different dimension, on a counter-cultural wave. Traveling slow, nomadic, I got lifted and carried away, cared for and consorted. Homeless, I don't think so. Not all those who wonder are lost (J.R.R. Tolkien).  

Cycling for 1000s of miles, I found in myself a bundle of cheer and joy, a lust for life. And when I let my thoughts absentmindedly hover over the widespread ocean, I wonder why it is I don't feel more excitement on this final float to end-destination. But a sudden stir and single tear of elation make me realize I'm not done yet. This is not the end but merely the beginning of a life on a journey in search of a story. In the end, it's not the years of your life that count, but the life in your years (A. Lincoln).

It was a pleasure sharing my adventures, encounters, lessons and beliefs with you. Maybe we'll meet again, but for now it is Adieu. 

Love,
Fien 

Vancouver

Closure

The final days of this already epic bike-tour I spend in Ocean-area. The Bosporus-feeling was right on. I was surprised how much Seattle's waterfront reminded me of my Istanbul days. The harbor market on the other side was very much like so many I've strolled through backpacking in South-East Asia. It's funny how big and diverse the world is but then again in a remarkable way kinda all the same. Globalization, where?

Then at last the final, real, day of cycling to the San Juan Islands. It was absolutely astonishing scenic beauty. In downtown Seattle I hopped on a ferry as to avoid in- and outgoing traffic and not so appetizing Seattle-suburb-surroundings. So this day started off with a nice view off the Seattle skyline.

Cycling on the islands is a treat. They are lush green, come with entertaining ocean views, have nice not too trafficked roads and put just enough challenge to the pedal with rolling hills. Blue herons roam the shores, sailboats peacefully float around and all this is wrapped up in a subtle fishy whiff. They even come with a tailwind. What’s not to love?! While I lazily moseyed on, there was not one moment in which it clearly got to me this really was the end of it all.

On San Juan, the biggest and most populated of the San Juan Islands, I met Louis and Sprocket again. He’s working there and living the paradise life. Four full amazing days I hung around, biked around, and my favorite: whale-spotted around. I joined in some of the 4^th of July-madness. Growing up in we-have-some-national-identity-problems-Belgium, it amazes me how much love you can feel for your country and how proudly you can display it, collectively. Sunset fireworks over Roche Harbor were just magical. But stuck on an island, it was quiet the challenge to find a working TV, broadcasting the 9am Belgium-Argentina World Cup game. Luckily my lovely host Marlyn called up half the people on the island and found a friend who was watching the game, rooting for Belgium, and very happy to have me over. Alas! Sad loss.

On another attempt to watch sunset on top of a hill, I got totally lost and engulfed in a maze of little windy bush-tracks, chased by a setting sun. That hill top I never made and I got slightly nervous when in the dark just-walk-back-the-same-way-you-came suddenly wasn’t all that easy any more. But it was not my time to spend a night in a dark forest, apparently, when I, eventually, got a main road in sight and was able to bushwhack my way over.

Next to a lot of foxes, deer, bald eagles and all sorts of whales, the island-animalia includes a camel, Mona, who lives with Edgar, the alpaca. Very cute and always in for causing some traffic jams and close-call-accidents of tourists abruptly stopping or swinging out of the window for just that perfect shot.   

We went kayaking among the sea lions and had homemade sunset dinner on the west-side shore cliffs, graced by several pots of whales. It was perfect. But to Island life too came an end and I hopped on yet another ferry to Vancouver Island and after one to the mainland.

And that's how you cycle from Miami, FL, to Vancouver, BC.

Checking out

Oceana

Rails 2 Trails

Wash(ington) me Away

I always love it when the best is saved for last. I cycled into Washington State on this awesome monstrous bridge over the Columbia river and I knew it would only get better from here on. It made me a little nervous at first, that always happens when I'm cramped on a shitty shoulder on a tight space with cars zooming past me and I'm struggling to go up or try my very best not to veer into traffic when I go down, but once on it, high up in the sky, I gave me the Bosporus-feeling. And it was good.
Washington is gorgeous. Like a glossy cherry you just want to get your teeth in and never let go off. It's nice and quiet, meadowy, pines, rainforest, horses, snowy peaks, lots of space and rolling hills. I was doing 75 mile days and I wished they'd never end.
Since I ran out of maps reaching the coast, I freestyled my way up to Seattle and stumbled upon these great, beautiful European-style bike paths, rails-2-trails, all catered with benches, water fountains and other pleasures a biker might like (like a bike-shaped frame to lean your bike on when you're having a rest). I played hide and seek with Mt.Rainier who kept popping up from time to time in al it's mountainous majesticy. And although I got seriously headwinded nearly all the way, I will remember these days as one of the most beautiful and pleasant of the whole trip.
I stayed with the most amazing people, enjoyed the best gin tonic of my life (and there were quite a few) and for some reason Washington is full of lamas, so I guess that says it all. Amusement guaranteed. The only thing that would make this picturesque picture complete are a couple of scattered ancient castle ruins and a big cathedral, wat or mosque here and there. But then again, I might not want to push it.

By the Sea

This post reaches you from Seattle, where I take a last rest day before bicycling a final century to Anacortes, WA from where I'll ferry-hop to Vancouver, Canada (with a few-days-intermezzo at the San Juan paradise islands). I cannot believe this bike ride is drawing to an end. I honestly thought there’d never be an end (especially back in those early days when I sat - pondering - on a piece of Georgian plantation staring at the map. For real, cycling to Vancouver from Florida, who does that?).

But here I am. It was quite the adventure when Lauren, Zach, Jacob and I made it to the Pacific Ocean in Florence, Oregon and filled the endless horizon with screams, cheers, hugs and beer. I even swam in it! (so to say, in full enthusiasm I accidentally fell in but technically that’s the same). We had a little celebration-party on the beach, with a campfire, smores and a cool but moistly fog rolling in at night which made us rethink the sleeping-under-the-stars-plan. Pitching a tent in the powdery sand, not so great, so Jacob and I ended up sleeping in my supposedly 2-person tent but really just fits 1 and it got even better when the thing, all damp on the inside, collapsed on us in the middle of the night so I could get out and erect it again with pieces of driftwood I stumbled over in the dark while Jacob, peacefully, snored through all this. Anyways that night I slept like a baby in a too small womb.

When Lauren and Zach left the next day by car, Jacob and I pedaled the stretch to Portland. And you won’t believe but cycling in Oregon, on the very scenic 101 coastal drive, got even worse when we nearly, and I really mean missed by an inch, got deliberately ridden off the road by a big, I assume frustrated-drunk-and tired of life, semi-truck driver. The accident made me very upset and confused but sandwiched between ocean and coastal cliffs, there was but one way and that was keep moving forward on this highly scenic tunnel of death. It was hell on a bike but we made it alive, had a nice couple of days off in Portland (which smells like coffee and tattoos, very cool) before I left for final destination. It’s a farewell to my friends but for sure no goodbye!    

Oregon Ospitality

So here's a fact for you: wind rolls down from a mountain. From the top, all the way down to the bottom. So when you are climbing a mountain, say ... on a bike, and the wind is in your face and you think "ah life's going to be better behind this hairpin curve", forget it. You will be even more miserable cause the actual curves seem always just that little bit grade-increased and the wind is still there. And cycling, the wind is there all the time, you know that, and you learned to accept it, to get over it. Though climbing, steep climbing, you can appreciate all the support there is, and not the kind that hits you in the face. It hurts. My feelings in the first place, my little fire lungs in the next.

Next to brutal headwinds, winter conditions didn't lift our spirits either. One time we had a pity party, sheltering behind a bridge column for wind gusts, when Lauren, determined to take the high way out of despair, decided to give her hitchhiking skills a first-time-ever try. I'm still debating whether it's naïve inexperience or just sheer beginners luck when she managed to flag down the, rather uptight, county sheriff who kindly but firm reminded us that his vehicle is "emergency use only" and that hitchhiking is illegal in the state of Oregon. Oops. Back on the bike.

Idaho as well as Oregon has the right cycling mentality so we pretty much WarmShowered our way through this whole stretch. Which is awesome. We stayed with so many nice and interesting people, all involved in a variety of hobbies and projects. We cannot do more than express our inexpressible gratitude and act as polite as possible (turning their kitchen floor into a murder scene by bleeding blisters, Fien, not cool).
Something else that's not cool is finally crossing into Oregon-bike-loving-state-of-America expecting to get a lot of love but instead getting flipped off the road, yelled off the road, honked off the road and get half a full beer can thrown at us out of a moving vehicle, missing us by an inch, which, I assume, pretty much is a summary-action off all the above. Hey Oregon, what's up? So we are very much working on our karma these days.
And I think it's working cause after summer disappeared for a good 5 days (but came back around after), one night we got, drenched and cold, very last minute saved from overnight-hypothermia by a very flexible WarmShowers host (thank you).

And so we are all nearing the end of our trip. We climbed more long, big passes, held euphoric scream-parties on nearly all of them, had a first glimpse on the Cascades and eventually enjoyed a long ways down towards the ocean (I did a record 108 mile day).
Vancouver, j'arrive!  

Neusje van de zalm

One day we were cycling along the Salmon River and it happens to be salmon season. So this nice little river valley gets filled with us 4 cyclists, some traffic and a 10 000 fishermen. They for sure blew the lest-just-camp-on-the-side-of-the-road-plan as every patch of lush looking roadside grass, pretty much from the shoulder on, was taken. Trapped in the valley and caught by the setting sun, it looked like we were about to smooch up the gravel for the night. Though Jacob and I were really not feeling that vibe so we knocked on some doors (the only 2 around) and I gave Lauren minor heart failure when I just walked into somebody's back door (after my wimpy knock, they did call me in though). "Seriously Fien, people will shoot you!" Turned out we walked into a Dutch-speaking soccer-loving/watching couple's home. What are the odds?! Some beer, bbq, breakfast, a good night sleep and some drop (Dutch liquorice) later, we were good to go.  

Reunion

On my way to the others, I met a nice other touring couple, early fifties, going the other way. They are shooting a documentary (while cycling) about small-town-entrepreneurship. Very interesting. The man, after telling my story and capturing some of it on camera, said goodbye with the words "Wauw, you're like a role model. We all want to be like you when we grow up". I like the way we moved away from crazy-out-of-your-mind-homeless-girl here.

In the next leg I got seriously rained and thundered on while climbing a huge never-ending pass and was saved by a friendly stranger in a truck (many thanks). Reunited with my friends, the next couple of days it went from summer to winter again but we got treated to some of the most spectacular views of the trip so far. America as well does keep surprising me.

I-da-ho

Eugene, Oregon, 66 miles separate me from the great Pacific Ocean. If you inhale deep enough, you can actually feel saltiness scavenging through your lungs (not really but very imaginary).
So what happened between here and parting from love? A lot of pine trees, sagebrushes, rough-rocky landscapes and of course my friends, our steady gang since Kansas, colored the landscape.

Parting from Lander was easy and hard at the same time. I was very much looking forward to hit the pedal again and I would see him in another month or so, I can take that. At the same time I'd take off on my own again and though I'd been a worn out cyclist by now, cycling for over two months, that point where you leap into the unknown, by yourself, letting go of all securities, still gives me chills. But that did not last long. I guess I'm in a new comfort zone.

It was a beautiful day and I soon found myself in an impressing canyon filled with pines and cramped with deer. I rode into Pacific Time and I swear I could feel a salty breeze sweep through my hair. Ocean, await me!
Meanwhile eastbound season really took off. One day at least 15 bikers past me, some of them heavily light weighted. That's when I found out about the race (www.transambikerace.com). Apparently this year an unofficial TransAm bike race is on and rumor has it that the guy in lead will pedal my 3 months blood-sweat-and-tears-haul in 18 days (that's right, 18 days). No stopping and shooting pretty pics at state-line-signs for these guys I bet.

But I'm still in this gorgeous canyon, pretty much a 100 mile stretch of no service. And with no service, I really mean no service, not a store, not a cafe, not even a house nor a spicket. You're on your own. So no choice but to freestyle and pull off on the side of the road that night. The one thing I promised I wouldn't do is to randomly steltcamp without anyone knowing where I'm at but, big surprise, no phone service either in this rip in the earth. I choose a very inviting ghost-camping on the side of the road as my nights rest. Once for sure a picturesque place of pleasure and delight, these days rather long forgone glory. Jungly. I waited for the sun to set to set up camp, a little nervous I have to admit. And man does this wilderness turn into a freaky scene at night. I got teared out of my sleep (yes I actually fell asleep) by a howling or growling. Crap. Here I'm lying, surrounded by food (as I was, of course, too lazy to tie any of it in a tree), soaking oats, a muesli bar or two, some bread and cheese, cranberries, an apple and an orange. I'm like a yummy smelling lobster on a bed of greens with all that's separating me from a set of canine teeth is a flap of vinyl. Very reassuring. After listening to the howls for a little while, I think I was exhausted enough to fall back asleep. I'll never know what it was but it definitely sounded like a cross between a wolf and a deer, but it might as well 've been a combo, say a wolf eating a half-alive deer, who knows, I didn't step outside to join the party. In any way, I was happy to see that sun rise for yet another day. Survived incognito steltcamping. It's nice to know that after three months of road-life I'm still up for pushing some being-bold boundaries. I surprise myself.

More pine-canyon lay ahead of me that next day and it was beautiful, an endless series of deja-vu's. Every curve to the left or right looked like an exact copy of the one I just did before, and the one before that one and the one ... and so on, like cycling into a mirror reflecting a mirror. But I did not get tired of any of it. They did, for diversion/excitement's sake, throw in a bunch of (bathing) deer and the butterflies too asked for full focus. You do not, after all, want to catch its entire canyon-population in your front wheel.
Two days back in the game and I caught up with the others again (Jacob, Zach and Lauren), who lay low for one afternoon so I could catch up. I guess this team is meant to be ...

Borderline babes

Roadies

Outdoor beauty - Spot the Moose

We're like diamonds in the sky

Nearly forgot about our short track to fortune, digging up some gems and sapphires at Chrystal Park (even sacrificed a toothbrush). 

For sure not the only gold diggers here ....

Hotel Lander

The surprise came in a van, a shack wagon or "Big Chief" as my friends were very eager to baptize Van + Man with a genuine trail name.
I met Lander (the boyfriend, not the city) in the middle of the night (he drove 2 days straight from Vancouver, CA) at a gas station after I made Jack VERY clear I was not interested in assisting him in drinking himself to dead at the Outlaw Saloon.
Anyways that day I had a very enjoyable cycling day back by myself. Luck was with me as I had the cosmos on my side (nice topography, scenery and weather conditions). On arrival in Dubois, WY, I impressed the owners of an ice cream parlor with my stories (which means free ice cream) and was joined by a real Brad Pitt-like movie star (they're shooting a modern western called "Cardinal Matter" in town) who offered to pay for my treat as well (*sigh*). Of course encounters like these only happen when I'm setting new days-without-showers-records, thank you Murphy.

But back to The Van, or say Hotel Lander. Ten amazing days I was swept of my wheels by this man and his van, before time came and I will go on finishing my trip and he'll move back north and dig some more in Canadian grounds (he's WWOOFing in Canada).  
We spend our little holiday together manly into the wild, hiking Yellowstone's back country. Think bears and bear-spray, camping and campfires, freeze-dried meals (yuk), sleeping with bisons and overestimating ourselves hiking up a mountain covered in over-knee-deep packs of snow ("Trip not advised" highlighted on our back-country permit should have rung a bell).
Yellowstone as well as Teton National Parks were an amazing experience. Being surrounded by mountains usually releases in me an un-suppressible urge to hike so needless to say I was living up being in my element. Not even bleeding heels from new hiking shoes (on sale) could stop me.
We spotted moose and bears (actually hiked with grizzly's), badgers, bald eagles and befriended and stayed with Kevin, the Teton Park firefighter and Ryan, the Yellowstone back country officer. Great encounters, people, animalia and stories.

I patched a little road trip to our Yellowstone-get-together and we eventually ended up in Missoula, Montana from where I'll hit the pedal again. I get myself ready for a Lander-re-rendez-vous in Vancouver but first, Oregon is ogling ....

And then I met a tall dark stranger

Bear(ly) Defense(d)

*Update*

11 States - 5966 kilometers - 3707 miles

Wyoming Space

Continuing our astonishing ride through the Rocky Mountains, gorgeous car-ad-like-sceneries made up for otherwise deserted sights. Mountain-weather still played its tricks on us and we were very happy to be taken indoors by James, owner of the Moose Creek Restaurant in Walden, CO, where we sheltered and dinnered after being nearly drenched  (we stopped and improvised shelter by wrapping Jacob's tarp around a timber shack 2 miles into town. Apocalypse, try to come and get us now). Walden, being the moose-viewing-capital-of-the-world and under flash-flood warning when we were there, we were even more happy to hang out and enjoy James' hospitality another day when we heard they were sandbagging the town we were supposed to get to the next day. So we had a relaxing rest-day, I climbed the big Moose statue in front of the restaurant, managed to fell of and climbed it again (for some reason moves like these are always captured on camera).

By crossing the Wyoming (Cowboy State) state line, we entered the Wild Wild West, the last frontier. Think ever-stretching plains, high deserts and ghost towns. Impressive out-of-space-landscapes that in a mysterious way manage to keep impress you right before the moment you think they'll depress you.
Another pain of the lack of trees or descent bushes in these open plains is there is no way you can merge yourself in the landscape for a quick pee. Your best bet is a shallow ditch which would be just fine if not for funky tan-lines. My but is compared to my legs so beamingly stark white it alarms cars in a radius of 5 miles each end of the highway. As a consolation, I do feel connected with the white-butted Pronghorn antelopes that roam the plains here in plenty numbers.

So rough terrains and not a lot of people. In Wyoming, if you're not a farmer or work for the US forest department, you're a taxidermist. Cycling through it, I enjoyed nice weather, nice topography and nice company. Arriving in Saratoga, the sand-bagged town, we dipped our feet in the only hot spring that was just semi-contaminated due to the floods. Heavenly.
We stayed there at a great host's.  Bear with me for this one: It was Jacob's father's cousin's best friend in college 's brother. In the far West, you do go down the line pretty far if you have to. I feel like at the end of this trip, I'll be connected in no more than two steps to every US citizen.

And so we blended Philip into our gang, who seems to jinx Lauren cause since he's enriching our company, Lauren managed to wreck twice, of which one was rather severe and we hitched here a ride to the nearest hospital. Braced and bandaged, our though one is alive and kicking already back on her bike though.
With one of the most astonishing five mile descends I've ever done and a headwind straight out of hell after, we cursed our way into lovely Lander where I am now, left behind and yield to the urge to butterfly by myself again. I waved of my friends, the herd by now, with mixed feelings. But we will meet again (I give it another 72 hours). And I know the time by myself will be short lasted 'cause another surprise lays ahead of me, one that involves more than 2 wheels ... Get back to you soon!  

Top (of the) Trip

Slacking behind! That's why I'm taking a day of in the beautiful city of Lander, a little oasis in the plain, desolate, empty wilderness that is Wyoming. It also means parting from the bike gang though. Our number has swollen to 7 now, after we picked up Philip, Canadian, who is doing the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route but decided to trade gravel and solitude for hanging out on asphalt and with us for a couple of days plus a Belgian couple from Brussels that has been cycling the States for 8 months now! To quote Jacob "Can we get leather jackets already?!", very true. But too much for me to take. I feel I long for solitude. But let me first go back to Colorado after my tourist-days when I still thought I was adventuring the Rockies on my own.

Rockies day 1. So I guess I have, or at least I had, a different definition of 'gradual climbing'. Pedaling from 5500 to 9404 feet, gradual climbing, I don't think so. And why not inaugurate me in the full mountain package by throwing in some mountain weather. I guess I forgot how unpredictable and shifty it can be. Enjoying a bright blue sky, you don't realize a pitch black curtain is creeping up on you from behind. So I raced uphill, or let's say I gave it my best shot. The tricky thing about high plains in the mountains is not only shifty weather conditions but nowhere, and I literally mean NOwhere, to shelter. Anyways, survived that one as well.      

And man, does it feel good to be back on the road! I enjoy the wild horses, tiny squirrels that live in holes in the ground, the sight of snow capped mountains all around me, deer and bison that from a far of distance do look hauntingly lot like bears. My head is spinning. Being by myself again, this is the first time in the past 2 months, since the beginning of my trip, I feel something close to vulnerable, in this majestic, beautiful, all -overruling mountain range. But I am a warrior, a survivor and I do feel privileged to cycle through these mountains. And it's not a fight. I'm just a humble passenger, granted the favor to admire and experience this spot of spelling beauty.

With mountains come some high altitude camping. I did it onion-style (me in my liner in the duck-down sleeping back wrapped in the thin-summer sleeping bag). Listening to an over-passing T-storm giving its best on the tent sail, I wish this moment could last forever.
And then there was the inevitable: climbing Hoosier Pass, 11 596 feet and the highest point of the whole trip. This day turned out to be a century for me (100 miles) and a very weird coincidental reunion of the four of us (Lauren, Zach, Jacob and I) on the top of the pass. It was almost magical. Being dropped off in three different groups, in three different days in three different spots, we managed to all end up together again. And although I looked forward to take off on my own once more, I was euphoric to see them popping up the pass. We are a happy, silly gang, each of us adding its own specific color to the group, They are friends for life, I realized there and then, 11 593 feet high.    
After intense climbing, a very nice, leisurely descend brought us through Alp-like little ski-towns, passing beautiful mountain-lakes AND bike paths! I celebrated my century ride with a bottle of wine and a rather depressing camping spot behind Kremmlings' local grocery store under another threatening stormy-sky. With my friends. Life is awesome.

Frozen - Bear Lake

Tourist-style one mile high

Luckily no-man's land eastern Colorado didn't hold us long. I took up on Lauren's offer to spend some time in Denver. Her lovely mom drove three hours to get us and we finagled the four of us, all our luggage and the bike parts in the car. I switched easily into tourist-mode, changed pedals for flip-flops, the bike for a car and the pad for a mattress. One day soon became two and eventually three days off. When you live by different time and distance dimensions, like when you live on a bike on the road, you live in a different world. I adjusted surprisingly easy though. Explored downtown Denver (the Mile High City!), toured the Capitol, went up to Boulder (I think I fell in love), got CPR certificated (so it's officially safe to hang out with me) and took a leisurely bike ride up to Bear Lake, Rocky Mountain National Park, my first close encounter with the Rockies. For ceremony sake, I threw a snowball in the frozen lake. Compared to Kansas, Colorado might as well be on a different planet. We're moving from the Wizard of Oz to the Incredible Journey here.

Being in the Denver/Boulder area, I realize I have to settle down in a place like this. People are so outdoorsy with year-round outdoor activities going on and a healthy-living vibe. We even failed 'find-the-fat-person'. In the States. To sink myself in this circle would be a good move.

Hanging out with Lauren's family was an extension to all the amazing hospitality I experienced so far. We got pampered, big time. I got a total American-makeover. Hardly any secrets from here on. We had a campfire, I learned how to smoke s'mores, met some more wonderful people and I even met me-in-say-35-years, like a reversed déjà-vu. This life is going to be great!

And so the time came our ways parted. Back on the trail by myself. And I like it, I do feel the urge to butterfly by myself. After the disastrous first four days in Florida and then the crawling up the Atlantic coast and the beginning of the TransAm, this feels like part III of the trip. It also feels in some weird way as nearing the end, although there are still a good five cycling weeks lying ahead of me. As far as moving out of my comfort-zone, I pretty much succeeded and I have to say, I'm pretty comfortable here.

Coming up next: Mountain material!

Getting out of Kansas

Trooping in Kansas started off on a great note: not too hot, not too cold, nice little breeze and flat! Somebody must have heard our prayers and granted us at least nice mornings till noon. The afternoons we pretty much spend on the struggle bus with winds picking up and giving us a hard time. I never ever encountered winds like that. One time an eye almost got blown out (the right one), not a tailwind by any means!

When you travel in group, you give and take. Zach learned how to take it easy and enjoy the social aspect of touring-cycling, Lauren learned to be the caboose of a 4 wagon train in stead of a 2 wagon one, Jacob learned how to rise and shine early in the day and I learned how to eat out (which I hardly do) and enjoy little local all-American dining places. Apart from that, we all but Jacob (who is the source) took the snoring. One night I thought he rolled over a raccoon and hold on to it while it tried to escape. Hey it could have happened cause we were sleeping in a barn, Jacob on his tarp cause he didn't feel the need to put up his tent. 'Trapped Raccoon' almost stuck with him as his trailname.
On the other hand, being a group, you multiply joy and divide sorrow. It would have been though to handle this one host hitting on me a little too obvious all by myself and as for the joy, we filled up Kansas' voidness with laughter. We shared experiences, camping tips, tales and drafts. I'm happy I was not on my own there in the dust bowl.

So Kansas will be remembered pretty much as windy, some tumbling weeds, the occasional cow and mini, almost ghost-towns sprouted around a big cement monster (grain silo?). It might not be the worst place to live in but it for sure is not attracting the crowds. You know you're in a rather off-place and loosing it when you find yourself, after x-amount of miles cruising through the same empty empire, conversing with a cow. I guess that's why they hauled in the zebra's and the camels cause after that many miles you might want to just talk to a kudu for a little while, right. Exotic Animal Inn sure caused some distraction in my day.

I like Kansas though, the cowboy hat and boots are a real deal here and some of my American-stereotypes came true (like people that great each other with 'howdy' for real, Pulp Fiction dinings and waitresses filling up your coffee cup, limitless).
And then when we gave up all hope, a tailwind grabbed us from behind and for two days we butterknifed ourselves through the plains.
Sleepwise we upgraded ourselves from sleeping on a dirt floor in a barn, to a living room carpet, to an actual bed. We had popcorn and ice cream for dinner in a church and did our utmost best avoiding something that goes by the name 'Texas Tack' and is described as being a 'Parasitic Thorn' to cyclists. You do not want to run into these guys.

And then disaster struck. My water bottle, the only relic I still had with me from Belgium, started leaking. All this time, we stuck together, made it through and now it gave up on me, just like that. No choice but to throw it away and never look back. It felt like losing home-base.

Still recovering from the loss, disaster struck again. A crash. The gravel off-shoulder took Jacob off guard and wrecked him AND he took me down with him. A bruise and a scare but both we and our bikes were OK. This wreck toppled us into Mountain Time, we climbed the Colorado state line sign and it was all good. I did not see it coming though but landscape-wise there's just but one thing worse than Kansas: eastern Colorado.

Rocking the top of the TransAm

I know blogging-wise I'm still in Kansas and I have to catch up but I've just been so busy being a tourist in Denver and Boulder and then hauling myself over the continental divide AND the highest point of the trip! Stay tuned for more travel-tales on how I survived The Kansas void, how disaster struck twice (but I survived) and how I hung out with my co-cyclists, tried to get rid of them, almost succeeded, but mysteriously met up with all of them again! 

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