11 States - 5966 kilometers - 3707 miles
Thursday, May 29, 2014
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!
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.
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.
Monday, May 26, 2014
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.
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.
Sunday, May 25, 2014
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.
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!
Americanization
Walking taco's, wrapping myself in the Star-Spangled Banner and showing Smokey some love ... There might be no way back.
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Monday, May 19, 2014
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