Day 31: alright Kansas, i like your people.. Let me think on the rest

I had a very lazy morning on Monday, one that I would later regret, but it just felt so good to not get up. The continental breakfast was superb. I even had the lady at the desk put on sunscreen for me on my back (don't worry, no one could compare to Lindsay's sunscreen application skills). I asked her about the feeding farms, and tried to fight an expression of disgust on my face. She knew exactly what I was getting at: "Yeah you will see a lot of those, that is pretty much all we have around here, feeding farms and fields." I don't know if I could handle living here and seeing that on a day to day basis.

And with that I was off, with my new-found acceptance of the wind, and I actually had a lot of fun with it, when it wasn't swarming me with dust (see photo). The wind was a cross wind from the South, but it was pretty strong (21 mph), and was whipping at me at my right side. Most of my time and energy was spent leaning into the wind, as the gusts would throw me into the middle of the road if I didn't. I had very good control, and the weight of the panniers really helped stabilize me. Believe me, going into a 21 mph relentless cross wind can slow you down significantly, but it is no headwind. Once in a while, there would be a gust from the SSW, and would push me along, so the majority of the morning, until I reached Dighton, the next town over, I tried to use my body and my panniers as a sail and catch the wind. It was quite fun, actually. (Who would have thought?)I was making much better progress than I had the day before, albeit it was still slower than I would have liked, and exhausting.  It was like the wind wanted to be a tailwind, but I guess it is the thought that counts.

I pulled into the gas station to fuel up, as a man was getting out of his truck, and as I was lifting the 80+ lbs over the curb to lock up my bike, I think I gave him a look of "phew what a day," and he chuckled and came over to talk to me as I was getting my stuff together. When I told him that we started in San Francisco upon his asking, his eyes got wide, he got excited, and wanting to know more, sat right on the dirty garbage can and we started chatting. Finally, after I don't know how long, he said "Are you going to get something or did you just come to visit and stand outside?" We went in, and I grabbed protein bars to restock my dwindling supply, chef boyardee, coffee, gatorade, and then all of a sudden he told me to put all of my things with his, as he was going to pay for it. "I am not going to be able to help you during the rest of your journey because i won't be there," he explained, "but I can help right now, so that is what I am doing." It was such an incredible gesture of kindness, and it is so incredible to be a part of. Lindsay and I had many talks about "paying it forward," as people we met have been so generous and supportive, and have helped us in so many ways. These kind acts have meant the world to us, and it is my goal to "return" these acts of kindness to other people that I come across when i am able. That is where the $20 that I found on the side of the road comes in. That being said, the acts of kindness doesn't have to achieved with money, and honestly, some of the best ones leave money out of the picture, like the cup of tea the lady brought us while we were sitting on the top of the mountain in the shower stall.  Those moments can mean the most, they can change a day around. There is something about perpetual kindness that has a beautiful sound to it.

As i was sitting enjoying my coffee and beeferoni (weird combo, I know) one of the convenient store staff was dragging a box full of cardboard with one hand and a pail full of dirty water.  She looked uncomfortable and annoyed so i tried to get up and help her with the cardboard and in my attempt to help, the box totally broke and the went cardboard everywhere, all over the sidewalk and slightly under a customer's car and she just kind of laughed at me.  Between the two of us, we eventually made it to the dumpster. Whoops.

I fought the wind to Ness City, about thirty miles away, where I thought I would indulge in some lunch. Unfortunately, there was nothing in town, except for a Mexican restaurant in the only motel in town. (It was a rather odd atmosphere to the entire building). Word to the wise, don't get a burrito smothered in cheese sauce and then think that your stomach is going to allow you to ride another 37 miles. Not a good scenario. Not to mention, the whole right side of my body was sore from my run in with the dust tornado, and then leaning into the wind for five hours. It was 3:30 pm, and the wind was slowing me down as it was picking up, and I was worried about getting to my destination within daylight hours. (It was hard enough being with Lindsay and not knowing where we would stay as the sun fell... Not something i want to mess around with on my own if i can help it... Very stressful.) So, I stayed in the motel, enjoyed from dehydrated Pasta Primivera and sherbet and put my feet up. It was a wonderful thing. (The motel room was a little sketchy, but that is what you get when it is the only one in town. Although two of the three locks on the door were broken (the chain and the button on the door, the padlock was intact)), don't worry because you can be assured that the rotary telephone above the toilet was in great shape). After doing a 112 and a 106 mile day back to back, ending the day at 57 felt pretty good, I must say.

Day 30: this might be a rocky road, Kansas

I woke up Sunday morning stiff as could be, and staggered my way over to the dinner next door and indulged in their all you can eat buffet. I was the only person there for a while, and it was lovely having the waitstaff fill their small plates half full, as I was going back up for some major seconds. Before I forget to mention this, again, I have a very impressive tidbit of info from yesterday that I thought I should share: I climbed a total of 200 ft yesterday. I know, I know... I don't know how I did it. It is simply incredible ;) (i made sure Lindsay, was sitting down when i told her)

I started out at around 8:00 am, and immediately, I noticed the headwind. It was from the SSE, so it was partial crosswind, partial headwind. I was not too excited, and hoped that it would dissipate as the morning progressed. About 10 miles into my struggle, I spotted another biker, and chatted with him for a bit. His name was Ben, and he was traveling alone, he is from Boston, and started from Yorktown, VA. roughly mid July. Lindsay and I had learned that as general rule, you don't take the locals suggestions of what roads are steep or flat, or far away a town is, unless, of course, they are bikers. I am not trying to sound like a snob, and I know those people are just trying to be helpful, but when you travel a car the grade of the hill is not likely on the forefront of your mind, and it is a lot different using an engine's energy than it is your own. For example, a few of the locals in the desert told us that we would never make it to Austin, NV that night (that was our big 112 mile day), because Austin was half way up a mountain and the mountain was 11,000 feet high. In reality, we did make it, (yes, it was horribly hard), and the mountain that they were talking about was only about 7,400 feet. Huge difference.  Ben concurred with his, and we both traded explanations and details about the terrain we just crossed, helpful hints, etc. As Lindsay had left, he was the first person I had seen in a long time that knew what it was like to make this trek with lots of weight. He was the first person I talked to who understood what I was doing.

My first stop of the day was Sheridan Lake, about 28 miles from Eads. I was excited that I might get to see a body of water. The head wind had not let up, so by the time I got to Sheridan lake, it was hot and I was ready for some ice water, or any water at all. Just like the town, the "lake" had dried up. There was nothing there but dilapidated buildings, a large mud pit where the lake was supposed to be, and a convenient store that was closed on Sunday. I went down one of the town streets to investigate a bit more, and the only building in the town that was really well kept, including the grounds, was the church. The parking lot was full with cars.

I found refuge from the sun in the shade created by the convenient store shadow. The flies joined me for a lovely snack, and I was on my way, praying that the wind would go away, and that I might see some people, and excited that in a few miles I would be leaving Colorado to enter our 5th state.

As I was approaching the Kansas/Colorado boarder, the road made a slight deviation from due East and the head wind greeted me full force, and I will admit that I had a tantrum and started shaking my bike (Lindsay had suggested it). It didn't work. The wind didn't go away, and in turn, it made me more exhausted. And then that's when I saw the back of the "Welcome to Colorado" sign (it was the same as the one we had seen when we entered Colorado). Eagerly, I scanned the horizon for a "Welcome to Kansas" sign. There were two metal signs that said something about a Kansas transportation law and that I was crossing into Wichita County, nothing else... but then...

There were two wooden poles 50 feet ahead with a wooden cross bar on the top connecting the two poles. Where the sign should have been, there was nothing to see but the fields behind it, and a long metal piece that was flopping in the wind, that must have once held up the sign... that was not there. I noticed, however, as I got next to it, that someone had dutifully written "Welcome to Kansas" in small lettering, off center, written in Sharpie. I'm sure that sign is on somebody's bedroom wall.

And so my lovely relationship with Kansas began. The winds got stronger as I pedaled into Tribune, Kansas, population of just over 1,000. Tribune was in slightly better shape than the other towns I had passed through, but there was very little there. Two of the restaurants and small bowling alley had clearly been vacant for quite some time. There was gas station, as well as a new restaurant that advertised that everything they used was local. The manager/owner took me around back to lock up my bike, as there was no where to leave it in the front of the building. She said she had always been so curious about bikers and wanted to know where people were going, but was always too busy. She was so sweet.

My waitress was one of the friendliest people I had seen in a while. She was young, maybe 24 or so. She informed me that there was a huge drought that had been going for decades, and it has been the longest drought in 50 years. She said it was from the all of the dams that have been built, and since the 60's when they were first beginning construction, the land started to dry up, and "little by little, it has gotten worse, to a point that nothing really can grow." It made me uneasy to think of the enormous impact that humans have on the land. Once upon a time, these fields were once flourishing, untouched prairies. Now, growth cannot be sustained, and there are few animals and traces of wildlife to be found. Our laziness and negligence leaves a more permanent indication that we were there than most care to realize, from the can thrown out the window (even the trees and shrubs around those houses look deserted, forgotten), to the house built years ago that is now crumbling to the ground, to the old telephone poles that have been left while new ones were built on the other side of the road. If I were the wind, I would be angry, too. The waitress told me that by 2013 they would be letting most of the dams out to let the water take it's natural course back into the land. I hope that really happens.

As I was inhaling my food, the husband of the woman who helped me with my bike, (co-owner) came over and started talking to me, asking me about my trip, where I was going, etc. I had told him that I was expecting that the wind would be behind me. He had a grin on his face as he shook his head, "No, not this time of the year. It only blows North and South." Annnnnnd of course. He laughed at me as I threw my head into my hand, and muttered my disbelief. He said that they never stop, and that the current wind situation was nothing. He told me that on this past New Year's Eve, they were sustained at 100 mph an hour for 1.5 hours. "That is some wind for ya." I asked him what they did when tornadoes came through, and what they did. "We chase them; not like Storm Chasers or anything, but we want to see what they look like... You know where they are because you watch the Fire Trucks and rescue vehicles. If they drive East, then the tornado is in the West, because they want to make sure that the vehicles are not in the town in case the tornado comes through... they go in the opposite direction."

Back at my bike, behind the store, I was getting my gear in order, and the waitress was smoking a cigarette as her friend, who was about the same age, stood and talked to her. The guy, Josh, started telling me that he thought the "Insanity" work out program was hard, but he thought differently after seeing my loaded bike. We shot the breeze. I told him about my tantrum. And then, as I turned back around after fiddling with something on my bike, he was right in front of me with his hand out to shake. "I want to thank you for what you are doing," he said, "I couldn't help but notice the back of your shirt. I want to thank you because I am a cancer survivor." I was speechless. He told me that his 5 year anniversary was this October 5th. He was diagnosed at age 17. The cancer had started in his chest and spread rapidly. He had to get a bone marrow transplant, and the steroids destroyed his bones. The cancer was also found in his CSF. He battled the cancer for two years, and his doctors said that he would not see his 20th birthday. "I just kept telling them that I would see them at my next appointment. I just kept that attitude. And then, one day, I went in for my regular spinal tap, and the cancer was gone." He kept telling me that I was doing a great thing, and he was so thankful for what we were doing, and that I should keep on being a "Rockstar." It was truly meaningful that he shared his inspiring story, and I was totally in awe of his bravery and courage. It is moments like this and people like Josh makes it easier to get back on the bike, that highlights why we started out on this journey, and what we are fighting for. When you think about what he went through, his fight, and the fight that many people are fighting right now, 106 miles in the wind is nothing. He gave me his number and told me he lived in Scott City, where I was going, and if I got there and needed anything, to contact him. He gave me a huge hug, thanked me again, and I was off to face the wind.

I had a wonderful time at the "Entering Central Time Zone" sign with my camera and timer. I was really enjoying myself, actually (and was channeling Lindsay through the entirety of it). And as I was back on my bike, making slow, but sure progress, a car slowed down, pulled over, and Josh got out of the car. He marched right over to me, and as he was sticking out his hand again, he said "I just wanted to remind you that you are freakin' awesome, and to keep doing what you are doing, because it is a great thing." He gave me another hug. He reminded me that if I should need anything let him know, even if I needed to have another tantrum. And just like that, he was off. And I just stood there, my eyes watering, my heart touched.

Josh's words stuck with me, and I seemed to ignore how the sporadic gusts of wind grew more regular and closer together, until the wind became unbearably strong. It was 5 ish, and I was 26 miles away from Scott City, and I was cutting it close as far as daylight goes. I went into a gas station and inhaled a can of chef boyardee (the lady literally just gave me a blank stare when I walked back in the door with an empty can 2 minutes after I left... (I was under pressure, and hungry, what can I say?)) And then I started on my last leg. It was during that 26 miles that I got chased by my first dog. I tried to sprint away from it, but it only gave me a lead for a moment. I was thankfully saved by a tractor trailer that came zooming up behind me. Sorry, dog, not today.

A few more miles into my trek to Scott City, I looked up and at the last second saw a dust tornado coming at me from my right.  I stopped, had time to put only one got down before i felt the dust and small pebbles sting my face, and it then picked me up and the next thing i knew i was on the ground.  There was a dried up weed in my bike tire.  I could tell there would later be a bruise on my hip, but other than that i was just shaken up.  A car had turned around to make sure i was ok.  Really, the only thing i wanted was to look up at Lindsay and say "did that honestly just happen?"  I asked the kind couple if that would happen again, they said probably not, so, instead of riding the tailwind back the few miles to the next town to refuge and safety i got back on my bike and faced the wind again.  I was now, more than ever, determined to get to Scott city and not let the wind get the better of me.  I honestly think Josh's words resonated in me everyone i got frustrated with the wind.  His fight made mine seem much easier to endure, and insignificant.

Miles later, i looked up again just in time to see a skunk crossing the road.  I slowed down, as i didn't have enough time to stop, and the skunk turned around to spray me.  Luckily, the wind was so strong that it his spray was taken by the wind in the opposite direction before it hit me.  I kind of just started cracking up at that point.. It was very much an "are you serious" kind of laugh.

I was exhausted  and tired of putting so much effort into a stroke and having it seemed almost rejected by the wind.  When i looked up next, (i kept my head down to keep my face out of the wind/make myself smaller for less resistance) i saw more feeding farms, with cows crammed in these tiny fences, and i forgot about the wind.  It it's such a sad thing to see and i felt so bad for all of them. I wanted to free them (which would have probably made things wise for both the cows and i) so instead I try to eat chicken as much as possible now out here (although I'm sure that is not much of a  different situation).

It occurred to me, as i was rolling into my destination, 106 miles later, that my frustration about the wind was slightly pointless, because i was wasting energy on something i could not change.  And as i had threatened Lindsay with calling the D.O.T. and complain about their roads, who would i call about the wind? It wouldn't change anything about the current conditions anyway, but i would simply passing on my frustrations, my "problems" for someone to fix. It would be easier and less infuriating if i just accepted the fact that the wind is part nature, that it it's there and there it's nothing i can do about it.  It becomes easier to focus on more important things.

Day 29: parting ways

Naturally, i didn't sleep much the night before (recovery days do that to me sometimes), so being over tired didn't help with the fact that it was sad to say "goodbye." I gotta say, it is not easy crying on a bike. It is actually very exhausting.

The morning was quiet, and it didn't take me long to realize that this was going to be a tedious, flat ride. Thankfully i have music to distract me from the monotony of the flat lands into horizons, and to distract me from the fact that i was now by myself, and this day had finally come.

I continued on Route 96, the same route that had tortured us on our way into Pueblo. On the other side of Pueblo, 96 didn't get much better, that is for sure, as there were still plenty of cracks in the road, and the wind didn't really want to help me along. Because it was "flat" (and i say that lightly; there are a fair share of rolling hills out here), I was holding steady at 17-19 mph. On the bike, I was not that bad I was able to get in a groove and meditate on the repetitive scenery. It was when I stopped to take a break that things became (and become) hard, as I was reminded that Lindsay wasn't there, and i was by myself now, (well, the flies couldn't wait to keep me company, and thought there should be a party), and the trip had suddenly taken on a new and foreign light.

Lindsay told me to download an app called "blip me" which is pretty much like a walkie talkie, but if you are busy when the other person tries to communicate, it saves it until you can listen to it. It is an awesome app, easier and more fun that texting as you get to talk to the other person. This is a godsend, and it is a way to keep the other person in the loop. For example, i was able to tell Lindsay that one of the locals in Ordway, where i thoroughly "enjoyed" beefaroni and a tuna pouch, had told me that i would be a bunch of tarantulas as I headed farther East. She was able to hear the fear and outrage in my voice. There, was one point that i was leaving her a message about something or other and was snacking on Sports Beans for energy, and her response was "ooh wow, thanks, i definitely missed the sound of you chewing." There is a lot of fun to be had with this thing.
Eastern Colorado is barren. There are fields that go on forever. I did see a prairie dog on my way out of Pueblo, which I loved! What curious little creatures, they are, starring, without movement, absorbing its surroundings. I thought it was interesting that it didn't even flinch as a tractor trailer went barrelling by.

Outside of Pueblo was a Small town called Boone. There was a small convenient store, a small park that was being mowed, but there was nothing much going on. There was maybe one store that was shut down of the 3 in the town. What i didn't realize was it would be the most kept up and loved in town that i would see... For miles.

On my map it lists what services each town has, if any, so you can plan accordingly for food and water. The problem was, is that the hardly existed any more. They were barren, deserted, and dusty as the fields that surrounded them. It was sad. Very few people lived in the houses, must if which were falling down. These towns were starving for rejuvenation, and so were the few people I saw. It reminded me of how lucky i was, and really was thankful of where I grew up and the strong sense of community that I was able to be a part of.

I stopped for lunch in Ordway, with a population of 1080, the biggest in a while. I ate outside of a grocery store where i could get an avocado. It was the first time i had to enter a store with my panniers and my bike with no one to watch it. I locked my bike up, obviously, but it was networking that the rest off my stuff could easily be taken off my bike. Everybody was so friendly. They were shocked that i was coming from San Fran, and even more shocked that i was alone. The interaction with these people was very refreshing. Ordway was honestly in no better shape than it's neighboring towns as far as dusty store fronts go; there were just more of them and blended in a bit better.

The fields go on forever and there is nothing growing in them, not even grass, and then it looks as though the Earth just drops off as the land hits the horizon.  There was one point when I stopped to get water and looked around. There were no birds, no cows, no horses... Nothing but brown dirt, baking in the sun. I'm pretty sure i had given the flies that surrounded me a ride from miles back. There were no cars. The wind made three dried thistle weed crackle together. The only thing that was full of life was me. It was a sobering reality, and a pretty incredible one at that when i took a moment to really feel what that felt like.

I battled with the heat for most of the day. The roads were absurd and frustrating with the surface, but i was making good time. I pretty much absorbed my surroundings, and filled the emptiness with my thoughts. I had no idea what the next town would bring, if there was a place to get ice water. I had no way of knowing, and there was nothing i could do about it, so instead of worrying about it, i just concentrated on what was happening then... What the wind was doing, what the birds or cows were doing (if there were any), what i was doing. It was wonderful.

When my farther was sick, it felt as though all of the control i had and stability in my life slipped away as I watched my best friend slowly deteriorate. It was frightening, and scary, and I found myself to be a bit lost. It has been a struggle since then to try to maintain balance and get my control back, (of my life, that is, i don't see myself to be a controlling person with others). I have learned throughout this journey that on a day to day basis, the only thing that i have control over is how much food i have, how much water i have, my attitude, and what i am doing at that single moment. Everything else is a mystery, the weather, the wind direction and strength, what services are provided in the towns, traffic, road conditions, hills, where i will be staying, the route i am taking, what other people are doing around me... And most of those are subject to change. Plans i make for the day usually don't follow through.  So, i have thrown my hands up, raised the white flag, and given up on worrying about these things that are outside of my control, for the first time in my life. It is liberating. I am not stuck in the future, in the game of "what ifs" and "back up plans," because they usually don't work either on this trip and just provokes unnecessary anxiety. I have found myself living in the present moment. I am content, and I love the freedom, i love paying attention to "what is" instead of what "will" or "could be."

I think that not "living in the moment" is a product of our culture, the anxiety of what is to come is a product of such a fast paced society.

Steve Foster was most definitely a man who lived for every moment, and I think that is what drove his passion for photography. He was always taking pictures. Cindy, his wife, told me after he passed away that he had climbed a mountain one day that he frequented and he ran into a friend of Cindy's at the summit, who told Cindy this story. Apparently, they were chatting and Steve was mid-sentence when he said "i have to take a picture of this" (by this he meant the mountains. She looked and asked him why. His response was "because this moment will never happen again." While those words have influenced me to stop more often than not and take a picture, and to notice how things change over moments as the sun is setting or rising, they have come to take on a deeper meaning as i have continued on this great adventure. Take those moments for all that they are worth while they are happening, and it seems the world will slow down, and you notice what is going on around you.

At one point I passed a farm that had small fenced in areas, back to back with far too many cows in each. I didn't notice this at first and at first glance i only really saw the cows, and cracked up thinking about what Lindsay would say about the smell, and thought back to get earlier comment about the farm threw other day.  Then it sunk in and I realized that these tiny pastures went on forever, and there were hundreds of cows in them, grazing on nothing. It was completely gross and inhumane and disturbing. I have heard about these "feeding farms," and never wanted to see one... They are everywhere..more on that later.

I rolled into Eads at around 530, after 112 miles. There was a fair in town, as well as a school reunion, and at first i was told that there was no vacancy at the only hotel in town, and there was nothing for miles. I was then told that there was one room available, and i thought he had said $150, upstairs. Starving, i went to go too a cafe to eat and see if i could stay at the police station (camping is out of the question per my mother, and i respect and understand her request) I called the hotel back and leaned that the room was for $50... Whoops... The guy lashed at me when I told him what i thought he said, and he was said " i don't have a single room in this place that is worth close to that, even on the busiest weekend of the year." He let me fill up my water bottles with his water and his sons helped me carry my bike up the stairs, and asked me if i was crazy, because of how heavy it was. I told them yes, a little. They were so nice. Everybody I interacted with was.

It had been a long day, and an emotional I've at that. It was nice to know that it was over, and i got through it. The first day is always the toughest.

Day 28: our last hoorah

I don't think anything could have made me happier on Friday morning when we woke up at 7:30 (thank you internal alarm clocks), and Lindsay told me was going to stay for the day instead of leaving later that afternoon.  I was full of excitement, especially since our last day together would be spent relaxing. 

We walked down to a local diner and enjoyed a leisurely meal giggling and thinking about what we would so over the course of the next couple hours.  There is something so satisfying about not shovelling in diner oatmeal and eggs and rushing to get on the road, but taking your time and enjoy your surroundings.  What a great start to the day.

When we returned, we sauntered down to the hottub, did much needed laundry, (there was a washer and drier in the motel, two doors down), paid bills on the hotel computers (and found that my pinky doesn't work that well when typing or shifting now due to the handle bar complications... Hope i get that back).  Everything was slow paced and fun.  It was just nice to enjoy each other's company.

At 3 pm we ventured to get Lindsay's rental car.  They have her a white Ford Exhibition that is ten times the size of her Honda Fit.  As soon as i saw it, i lost it.  she is tiny in that thing.  The hysterics didn't go away either, which i am sure Lindsay loved, but the way in which she was trying to maneuver the enormous rig in the two blocks that we drove was outrageous, mainly because of the sweet nothings she was uttering as she drove.  I am actually laughing about this out loud as i write this.  It was weird sitting in a car... It was the first time in a month.  I think it was weirder for Lindsay to drive, especially because of the size.  She told me later that night that get knee was bothering her: "so apparently after 1606 miles of climbing over mountains, it is the 10 hours driving that will give me the injury." 

Before Lindsay even left the Enterprise parking lot, I looked to the back of the SUV.  It had two rows of seats, and you could put both of those down for more cargo room.  I became overwhelmed by the amount of space.  For one month, the only possessions we had were the ones we could carry, and we kept that to a minimum.  Looking back at the car, all I could think of was "what do people need this much space for, what could possibly be so important?"  The items that we had were for survival purposes, and we didn't really want (because we would have to carry it) or need much more, because we had each other's company, and that is really what made us survive those mountains.  Having all of the "things" in the world couldn't have changed that.  As columnist Art Buchwald said, "The best things in life aren't things."  Friendship isn't something that you can own or buy, or really have.  You share it, and it is a gift.  And over the last month, Lindsay has truly shown me what true friendship is all about. 

There are people who come into your life that i think you are just "supposed" to meet,  that do nothing less than help bring out the best in you, and are with you for your trials and tribulations.  I can say with certainty, that Lindsay is one of those people in my life.  There is a quote that I stumbled upon a year or two as ago that I have grown very fond of: "Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born before they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born." - Anais Nin. Thank you, Lindsay, for all that you are.

So, I have set forth on rest of this journey by myself, but I wouldn't be where I am mentally or physically if we hadn't wrangled the mountains together, and thus Lindsay will remain with me in spirit, during the best and worst of times. And as we have started it together, we will continue it together, in one way or another. What's more, i have a feeling that our adventures together won't end with this one!

I apologize for the love letter and sappiness, but it needed to be said.  It is the people in your life that will push you through, not the new lamp or the pair of jeans. 

We got snacks, blogged, napped, and ate our last dinner out of the stove on the hotel room floor.  It was just a superb day, one that i just didn't want to end.

Day 30: life after Lindsay

So i have skipped the last recovery day Lindsay and i have shared together and the day that we parted ways because there is a lot that i want to say about that and i would like not to be exhausted when i so so.

I finished yesterday with a 112 mile day, and put in 106 today, and it was an extremely tough 106 miles mentally and physically, with headwinds the entire way with 14 mph wind from SSE, with 21 mph gusts for the last 46 miles, and i put so much effort to get through them that i have very little left to blog and my eyes are shutting (it is widely known at this point how much o spite headwinds) Naturally, i missed the tailwind season in kansas, and now the wind tends to blow from the north or the south.  I went into a store today and in my attempt all if the wind would die down without sounding ignorant, i stuttered for a second, and then came right out with it: "will this wind end?" The cashier the her head back and laughed, and said "This is Kansas, honey, the wind never stops.  This is nothing." Not the answer i was looking for...  I have met some wonderful people here.

I have to go to bed, but i will make up for this lack of blogs, but it has been an enormous period of transition for both Lindsay and i, we are both trying to find our feet.  Thank you all for the support and for reaching out to us. it is forecasted to have have 20 mph winds tomorrow, with gusts, so i imagine i will take a shorter distance tomorrow and will be able to blog a four for one special.  A lot of crazy things happened today...like getting chased by a dog for the first time and battling a dust tornado.  I will explain in full tomorrow.

Life on the road solo has been difficult, but it doesn't help that there is a drought and absolutely no green.. Just field forever.  Very little wildlife, but some beef farm that are somewhat disturbing.  I'm excited for Missouri so i can be back with the mountains, the trees, the wildlife.  I miss Lindsay like crazy, and i know she wishes she could be here... I.can't wait to see her in Rochester but she will be here in spirit and i bug her all the time and as i have said, she will very much remain to be part of the journey.

Day 27: Our last ride, and it was no walk in the park

The little hotel we stayed at in Howard had zero service, no TV(not that we ever watch it, and we were both exhausted, anyhow) and no space, as we pinned each other in multiple times trying to pack our panniers in the morning. We are grateful for a bed a locked door, so the e can't really complain about the space... Not to mention it provides us with much entertainment. We have a wonderful skill of taking over a room within 5 minutes of being there... Bike sorts, smelly socks, gloves, and the Ziploc bags of everything essential that we need. We are like tornadoes. Our bikes are hard to maneuver because they are bulky and heavy, so getting stuck in tight spaces (or door ways if you approach them from the wrong angle) is really easy.

We ate breakfast at the cafe next door, where we thoroughly unimpressed our waitress with our seemingly ever growing appetites (and i have to say, Lindsay really went all out on her last breakfast,) but we were about to have one of the longest days we have had in a while, which we didn't really realize at the time, and we needed all we could get. The food is our fuel... A car won't run without gas...

We had an 11 mile warm up to Cotopaxi, another small town that pretty much consisted of a general store, restaurant, and gas station combined. On our way there, we caught wind of an odor that was slightly worse than the average road kill smell, that usually makes us hold our breaths, and makes Lindsay's day every time we pass them. There have been as couple of times where they has been so bad that i after i pass it, and choke for a second, i start laughing or smiling as i wait for Lindsay to pass it, because i know exactly what her reaction is going to be. I know, the joys of nature that we miss while traveling via cars. I'm glad i know what is out there. Anyway, we had been traveling past farmland and the smell from whatever it was was overwhelming. And with a serious edge, Lindsay grunted "ugh, it smells like the whole farm farted" (in unison)... And while i am sure that you had to be there to really enjoy this, she got me laughing so hard that we had to get off our bikes, i had treats running down my face, and neither of us could catch or breaths. it stuck with us for the next 10 miles or so.. one of would start laughing and get the other one going. I am sharing this because exemplifies our ability to take something gross and awful and turn it around for the other person, and laugh. We were saying tonight that, looking back, there wasn't one day during this trip that we didn't have in fun, even if it was not for the entire day, it was a least some of it. With the obstacles that we encountered, i think that is incredibly special, and says a lot about our friendship.

We left Cotopaxi and began our climb to Hillside. The view was spectacular and made up for the fact that the road was in awful condition. It felt like they put gravel down and then put a thin layer of tar over it. So not fun to riding on was not especially fun. At the top of the never ending hill Lindsay reading me a text from a very close friend at home saying that the hotel in Pueblo would be taken care of. (which we were so excited about and grateful for) At that same moment, as i stood there straddling my bike, listening, the weight of the bike shifted to the left just a tad, but was apparently enough to totally negate any balance that i have and threw off my center of gravity, and i went pummeling toward the pavement (left buttock first). I remember, as i was falling- just looking at Lindsay with the expression of "OH NO" and started grabbing the air. Lindsay thought something was terribly wrong with me when i landed and immediately thought of the fact that our steak dinner and hotel room might be threatened, and how she could carry me there (which i think is fantastic... The steak dinner we had waiting for us had been on the forefront of our minds since we pulled into Howard last night... The only thing that stood between that, was one last climb, and i don't think we have ever been so eager to do so). I was absolutely fine as i wasn't clipped into my pedals or moving, but the pavement would have felt better if it was real pavement... Lets just say that. I walked it off and we were paralyzed with laughter the next 10 minutes because i don't know if i have met somebody who falls over just straddling their bike... And we didn't know our was possible. This kept Lindsay amused for a few miles, as i could hear her giggle behind me. (this also portrays the delicate weight distribution of our gear in the panniers... And how wonderful it is that our bodies actively adjusts it's balance while we ride).

And just as we were getting excited to get onto a new road, thinking that it couldn't get any worse than the one we are on, we realized that the one we had just left was gold compared to the new one. Every 5 feet there was a crack in the pavement. And it wasn't just on the shoulder, either, but across the entire two lanes. They were not small cracks either, but deep, wide cracks that made everything on the bike, including us, bounce. They we hard hits... Like going over potholes.. Every.. Five.. Seconds. In the beginning of this nonsense, we both thought that this couldn't possibly last for more than a few miles, but please don't worry because we experienced this for a straight 70 miles (more on that later... I was infuriated).  We also tried to tell ourselves, after 5 miles of these lovely bumps, that we were one more bump closer to Pueblo (i think out it's funny that we both independently started doing this.).. That stopped being effective power quickly.My large 3L water jug that i have strapped to my rack kept getting jostled around and would come undone every few minutes. It was horrendous. (i didn't mention that i found a $20 bill, crisp after it had been dried by the sun, in the grass right next to me on one of our water breaks... It felt as though it was a compensation for what we were about to endure... I have plans for that money, which i will get to in tomorrow's blog).

We found a Subway half way into our climb, which was about 32 miles long. The wind wasn't with us, and all that we could think about was that steak dinner. I think i was so focused on the dinner partially to distract myself from the fact that this would be the last climb we did, and, for a while, the last time we rode together. It grew increasingly hard to not get heavy hearted as we left the Rockies, and the setting sun and blue and purple silhouette of the majestic mountains became more distant as the yellow fields and rolling hills took over. We couldn't help but look back, amazed that we had just conquered them.

It was getting late and the flat ride that we had expected was far more holy than expected, the road was absolutely atrocious, and the wind was fighting us. I was getting frustrated... And Lindsay could tell, and kind of made me laugh when we just looked over at me and i just have her a look of "you have got to be kidding me," and she said, very nonchalantly "frustrated, Buddy?" And while she knew i was, it was enough to make realize that it was going to be ok, as she was just pushing on through.That reassurance lasted about 5 minutes, I'll be the first to admit it. I was in rare form at this point in our ride, but i chalk it up to being tired and completely emotional about ending this chapter in our journey. I was also very hungry and as we were approaching mile 75 i had enough of those darn cracks, to an extent that i turned to Lindsay and yelled "I'm this close to calling the dept of transportation and telling them that i hope they like the bill for getting my bike fixed after this road messed everything up." We both knew that this was an outrageous statement, and that I would never actually call them, and that there was nothing wrong with my bike. It was an innocent way of getting that off my chest. It was a hissy fit. Lindsay said nothing at the time, and almost tried to got a smile, and definitely laughed at me later. Taking Lindsay's lead i tried to regain composure. I took the energy from my frustration and put it into the hills, and realized that after dropping down to 4900 ft, all of the time we had spent in the high altitudes had done wonder for our strength. I noticed that i was now able to accelerate up hills, even after 75 miles of riding/climbing. I was psyched, and can't wait to see what my legs can do without the panniers (it is amazing how you can redirect your energy and use it to find something positive... And to find what you might be missing out on if you are focusing on what is wrong)

We finally got to our hotel, showered, put on make up and our dresses, a loved the now foreign feeling of being girly. We enjoyed the best meal that we could remember, filet mignon, a congratulatory treat from my mother that we are do thankful for. The waitress so nice, and after she got over the fact that we rode 90 miles on bikes, and not motorcycles, i am pretty sure she started getting a little teary when she asked what we were doing and why. we got pints of ice cream, crawled in bed and giggled for what we thought was the last night for some time. The transition from the mountains to the plains will be difficult, but i couldn't put words into imagining how the transition would be to riding without Lindsay. We battled more than just physical obstacles in those mountains, and i can't imagine what it would be like with any body else. She was and is the perfect travel Buddy.

I still have yet to write about our recovery day and parting ways this morning, but honestly i didn't have have the emotional capacity to do so tonight, and i am thinking that tomorrow will be easier to do so.. After a 112 mile day amidst never ending fields of brown grass, little traffic, and deserted towns, i can tell you that i would like nothing more than to look over at the empty bed next to me and find Lindsay sitting there. I guess i will have to settle with the fact that she its here in spirit.

Chef boyardee doesn't taste as good with out ya, Linds.

Day 26: the big one!!

Mmm sausage and "egg rounds" to start the start the day, courtesy of the Super 8.  By egg rounds i mean flat, circular yellow slabs of pre scrambled eggs (that is when you know it it's real).  But, free protein and carbs in our bellies, we can't complain.  Surprisingly, we got on the road by 8 am (Lindsay was the one to really get us out of bed... She asked the night before what the earliest we had been on the road was, and it was the might after we slept in the shower.. 730).  It was 39° at that point, and luckily we had 32 miles to warm up before our big climb.  We had originally thought that this 32 "warm up" would be just that... Nice and flat, maybe a tailwind, a long gradual climb to 8000 ft.  We should know better by now that is never the case.  There were some fantastic hills that fired up or leg muscles.  We have finally learned (now that we no longer have them on our maps) that the elevation profiles aren't the most accurate.  I also read, yesterday, on there that they don't account for most hills. Again, good to know after the fact... They made the hardest days harder... We still have to do them, it is just part of the mental game of finding what it takes to do them at the end of (and throughout) those days.

As we pushed through the hills we would stop to drink water and eat, and as the sun warmed us up, we noticed that the moon was still lingering in the sky behind us... At 8, 9, even 11 am.  It was really beautiful, and the brightness of the moon was not quick to fade as the morning got older.

We got to Sargents at 11:15,   Besides the all encompassing store (which is exactly 10 miles from the summit), there were RV hook ups and a "rustic" area behind the store with tipis (as they spell it out here) that tourists could explore, but that was pretty much Sargents.. Glad we didn't try to bike here the night before.  Plus, trying to wake up our tired muscles with a climb to 11,312 feet is not a good way to start the day... In retrospect, I think i would rather be woken up with a jug if ice water thrown on me during winter.  Warming up on a mountain simply isn't what i would call fun....

We enjoyed our usual lunch of tuna.  This time we splurged for the tuna pouch, which weighs less and fits better in our overstuffed panniers.  With the pouch comes an extra serving of tuna... Sounds great, right? Not so much.  A typical can of tuna has two servings.  Even dressed up with lemon and avocado, and only partially drained so your mouth doesn't completely dry up in the process, two servings of tuna can be a challenge. Three was a bit over the top.  I know, the extra grams of protein sounds great, but it gets to a point when you have to ask yourself if it is worth it when you start shuttering a bit with the last few bites (Lindsay got a big kick out of this and it became even harder to eat as she was making me laugh and i was doing all that I could to keep it in my mouth... Like a lady)

Meanwhile, as we were getting through this meal (i was on can of beeferoni #2 after i bit in some "beef"that was rock solid, while Lindsay was enjoying premade chicken salad out of a can) we met some very nice people who we struck up conversation with.  The first were a few motorcyclists who were headed west.  Two of the men had recently lost a friend to brain cancer, and were thrilled about what we were doing.  They also said that there should be a cold front in Kansas, so I wouldn't have another heat wave to endure.

Another couple we met owned a hotel and in Crusted Butte, Colorado (which is supposed to be gorgeous).  They had the pleasure of meeting a lady who walked around the world (yes, walked) to raise money for breast cancer research.  Pretty amazing.  Apparently she wrote a book about her travels called "3 Mph." I look forward to reading it upon my return.

By noon we were off and headed up the biggest climb of our trip.  We were pumped.  I was trying to sort out all emotions... I just couldn't believe we were already here, and that physically we were able to do it.  I was somewhat nervous about the effects from the altitude.. We had never been past 10500, and while we had been able to adjust and adapt to it with previous climbs, you always have to be cautious and wonder. But like every other mountain we have climbed, i forgot my fears and concentrated on a hill, or an object on the hill, told my legs to quit whining, and because of the elevation, it was more important that i listen to my body as a whole (and of course, i needed see how Lindsay was faring).  Like every other climb, you forget about what lies ahead and you just do it.  The hill isn't going to go away unless it is behind you.

At our first water break, the first thing that came out of Lindsay's mouth was "all i can smell is that awful chicken salad." that sucked any extra energy i had in me with laughter.  Often times both of us try to distract ourselves in the middle of a climb, and inevitably our minds fall back on an hilarious moment that we have had.  While it is a joyous thing, it can be crippling because as we laugh out loud in the process we get weak and sometimes have to stop, or think of something else really quickly--even if it is about the hill that we are climbing--so we don't lose momentum.

As we approached 9000 feet, i started getting slightly headed.  It didn't help that there were sections that didn't have guard rails and looking down at the endless rows of pine trees made my head spin even more. We stopped for water at this incredible overlook and sat on some rocks.  Lindsay said something to make me laugh really hard and all of a sudden a realized I was weaker than normal and felt drunk. I was extremely nervous at this point, as all i could think about was we are only at 9000 ft right now, how am i going to make it to over 11200? We laid there a minute, trying to absorb the energy from the sun.  I looked at Lindsay, (who was not yet feeling the altitude as much as i was) and told her we should maybe try for another mile and see how it goes (we had 6 more miles until the summit). 

Clamoring back on to our bikes, i noticed that there was a lovely tailwind coming up the mountain.  At that moment, i started telling myself that the breeze was blowing me oxygen, and i should take slow deep breaths as i was pedaling to take it all in, fill my lungs up, before it passed me by.  And that is seriously how I got up the rest of the mountain. To a passerby it may have sounded like I was gasping, but focusing on my breathing was meditative... I feel like I tricked my body into adjusting to the thinning oxygen environment. The climb wasn't easy and i was still out of breath, but i was able to use this approach to appreciate done symptoms. (definitely tasted the remnants of the tuna and beeferoni a few times, can't say that it helped the situation) We calculated that we climbed about 330 ft with every mile (rough estimation). On our last mile, we hurried to catch our breath because we just wanted finish it, to accomplish what it was we set it to do this map, this trip.  We were so close.  As far as the climb itself goes, we have faced more difficult hills.  The altitude was the most challenging obstacle.  Physically, every other climb we have done had prepared us for this mountain.  It was just a matter of bringing it all together.

We caught a great tail wind that took us up 90% of the the way there, and with one tenth of a mile, just as the summit sign was in view, we got one of the strongest head winds yet, and we had to work so hard for those last few feet.  By the time i got, off my bike, in front of the sign i felt life my windpipe had closed and i was wheezing,  and i think partially because i had a lump of pride in my throat.  As Lindsay and i high fived, a car going in the other direction pulled over and rolled down the window and congratulated us.  A lady came out from the RV behind the sign and started asking us questions and took our picture for us. While she was doing so, i was holding my breath so i could smile, and as she was taking the picture i thought for a moment that i was going to pass out from being so light headed. The longer we stayed at the summit, the easier it got. It is amazing how our bodies recover and adapt.

Motorcyclists stopped us and wondered how much weight we were carrying and many of them were amazed that we had come from San Francisco.  In our reality, the farther we have made it from San Francisco, the more we had gotten in a routine of living sleeping and eating, if you will, biking and the farther it seems San Francisco is.  Our reality was one day at a time, and it is hard for me, still, to sit here and fathom that we got here from San Francisco, over 1500 miles away on our bikes, with our legs, our muscles, our own will. It certainly took grit, determination, and each other.  From comments that have been made, i gather that what strikes most people is that two girls are doing this by themselves and carrying their own gear, and most of them haven't even thought about riding a bike in a long time. What they don't know its how we got here, what we went through to get to the top of this mountain. 

My sister, whom I'm very grateful for, gave me a beautiful card before i boarded the plane to fly to San Francisco and she included a quote by Frederick Douglass that has become very fitting for this journey: "Without struggle there is no progress."  We struggled everyday, in one way or another, mentally, physically, even both.  What's more is that we struggled together, we picked each other up, everyday, without thought, and we took turns doing so.  The fact of the matter was that neither of us actually knew what we were getting into... The mountains, the grades,  weather, the number and intensity of climbs in the desert.  Quite honestly, I hadn't even thought of altitude sickness. So yes, each day was a struggle, and while it was most definitely unbeknownst to us at the time, it was also progress, progress we made together. Each day got is closer to that mountain. So at this summit sign at 11,312 ft above sea level, almost 4 weeks after we started this journey, nothing sounds sweeter than the words we could finally say: "We did it." 

We stayed on top of the mountain for quite some time, trying to regain strength through ice cream and nachos as our oxygen saturation tried to normalize.  We each got a pair of small tear drop studs that were hand crafted, with turquoise and opal (they had a huge gift shop there).  Lindsay and I have plans to get second holes pierced in our ears when I ride through Rochester, NY, and when they are healed enough wear these earrings all of the time, so everyone we see them we can be reminded what we did to get them.

At this point i think out is worth mentioning that the name of this pass, the biggest one of the trip, was Monarch's Pass.  As i have mentioned before, my family has formed a connection with Steve and butterflies.  It's hard to put our biggest mountain with that name and call it a coincidence-- I'm not going to.  And, on the way down, there was not a cloud in the sky.

It took us an hour to go descend the mountain, 4000 feet in elevation over 26 miles.  And as we were rolling into subway we hit our 1500 mile mark.  11 miles later, taking us to 79 for the say, we were in Howard, trying to find a place to stay, and ended up having little service. i don't think i have slept that well in a while.

Tomorrow I will write about our last day riding together, finishing the Adventure Cycling Association's Western Express trail in Pueblo, CO, a total of 1606 miles, and our recovery day.  Tomorrow Lindsay goes home, and the journey takes a new turn.  And to touch on something that will be elaborated on tomorrow, she will be greatly missed. And while i know that physically she will no longer be able to partake, this is a journey that we started together and in one way or another we will finish together.  I am not sure what tomorrow will bring, our how the next few weeks will unfold, but what i do know for certain is that life on the road will not be the same without her.

So Kansas, here i come, and let the tailwinds blow me home.

Drive safely, Lindsay.