For the real what, why and how, go here.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Rackufacture: Rear Lasher
Posted here for record only, so that when history eventually shows, as it certainly will, that the lasher rack is one of the single greatest innovations of the modern bike era, I will be included in the list of brilliant early pioneers.
For the real what, why and how, go here.
For the real what, why and how, go here.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Fixing Cataclysmic Flats
The actual physical part of the trip is over, but for me, I can't totally rest until I've told my story. It's dumb, really, but I have this strong compulsion to finish up this insane, inane blogging-about-it. Now that I've started.
Between sorting through photos and then processing them and then composing my thoughts and then getting it all into blog-space, it takes a bunch of time. It's a labor of love, though, and the reason why you see some crazy wee-hour post times . . . the time that's available for this activity at then end of each day is what's left over after everything that needs to get done gets done.
I was all jacked up to work on the Day 5 post when I got home tonight, but Patty has a super-legitimate project of her own going on and while we have 3 different digital processing units at home, we both needed the same one and I backed off and let her use the one we both needed. But I was a big baby about it and some contention ensued and then after some fireworks I apologized, and I hope it came across sincerely, because I was definitely a jerk. Enough said.
I decided instead to begin to deal with the carnage that was the pile of gear that came home with me and that was laying on the basement floor and that needed to be cleaned and/or fixed.
I looked at the tube that had gone through hell and it looked very normal and then I put some air into it and it once again looked like the tube that had gone through hell . . . every green dot is a puncture.
I'm clearly an idiot, but this is a $13 tube and part of it is that I'm cheap but part of it is the challenge of making it hold air again and the the whole curiosity thing about slime and which holes it will seal and which ones I need to patch.
While I was waiting for glue to dry, I pondered the future of this rad bike, with no definite conclusion. Originally, I thought it was sole-purpose and that I'd be putting it for auction after the trip. It's such a unique bike, though, and I'm not really sure that I'm satisfied with the possibilities I've explored. I might wanna hang onto it for a while. I think that maybe there's some major other kinds of major fun to be had.
Between sorting through photos and then processing them and then composing my thoughts and then getting it all into blog-space, it takes a bunch of time. It's a labor of love, though, and the reason why you see some crazy wee-hour post times . . . the time that's available for this activity at then end of each day is what's left over after everything that needs to get done gets done.
I was all jacked up to work on the Day 5 post when I got home tonight, but Patty has a super-legitimate project of her own going on and while we have 3 different digital processing units at home, we both needed the same one and I backed off and let her use the one we both needed. But I was a big baby about it and some contention ensued and then after some fireworks I apologized, and I hope it came across sincerely, because I was definitely a jerk. Enough said.
I decided instead to begin to deal with the carnage that was the pile of gear that came home with me and that was laying on the basement floor and that needed to be cleaned and/or fixed.
I looked at the tube that had gone through hell and it looked very normal and then I put some air into it and it once again looked like the tube that had gone through hell . . . every green dot is a puncture.
I'm clearly an idiot, but this is a $13 tube and part of it is that I'm cheap but part of it is the challenge of making it hold air again and the the whole curiosity thing about slime and which holes it will seal and which ones I need to patch.
While I was waiting for glue to dry, I pondered the future of this rad bike, with no definite conclusion. Originally, I thought it was sole-purpose and that I'd be putting it for auction after the trip. It's such a unique bike, though, and I'm not really sure that I'm satisfied with the possibilities I've explored. I might wanna hang onto it for a while. I think that maybe there's some major other kinds of major fun to be had.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Crossing Washington On The JWPT - Day 4
When you're touring with someone, there are days that you need to stick together, either because of the need for some kind of teamwork or mutual support or maybe because it's a particularly good day and it's just better if you can share it with someone. There are other days, though, when some space is called for. It's not something planned or verbalized . . . it's just that the day and what it's about as the events unfold becomes something very different for each person and it's important that partners are able to let go and let each other follow their own paths and fulfill their own particular experiences. Or as my friend Nate more elegantly and succinctly puts it, "you have to allow for a fair amount of elasticity". Day 4 was one of those days.
Starting out, we were way behind schedule. We were supposed to have made it to the Columbia River by the end of Day 3 and started Day 4 with an early morning crossing, followed by a climb through the Yakima Firing Range up to Ellensburg. And that was supposed to have been the whole plan for the day. Instead, we started the day in Othello, still 40 miles of high drama away from the river. To get back on schedule, we would have to pedal from about mile 140 to about mile 215 - no small task, considering the terrain, elevation change, and unplanned events we'd facing. It was important to get to Ellensburg for a couple of reasons: First, there was a master plan milestone that involved meeting Patty there - we had a motel room reserved and it was the scheduled midpoint regroup, recharge and refuel stop. Second, I was worried that if we didn't get back on schedule at Ellensburg, that the western portion of the trip through the Cascades, which I was really looking forward to, would be all messed up. So in short, a serious need to get to Ellensburg and the seemingly impossibly task of doing so. Something had to give.
For the first 25 miles of Day 4, we continued in detour mode. The tracks are still in place over this portion of the trail, making riding impossible. Fortunately, I had spent almost a full day of recon on this detour and had a pretty sweet route dialed in. The first 10 or so miles of which were along the lovely Bench road, which runs south of and pretty much parallel to the state-recommend detour route on bike-nasty Hwy 26. Bench Road was damned-near traffic free and it was a beautiful morning as we passed through the orchards and farmland, and we were just euphoric over the rapid progress (~14 mph) we were making on the smooth tarmac.
We did cross the trail at one particular juncture and were compelled to take a side trip . . .
. . . for the purpose of taking in a little railroad history.
Two lengthy sections of the Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Paul and Pacific Railroad (aka the "Milwaukee Road"), were "electrified" between about 1915-1920 and 1975. One of these "districts" was between Avery, ID and Harlowton, MT, and encompassed the section we now know as the Hiawatha Trail. The other was between Othello and Tacoma, and was later extended to Seattle. The districts were never connected, but together they accounted for 656 miles, making the Milwaukee Road the longest electrified railroad in the U.S.
What "electrified" means is that the trains were powered through these districts using 3000 VDC electric current from overhead lines, instead of burning steam or diesel. Substations were required to get this power to the trains, and what we had spotted and wanted to take a closer look at was one of the few remaining substations.
Among other things, it's now a giant birdhouse (we freaked out several owls living there), with the poop and smell to prove it. But the history, while unpolished, is undeniable and powerful. What it would have been like to experience the electrical "hum" in this building when it was operating.
Almost immediately after leaving the substation and getting back on the road, we came upon one bigass feed lot. If you're a city-dweller, it's just not something you see very often. It was an awesome sight.
Bench Road eventually gave way to Crab Creek Road. We were absolutely blown away by this absolutely fabulous road with its absolutely stunning views in the absolute middle of nothing and nowhere. (That line across the hill just above my handlebars is the JWPT.) Things for us would soon be changing, but for the moment, we were in heaven.
As much as we'd enjoyed Crab Creed Road, we were happy to find our way back to the trail, because it meant that we were making progress. Once back on line, the trail seemed relatively smooth, which meant that maybe we'd be able to carry some of the momentum from the morning's roads onto the trail. Sweet.
And then, "Phhht . . . phhht . . . phhht . . . phhht . . . phhht . . ."
I remember reading an online account from someone who had ridden through this particular "section that is filled with goat-head thorns". This in no way prepared me for what I was about to see as I slowed my bike to a stop and looked down at my front tire.
Eric had been riding behind me and when he caught up, his tires were also leaking. He decided to see how far he could get before they were un-rideable and headed on down the trail.
I've never been through a flat event of anywhere near this kind of magnitude, but it didn't take any prior experience to understand that I wasn't going anywhere soon and so there was no need to get stressed out about getting back on the road as soon as possible. It was gonna take as long is it was gonna take, and I might as well just focus in and get the job done.
For every thorn with the "head" still attached, there were 2 or three more embedded in the tire with the head broken off - literally dozens of thorns per tire. Those with heads were fairly easy to pull out, but those without were a challenge and some wouldn't budge. So after extricating all that I could, it was also necessary to turn the tire inside out and use a knife blade to break off any remaining protruding sharp ends. And even after this, there would still probably be some embedded thorns that would work their way through the tire after the riding resumed.
I was running Slime in both tubes and both were pocked with green dots from the Slime coming through at the punctures; there was a fair amount of Slime that had escaped into the area between the tube and tire, as well. This made the tubes tough to patch, so I didn't even attempt it . . . where to even start. I did attempt to allow the Slime to seal the punctures by inflating and spinning the tires and I was actually able to get one of them to seal. The other one was toast though, and after several attempts at riding and re-inflating and hoping it would seal, I finally gave up and put a fresh tube in. All up, I spent over two hours sitting in the sun in the middle of the trail, working my way back to pneumatic health. It's the one time on the trip that I used the piece of blue closed cell foam as a sit pad and let me tell you that at this point, I was damn glad I'd brought it along. My beloved new cowboy hat took one hell of a beating though, because as I worked, some totally obnoxious bees pestered me past my boiling point and I lost my temper and used the hat as a weapon with intent to kill. This irrational process was anything but kind to the hat and I'm afraid that while the hat did finish the trip with me, this tour was a one-and-done affair for the hat.
I'd started the day knowing that it was pretty unlikely that I'd be able to complete the ride to Ellensburg. I had held out some hope, though, for as long as I could . . . it was really tough for me to accept the fact that I might have to throw in the towel on riding the entire route that I had planned. Until the mighty flat episode. There was really no choice now . . . Day 5 would was gonna be a tough one and if I decided to keep going and make some massive effort to ride on to Ellensburg, it would leave me with nothing in the tank and mess up any chance of salvaging the last half of the trip. So I was now resigned to the fact that I was gonna have to call Patty, and arrange for a ride from the river up to Ellensburg. I'd be bailing on about 35 miles of the trail. I was trying to be all philosophical, but honestly, damnit.
The disappointment over this though, would be dwarfed by the emotions I was about to experience. Cell service had been almost non-existent up to this point, but there had been coverage in a couple of places and at one of those, I'd received word during the course of Day 3 that my brother-in-law, Art, had passed away. He had been ill, but his death came much sooner than expected and therefore, as somewhat of a shock. This sadness, then, had accompanied me through much of Day 3 and overnight into Day 4. It was now woven into the fabric of the trip and will be an inextricable element and emotion of what I remember about it years from now.
As I now pedaled on towards the river, I picked up a cell signal again and received word that the funeral would be on Friday.
[Pause]
Friday.
We weren't schedule to finish until Saturday.
I slowly processed this fact, not wanting to process this fact. And then I moved directly to my next emotion. I am embarrassed and ashamed to tell you that the emotion was anger . . . towards Art, for dying right now. I had planned this trip for over a year and it had been highly stressful trying to shoehorn it between a ton of stuff going on in my personal life and at work and it looked like I might actually manage to pull off eight whole days to get it done, until . . . Art goes and dies. Damnit Art!
An incredibly selfish moment, I know. Actually it was more than a moment, and it was more than anger. It was more like ten minutes and more like rage. I was by myself, in the middle of nowhere, and I took advantage of that fact to scream every obscenity in my vocabulary, and roll them as hard as I could across the fields and bounce them as hard as I could off the sides of the hills, while I rode on.
And then I was done. As quickly as the fire had flared, it was somehow extinguished. And I was once again a grown-up, and I set about accepting the situation and figuring out how to deal with it.
Juxtaposed against all the sadness and frustration and discouragement, was all the beauty and wonder through which I was riding. It was all so incredibly powerful.
While all of this was going on in my little world, Eric was having his own adventure. While I'd resigned myself to the fact that I would have to catch a ride up to Ellensburg, he wasn't anywhere close to giving in. He was quite intent on riding through, and was one of the reasons that he'd gone on ahead. I'm not sure what all events occurred for him during the hours we were on our own, but as cell coverage resumed I received a message from him that he had reached the bridge and that it was impassible. By bridge, I mean THE bridge, the actual Milwaukee Road bridge across the Columbia River at Beverly. I couldn't believe even believe it, that crossing the bridge was now off the table.
Since no actual crime was committed, I guess I can now openly talk about the crime I intended to commit. The only law enforcement agency I can think of that can that can try and convict me on the basis of intention is the Catholic Church, and what's a little more time in purgatory, at this point.
There are very few alternatives for crossing the mighty Columbia near this route and I'd spent exhaustive hours researching and contemplating them all. And I mean exhaustive with a capital E, including multiple recon trips. Including considering buying and learning how to use a packraft. But no option is anywhere near as enticing as the actual, authentic, real bridge - it's so badass. Oh, did I mentioned that this bridge is gated and closed. I finally settled on this best and finest option when John and I made a trip to Seattle earlier this year and I coaxed him into side-tripping to look at both sides of the bridge on the way back to Spokane. At that time, the little portion of chainlink fence just to the left of the gates had been cut from top to bottom, and you could spread the fabric enough to get a bike through. This was the case on both sides of the bridge. External to the chainlink fencing was some barbed wire, and this had also been cut, meaning that even if the chainlink wasn't cut, there was still the backup option of swinging your bike and gear outside and around the fencing and landing it on the other side.
Trouble was, the chainlink had been replaced and the barbed wire had been re-strung. Eric was waiting for me as I pulled up to that which was not possible; but upon inspection, I was forced to accept the facts. I feel like Photoshopping a big red "Denied", diagonally across the picture.
We'd have been willing to exploit someone else's vandalism, but we weren't vandals ourselves. Damn Beverly bridge. I still think I'll bag it someday, somehow.
It wouldn't be this day, though. We put in the call to Patty and then rolled down off the berm, through the little town of Beverly, and parked under the bridge while we waited for her to pick us up.
At this point it was about 4:00 in the afternoon. We drove up to Vantage and pit-stopped for sodas and salty snacks. Eric informed us that he was feeling strong and wanted to get back on the trail, so we drove him down to the west side of the Beverly bridge and dropped him off at the entrance to the Yakima Firing Range. It was just before 5:00. He wouldn't arrive in Ellensburg until after midnight. Patty and I were sort of worried, but it was just so obvious that endurance-athlete-Eric was craving a major challenge and that the opportunity and circumstances were just right and that it was all okay. But wow. Hardcore, man.
This has been a long post, I know. If you're still with me, thanks for hanging in. There's no way I could condense the story and still tell it the way it should be told. On this trip, there were so many chapters to each day and Eric and I kept commenting about how we would remember something that happened yesterday and it would seem like it happened a week ago, there was so much in between. Amazing.
Day 4 Ride Stats
43 miles
4:10 saddle time
10.2 mph avg
39.2 mph max
207 total trip miles
Rest in peace, Art. You will be missed.
Starting out, we were way behind schedule. We were supposed to have made it to the Columbia River by the end of Day 3 and started Day 4 with an early morning crossing, followed by a climb through the Yakima Firing Range up to Ellensburg. And that was supposed to have been the whole plan for the day. Instead, we started the day in Othello, still 40 miles of high drama away from the river. To get back on schedule, we would have to pedal from about mile 140 to about mile 215 - no small task, considering the terrain, elevation change, and unplanned events we'd facing. It was important to get to Ellensburg for a couple of reasons: First, there was a master plan milestone that involved meeting Patty there - we had a motel room reserved and it was the scheduled midpoint regroup, recharge and refuel stop. Second, I was worried that if we didn't get back on schedule at Ellensburg, that the western portion of the trip through the Cascades, which I was really looking forward to, would be all messed up. So in short, a serious need to get to Ellensburg and the seemingly impossibly task of doing so. Something had to give.
For the first 25 miles of Day 4, we continued in detour mode. The tracks are still in place over this portion of the trail, making riding impossible. Fortunately, I had spent almost a full day of recon on this detour and had a pretty sweet route dialed in. The first 10 or so miles of which were along the lovely Bench road, which runs south of and pretty much parallel to the state-recommend detour route on bike-nasty Hwy 26. Bench Road was damned-near traffic free and it was a beautiful morning as we passed through the orchards and farmland, and we were just euphoric over the rapid progress (~14 mph) we were making on the smooth tarmac.
We did cross the trail at one particular juncture and were compelled to take a side trip . . .
. . . for the purpose of taking in a little railroad history.
Two lengthy sections of the Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Paul and Pacific Railroad (aka the "Milwaukee Road"), were "electrified" between about 1915-1920 and 1975. One of these "districts" was between Avery, ID and Harlowton, MT, and encompassed the section we now know as the Hiawatha Trail. The other was between Othello and Tacoma, and was later extended to Seattle. The districts were never connected, but together they accounted for 656 miles, making the Milwaukee Road the longest electrified railroad in the U.S.
What "electrified" means is that the trains were powered through these districts using 3000 VDC electric current from overhead lines, instead of burning steam or diesel. Substations were required to get this power to the trains, and what we had spotted and wanted to take a closer look at was one of the few remaining substations.
Almost immediately after leaving the substation and getting back on the road, we came upon one bigass feed lot. If you're a city-dweller, it's just not something you see very often. It was an awesome sight.
Bench Road eventually gave way to Crab Creek Road. We were absolutely blown away by this absolutely fabulous road with its absolutely stunning views in the absolute middle of nothing and nowhere. (That line across the hill just above my handlebars is the JWPT.) Things for us would soon be changing, but for the moment, we were in heaven.
As much as we'd enjoyed Crab Creed Road, we were happy to find our way back to the trail, because it meant that we were making progress. Once back on line, the trail seemed relatively smooth, which meant that maybe we'd be able to carry some of the momentum from the morning's roads onto the trail. Sweet.
And then, "Phhht . . . phhht . . . phhht . . . phhht . . . phhht . . ."
I remember reading an online account from someone who had ridden through this particular "section that is filled with goat-head thorns". This in no way prepared me for what I was about to see as I slowed my bike to a stop and looked down at my front tire.
Eric had been riding behind me and when he caught up, his tires were also leaking. He decided to see how far he could get before they were un-rideable and headed on down the trail.
I've never been through a flat event of anywhere near this kind of magnitude, but it didn't take any prior experience to understand that I wasn't going anywhere soon and so there was no need to get stressed out about getting back on the road as soon as possible. It was gonna take as long is it was gonna take, and I might as well just focus in and get the job done.
For every thorn with the "head" still attached, there were 2 or three more embedded in the tire with the head broken off - literally dozens of thorns per tire. Those with heads were fairly easy to pull out, but those without were a challenge and some wouldn't budge. So after extricating all that I could, it was also necessary to turn the tire inside out and use a knife blade to break off any remaining protruding sharp ends. And even after this, there would still probably be some embedded thorns that would work their way through the tire after the riding resumed.
I was running Slime in both tubes and both were pocked with green dots from the Slime coming through at the punctures; there was a fair amount of Slime that had escaped into the area between the tube and tire, as well. This made the tubes tough to patch, so I didn't even attempt it . . . where to even start. I did attempt to allow the Slime to seal the punctures by inflating and spinning the tires and I was actually able to get one of them to seal. The other one was toast though, and after several attempts at riding and re-inflating and hoping it would seal, I finally gave up and put a fresh tube in. All up, I spent over two hours sitting in the sun in the middle of the trail, working my way back to pneumatic health. It's the one time on the trip that I used the piece of blue closed cell foam as a sit pad and let me tell you that at this point, I was damn glad I'd brought it along. My beloved new cowboy hat took one hell of a beating though, because as I worked, some totally obnoxious bees pestered me past my boiling point and I lost my temper and used the hat as a weapon with intent to kill. This irrational process was anything but kind to the hat and I'm afraid that while the hat did finish the trip with me, this tour was a one-and-done affair for the hat.
I'd started the day knowing that it was pretty unlikely that I'd be able to complete the ride to Ellensburg. I had held out some hope, though, for as long as I could . . . it was really tough for me to accept the fact that I might have to throw in the towel on riding the entire route that I had planned. Until the mighty flat episode. There was really no choice now . . . Day 5 would was gonna be a tough one and if I decided to keep going and make some massive effort to ride on to Ellensburg, it would leave me with nothing in the tank and mess up any chance of salvaging the last half of the trip. So I was now resigned to the fact that I was gonna have to call Patty, and arrange for a ride from the river up to Ellensburg. I'd be bailing on about 35 miles of the trail. I was trying to be all philosophical, but honestly, damnit.
The disappointment over this though, would be dwarfed by the emotions I was about to experience. Cell service had been almost non-existent up to this point, but there had been coverage in a couple of places and at one of those, I'd received word during the course of Day 3 that my brother-in-law, Art, had passed away. He had been ill, but his death came much sooner than expected and therefore, as somewhat of a shock. This sadness, then, had accompanied me through much of Day 3 and overnight into Day 4. It was now woven into the fabric of the trip and will be an inextricable element and emotion of what I remember about it years from now.
As I now pedaled on towards the river, I picked up a cell signal again and received word that the funeral would be on Friday.
[Pause]
Friday.
We weren't schedule to finish until Saturday.
I slowly processed this fact, not wanting to process this fact. And then I moved directly to my next emotion. I am embarrassed and ashamed to tell you that the emotion was anger . . . towards Art, for dying right now. I had planned this trip for over a year and it had been highly stressful trying to shoehorn it between a ton of stuff going on in my personal life and at work and it looked like I might actually manage to pull off eight whole days to get it done, until . . . Art goes and dies. Damnit Art!
An incredibly selfish moment, I know. Actually it was more than a moment, and it was more than anger. It was more like ten minutes and more like rage. I was by myself, in the middle of nowhere, and I took advantage of that fact to scream every obscenity in my vocabulary, and roll them as hard as I could across the fields and bounce them as hard as I could off the sides of the hills, while I rode on.
And then I was done. As quickly as the fire had flared, it was somehow extinguished. And I was once again a grown-up, and I set about accepting the situation and figuring out how to deal with it.
Juxtaposed against all the sadness and frustration and discouragement, was all the beauty and wonder through which I was riding. It was all so incredibly powerful.
While all of this was going on in my little world, Eric was having his own adventure. While I'd resigned myself to the fact that I would have to catch a ride up to Ellensburg, he wasn't anywhere close to giving in. He was quite intent on riding through, and was one of the reasons that he'd gone on ahead. I'm not sure what all events occurred for him during the hours we were on our own, but as cell coverage resumed I received a message from him that he had reached the bridge and that it was impassible. By bridge, I mean THE bridge, the actual Milwaukee Road bridge across the Columbia River at Beverly. I couldn't believe even believe it, that crossing the bridge was now off the table.
Since no actual crime was committed, I guess I can now openly talk about the crime I intended to commit. The only law enforcement agency I can think of that can that can try and convict me on the basis of intention is the Catholic Church, and what's a little more time in purgatory, at this point.
There are very few alternatives for crossing the mighty Columbia near this route and I'd spent exhaustive hours researching and contemplating them all. And I mean exhaustive with a capital E, including multiple recon trips. Including considering buying and learning how to use a packraft. But no option is anywhere near as enticing as the actual, authentic, real bridge - it's so badass. Oh, did I mentioned that this bridge is gated and closed. I finally settled on this best and finest option when John and I made a trip to Seattle earlier this year and I coaxed him into side-tripping to look at both sides of the bridge on the way back to Spokane. At that time, the little portion of chainlink fence just to the left of the gates had been cut from top to bottom, and you could spread the fabric enough to get a bike through. This was the case on both sides of the bridge. External to the chainlink fencing was some barbed wire, and this had also been cut, meaning that even if the chainlink wasn't cut, there was still the backup option of swinging your bike and gear outside and around the fencing and landing it on the other side.
Trouble was, the chainlink had been replaced and the barbed wire had been re-strung. Eric was waiting for me as I pulled up to that which was not possible; but upon inspection, I was forced to accept the facts. I feel like Photoshopping a big red "Denied", diagonally across the picture.
We'd have been willing to exploit someone else's vandalism, but we weren't vandals ourselves. Damn Beverly bridge. I still think I'll bag it someday, somehow.
It wouldn't be this day, though. We put in the call to Patty and then rolled down off the berm, through the little town of Beverly, and parked under the bridge while we waited for her to pick us up.
At this point it was about 4:00 in the afternoon. We drove up to Vantage and pit-stopped for sodas and salty snacks. Eric informed us that he was feeling strong and wanted to get back on the trail, so we drove him down to the west side of the Beverly bridge and dropped him off at the entrance to the Yakima Firing Range. It was just before 5:00. He wouldn't arrive in Ellensburg until after midnight. Patty and I were sort of worried, but it was just so obvious that endurance-athlete-Eric was craving a major challenge and that the opportunity and circumstances were just right and that it was all okay. But wow. Hardcore, man.
This has been a long post, I know. If you're still with me, thanks for hanging in. There's no way I could condense the story and still tell it the way it should be told. On this trip, there were so many chapters to each day and Eric and I kept commenting about how we would remember something that happened yesterday and it would seem like it happened a week ago, there was so much in between. Amazing.
Day 4 Ride Stats
43 miles
4:10 saddle time
10.2 mph avg
39.2 mph max
207 total trip miles
Rest in peace, Art. You will be missed.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Crossing Washington On The JWPT - Our Gear
I thought I'd interrupt the day-by-day trip accounts with a brief post about our equipment.
Scott
. . . was riding a Trek 29er hardtail, and towing his new BOB trailer. He'd been out with it a few times for short trials, but the tour was its first real test. He plans to use it after the trip for general errand running (at least that's how he justified it to his wife!) and he chose the non-suspended Yak over the suspended Ibex. I haven't had a chance to talk to him in any detail since the trip, but my impression was that he was pretty happy with the way the bike and trailer performed on the trail. The only difficulty I ever noticed was through hike-a-bike sections, where the trailer became a little unwieldy, but in those cases he would quickly and easily uncouple the trailer and carry the bike and trailer separately. No big deal. With 70 lbs of capacity, Scott was able to carry almost all his gear on the trailer.
For those items he needed frequent access to, he used a compact handlebar bag. Smart.
Two features of his system I was genuinely jealous of were his kickstand . . .
. . . and his extra bottle holders.
Eric
. . . broke out his Surly Troll for this trip. He acquired it from the legendary Tom McFadden, who if I understand things correctly, had enough of it because it was your typical Surly tank and Tom got sick of lugging it up and down the stairs at his apartment building. Probably an over-simplification, but totally understandable, I can almost feel the pain after a few years of wrestling my Karate Monkey in and out of my four-staired basement. But the Troll was pretty appropriate for this trip. Eric tailored it to fit him and his style. A coupla interesting features are a dynohub light system for the tunnels and a double chainring, but no front derailleur. His reasoning was that since we'd be riding railbed, with it's controlled 4% max grade, there wouldn't be a need for a wide gear range and if there was a need to drop into the small chainring, he could "shift" by hand.
His bar-mount bottle holder is sweet. I may have to work on that if I do another trip of this type.
Crocs. A man after my own heart.
Here again, the handlebar bag made total sense.
Me
I might start getting emotional at this point . . . that's how much I loved this bike on this trip. It's pretty tough to put into words, but there is a sense of comfort and control and confidence when I'm aboard this bike that is unlike anything I've ever felt with any other bike. I'm not saying it's everything to me or everybody or every road or trail; on the contrary - it has some definite shortcomings in different scenarios. But for this trip, well, it was just fantastically suited.
I ran the tires at around 22 psi for most of the trip. Ideally, I would have adjusted the pressure along the way according to the surfaces we encountered, but that's a lot of fussing and fiddling, and mostly the vibe of the trip was that we needed to keep moving to cover the ground that we needed to cover. This pressure made for a harsher ride than I would have liked at times, but it kept my rolling resistance down, which was important, for the aforementioned reason. With this tire (Surly Black Floyd) at this pressure, it rolled surprisingly well. Amazingly, actually.
Some cargo details . . .
The bike, as pictured here, weighs 100 lbs. Insanity, man. The whole package didn't come together until late into the night before the trip and I honestly believed up until that point that I was in the 80 lb range, delusional as I was. And then I put it on the scale. HOE. LEE. HELL. At that point it was too late and I was too tired to do anything about it. But it occupied my thoughts all night and honestly, really worried the shit out of me.
As far as what's what and what's where, the left front pannier carried all my food and cooking gear (lightweight stove, Ti cup, plastic spoon), while the right one carried my clothing and sleeping bag. Above that is the blue bag affixed to my front rack and a worthy contributor to my weight problem - it's like the drawer in your kitchen that holds batteries and rubber bands and scotch tape and pens and potholders and gum and mints and scissors and screwdrivers and every other damn thing that doesn't fit anywhere else and that you want to get off your counter. Problem is, the blue bag holds an incredible amount of krap, and I took advantage of every last cubic mm. Vik made a comment on a previous post to the effect that people pack extra stuff on trips to compensate for their insecurities and I believe that 1) this is true, and 2) I am loaded with insecurities. Ha! I had so much garbage in there that it was a pain to find anything I needed.
Right above the blue bag is my camera bag, a converted and re-purposed Topeak TourGuide Handlebar Bag, which was a major success and which I'll talk about more in a minute. Right behind that, attached to the stem and top tube is a Revelate Gas Tank. It's cool, but I never fell in love with it because I could never dial in what I was supposed to carry in it. The stuff I thought I wanted in it was too big to get the zipper closed over and I don't know . . . the space inside is kind of weird-shaped, for lack of better description. It's a very well built bag and I'm not ditching it or anything, I just need more time to figure out how to use it.
Moving to the rear, the orange thing on the left side is my tent, inside a lightweight silnylon-type dry bag, and lashed to the rear rack. Let's just take a moment here to talk about lashing . . .
John is all about the idea and wants to build a lasher rack, but the timing to do that just hasn't worked out yet. I have also found the concept highly appealing so when I built the racks for this bike and this trip, I incorporated the beta testing features. Lasher R&D, if you will. Downstream of this trip, I can tell you with complete and utter conviction that lashing is the total shit. I've figured out some definite dos and don'ts, but in general, lashing eliminates bags and allows for super organized access and quick on-off's. Plus it looks cool.
The yellow thing on the right side is my new, rad sleeping pad. Next trip out I will have a dry bag for my sleeping bag and then all my sleeping gear will be lashed, leaving the front end just for food and clothes. Just above the tent is my camp chair, which I should have left at home. Just fore of the sleeping pad is a compact GorrilaPod tripod for my SLR that I was certain I needed and used exactly one time. Dopey.
And then there's the rear basket. Another catch-all that sorta made sense but that just caught too much. The tubes for these tires are super bigass - you don't just stuff them in a seat bag. So they landed in the basket. And some blue closed cell foam that acted as cushioning against the wire frame of the basket and doubled as a sit pad. O2 rain jacket and pants. MSR gravity filter. Garbage, as it accumulated. A couple 24 oz cans of beer, on one or two occasions. I think you can see what I mean . . . have basket, will fill.
Coupla other things, I guess. Thudbuster. Yes. Brilliant, on my part. And that's a super lightweight cable lock coiled up on the side of the blue bag. The most minimal security, just enough to keep someone from grabbing and running. Used it on numerous occasions to mitigate my insecurities.
This is a total crap picture, but here's my cockpit. Garmin Oregon 450 GPS on the left, standard-type cycle computer on the stem. Just below that is a StemCAPtain thermometer. I thought it might be kind of informative to know what the temperature was at different times, and so it seemed like a good, albeit novel idea. Trouble is, it was so inaccurate that is was useless. Oh well, nothing ventured nothing gained. (Absolutely nothing gained, in this case.) Just to the right is a canister of bear-spray. My only external self-defense mechanism of any kind against animals, humans or aliens; also a small and unnecessary boat anchor brought aboard due to insecurity. Ergon grips, which are wonderful and upon which I consciously made an effort to regularly switch hand positions in order to avoid compressed nerve problems but which I still didn't avoid and which, based on past experience, will take a few weeks to overcome. If I had it to do again, I'd go with the even nerdier GP5's for a coupla more hand positions.
I've got one major success story to report though, and that's my camera bag. This guy protected both my DSLR and P&S through lots of big-time bouncing, while at the same time allowing super-easy access. I could literally stop, unzip and have my SLR fired up and ready to shoot in about 5 seconds, and then powered down and stowed and be ready to go again in about the same amount of time. Which made me super-annoying, just ask my riding partners. The point and shoot was in the right side auxiliary pouch and was super easy to grab and shoot while on the move. The bag came with a cover that I could and did throw over it when rain started falling. Sweet setup, if I do say so myself.
I've gone on and on, I realize. I'm a freak, I know. But if you're reading this, you're still here. I'd call that a you-problem, nerd.
Don't let it bug you, man, we're in this together. I'll get back to trip-recounting next time and we'll both feel better.
Scott
. . . was riding a Trek 29er hardtail, and towing his new BOB trailer. He'd been out with it a few times for short trials, but the tour was its first real test. He plans to use it after the trip for general errand running (at least that's how he justified it to his wife!) and he chose the non-suspended Yak over the suspended Ibex. I haven't had a chance to talk to him in any detail since the trip, but my impression was that he was pretty happy with the way the bike and trailer performed on the trail. The only difficulty I ever noticed was through hike-a-bike sections, where the trailer became a little unwieldy, but in those cases he would quickly and easily uncouple the trailer and carry the bike and trailer separately. No big deal. With 70 lbs of capacity, Scott was able to carry almost all his gear on the trailer.
For those items he needed frequent access to, he used a compact handlebar bag. Smart.
Two features of his system I was genuinely jealous of were his kickstand . . .
. . . and his extra bottle holders.
Eric
. . . broke out his Surly Troll for this trip. He acquired it from the legendary Tom McFadden, who if I understand things correctly, had enough of it because it was your typical Surly tank and Tom got sick of lugging it up and down the stairs at his apartment building. Probably an over-simplification, but totally understandable, I can almost feel the pain after a few years of wrestling my Karate Monkey in and out of my four-staired basement. But the Troll was pretty appropriate for this trip. Eric tailored it to fit him and his style. A coupla interesting features are a dynohub light system for the tunnels and a double chainring, but no front derailleur. His reasoning was that since we'd be riding railbed, with it's controlled 4% max grade, there wouldn't be a need for a wide gear range and if there was a need to drop into the small chainring, he could "shift" by hand.
His bar-mount bottle holder is sweet. I may have to work on that if I do another trip of this type.
Crocs. A man after my own heart.
Here again, the handlebar bag made total sense.
Me
I might start getting emotional at this point . . . that's how much I loved this bike on this trip. It's pretty tough to put into words, but there is a sense of comfort and control and confidence when I'm aboard this bike that is unlike anything I've ever felt with any other bike. I'm not saying it's everything to me or everybody or every road or trail; on the contrary - it has some definite shortcomings in different scenarios. But for this trip, well, it was just fantastically suited.
I ran the tires at around 22 psi for most of the trip. Ideally, I would have adjusted the pressure along the way according to the surfaces we encountered, but that's a lot of fussing and fiddling, and mostly the vibe of the trip was that we needed to keep moving to cover the ground that we needed to cover. This pressure made for a harsher ride than I would have liked at times, but it kept my rolling resistance down, which was important, for the aforementioned reason. With this tire (Surly Black Floyd) at this pressure, it rolled surprisingly well. Amazingly, actually.
Some cargo details . . .
The bike, as pictured here, weighs 100 lbs. Insanity, man. The whole package didn't come together until late into the night before the trip and I honestly believed up until that point that I was in the 80 lb range, delusional as I was. And then I put it on the scale. HOE. LEE. HELL. At that point it was too late and I was too tired to do anything about it. But it occupied my thoughts all night and honestly, really worried the shit out of me.
As far as what's what and what's where, the left front pannier carried all my food and cooking gear (lightweight stove, Ti cup, plastic spoon), while the right one carried my clothing and sleeping bag. Above that is the blue bag affixed to my front rack and a worthy contributor to my weight problem - it's like the drawer in your kitchen that holds batteries and rubber bands and scotch tape and pens and potholders and gum and mints and scissors and screwdrivers and every other damn thing that doesn't fit anywhere else and that you want to get off your counter. Problem is, the blue bag holds an incredible amount of krap, and I took advantage of every last cubic mm. Vik made a comment on a previous post to the effect that people pack extra stuff on trips to compensate for their insecurities and I believe that 1) this is true, and 2) I am loaded with insecurities. Ha! I had so much garbage in there that it was a pain to find anything I needed.
Right above the blue bag is my camera bag, a converted and re-purposed Topeak TourGuide Handlebar Bag, which was a major success and which I'll talk about more in a minute. Right behind that, attached to the stem and top tube is a Revelate Gas Tank. It's cool, but I never fell in love with it because I could never dial in what I was supposed to carry in it. The stuff I thought I wanted in it was too big to get the zipper closed over and I don't know . . . the space inside is kind of weird-shaped, for lack of better description. It's a very well built bag and I'm not ditching it or anything, I just need more time to figure out how to use it.
Moving to the rear, the orange thing on the left side is my tent, inside a lightweight silnylon-type dry bag, and lashed to the rear rack. Let's just take a moment here to talk about lashing . . .
John is all about the idea and wants to build a lasher rack, but the timing to do that just hasn't worked out yet. I have also found the concept highly appealing so when I built the racks for this bike and this trip, I incorporated the beta testing features. Lasher R&D, if you will. Downstream of this trip, I can tell you with complete and utter conviction that lashing is the total shit. I've figured out some definite dos and don'ts, but in general, lashing eliminates bags and allows for super organized access and quick on-off's. Plus it looks cool.
The yellow thing on the right side is my new, rad sleeping pad. Next trip out I will have a dry bag for my sleeping bag and then all my sleeping gear will be lashed, leaving the front end just for food and clothes. Just above the tent is my camp chair, which I should have left at home. Just fore of the sleeping pad is a compact GorrilaPod tripod for my SLR that I was certain I needed and used exactly one time. Dopey.
And then there's the rear basket. Another catch-all that sorta made sense but that just caught too much. The tubes for these tires are super bigass - you don't just stuff them in a seat bag. So they landed in the basket. And some blue closed cell foam that acted as cushioning against the wire frame of the basket and doubled as a sit pad. O2 rain jacket and pants. MSR gravity filter. Garbage, as it accumulated. A couple 24 oz cans of beer, on one or two occasions. I think you can see what I mean . . . have basket, will fill.
Coupla other things, I guess. Thudbuster. Yes. Brilliant, on my part. And that's a super lightweight cable lock coiled up on the side of the blue bag. The most minimal security, just enough to keep someone from grabbing and running. Used it on numerous occasions to mitigate my insecurities.
This is a total crap picture, but here's my cockpit. Garmin Oregon 450 GPS on the left, standard-type cycle computer on the stem. Just below that is a StemCAPtain thermometer. I thought it might be kind of informative to know what the temperature was at different times, and so it seemed like a good, albeit novel idea. Trouble is, it was so inaccurate that is was useless. Oh well, nothing ventured nothing gained. (Absolutely nothing gained, in this case.) Just to the right is a canister of bear-spray. My only external self-defense mechanism of any kind against animals, humans or aliens; also a small and unnecessary boat anchor brought aboard due to insecurity. Ergon grips, which are wonderful and upon which I consciously made an effort to regularly switch hand positions in order to avoid compressed nerve problems but which I still didn't avoid and which, based on past experience, will take a few weeks to overcome. If I had it to do again, I'd go with the even nerdier GP5's for a coupla more hand positions.
I've got one major success story to report though, and that's my camera bag. This guy protected both my DSLR and P&S through lots of big-time bouncing, while at the same time allowing super-easy access. I could literally stop, unzip and have my SLR fired up and ready to shoot in about 5 seconds, and then powered down and stowed and be ready to go again in about the same amount of time. Which made me super-annoying, just ask my riding partners. The point and shoot was in the right side auxiliary pouch and was super easy to grab and shoot while on the move. The bag came with a cover that I could and did throw over it when rain started falling. Sweet setup, if I do say so myself.
I've gone on and on, I realize. I'm a freak, I know. But if you're reading this, you're still here. I'd call that a you-problem, nerd.
Don't let it bug you, man, we're in this together. I'll get back to trip-recounting next time and we'll both feel better.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Crossing Washington On The JWPT - Day 3
Day 3. Oy.
Day 2 had been pretty demoralizing and we all agreed to just sleep on things and figure out our next step in the morning. The wind blew all night and into the morning of Day 3. On top of that, it looked like rain was coming our way. Scott had done what he'd come to do and was headed north on Highway 261 for the 10 or so miles into Ritzville, where he'd rendezvous with his wife for the lift home. He's a really good guy and it had been great riding with him and we took a minute to snap a parting-of-the-ways timer shot.
For me, this was the lowest point of the trip, enthusiasm-wise. I could have so easily decided to screw this shit. I had a week of vacation ahead of me and why did I want to waste it out here in the middle of nowhere, eating crap food and getting rained on and pounded by the wind? I could be sleeping in at home and chilling and living the good life. Bon bons and bubble baths. If I had been alone . . . I might have thrown in the towel. Or not. I'm not sure. Luckily, the weather didn't phase Eric all that much and deep down I wasn't ready to quit and was up for the challenge of another day. Touring partners are good to have, in so many ways. After a bit of cursory discussion, it was settled and we were on our way.
We started at somewhere around mile 85 on the map below and would have to get to mile 180 to catch back up. We weren't really thinking about it that way, though. We were just ready to adapt to our situation and do the best we could. As it turned out, we would get as far as Othello, at about mile 140. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Almost immediately after hitting the trail, things felt better. The wind began to die down and yeah, it was raining, but it was okay.
It would be 16 miles between Ralston and Lind, and it would be probably the roughest section of trail on the whole trip, dictating an average for the section of just under 7 mph. But we just found our pace and got into savoring and appreciating the experience of riding through some of the mostly gnarly and desolate terrain that we would experience on the trip. Crazy as it sounds.
Additionally, I was still kind of mourning the fact that the burger and beer that we were hoping for at the end of Day 2 didn't happen, and was thinking that maybe the consolation prize was a hearty, greasy breakfast waiting for us at the same bar and grill. So there was that.
I don't know why, maybe a dream I had, but I was pretty sure that the JWPT trail tunneled under Hwy 395. Turns out though, it trestled over it. 'Xcept that the trestle was gone. The detour is the out-of-focus path on the far right of the picture below and one just like it up the other side of the highway, to connect back with the trail.
At the bottom, and connecting the two paths, are these tunnels. So maybe there was something to the dream after all.
About 2-1/2 hours after we'd left Ralston, we finally arrived at Lind. Upon quick survey, the bar and grill didn't open until 4:00 that afternoon. No other cafes or anything. Damnit to hell. Oh well.
It was time to once again modify my expectations. Inside Jim's, they had just finished pre-heating some pizza pockets and those weird BBQ burritos you normally find only at gas stations and were loading them into the hot storage case with the glass doors. Freshest they would ever be, so apparently the force was with us.
Just outside of Lind, we encountered the amazing remains of what must have been a spectacular trestle. And another convergence of dead and live rail lines out here in the middle of nothing. So wonderful.
As we were detouring across the valley, another train came through, going the other direction. We were right there trackside, allowed to experience the massive rumble.
The trail was not all that friendly, but it's part of what added to the incredible character of the day.
The ranchers and farmers and others who make their homes out here, I suppose, get used to the sky because they see it every day. I'm sure they rely on what the sky tells them, but they probably become somewhat complacent to the beauty, how could they not. Those of us that live in more populous areas think we see it, but we don't much, really. I became so aware of the sky and it felt to me like such a privilege to be able to spend three or four straight days looking at it against the natural horizon, in all its moods.
What stories it could tell, if only . . .
Eric and I had just a couple of non-negotiable guiding principles on this trip and one of them was to avoid traps at all cost. Otherwise, we'd have gone right in.
We finally reached Warden late in the afternoon, legitimately hungry and thirsty, and bee-lined right for the Mexican restaurant . . . it was a genuine mom and pop shop. It could have been closed, given the lack of patrons and visible activity of any kind. But they were there and as we parked our bikes, they came out to greet us. As we were escorted inside and seated, pop retreated to the kitchen and our waiter, the 14-or-so-year-old son took over the hospitality duties. He was extremely attentive to our needs and in addition to his normal tasks, it was clear that he was charged with relaying questions from the kitchen and returning with answers. Since he spoke the best English. Where had we come from? Where were we headed? Where did we live? And most importantly, How much did one of my tires cost? The meal was fabulous and the experience even better.
We rolled from Warden to Othello via the detour I had recon'd along the irrigation canals. The wind was getting fairly strong again and we were pretty beat and so we just kind of got through it, what a shame. The master plan called for us hitting this section early in the day, when we had the energy and enthusiasm to fully enjoy the views. It was still very cool, don't get me wrong.
At this point, we were supposed to be through Othello and almost 40 miles down the trail, just shy of the Columbia river crossing at Beverly. But here we were in Othello and the wind was blowing hard and it was getting late and it was clear we were at the end of our travel limits, for this day. We talked about splitting a cheap motel room for the night, but the thought of piling in to a walled box after having spent the last three nights outdoors just didn't hold that much appeal. Eric suggested that we try to find a church lawn to sleep on, but all the churches we looked at didn't have much in the way of lawns. We finally stumbled across this school and happened to catch a very cool administrator, just leaving work at about 6:30 or 7:00 pm, who gave us permission to crash on school grounds.
We hadn't yet thought much about Day 4. We would deal with that in the morning. For now, it was just so awesome to have soft, level ground upon which to retire.
Next morning, the custodial staff showed up at about 5:30 am to find us sleeping on the lawn. Their response was an offer to open up the school for us so that we could use the bathrooms and take showers and fill our bottles. I told them we didn't need towels, but they wouldn't take no for an answer. You hear about this stuff all the time from people who tour, but it's quite another thing to experience it firsthand. It instantly restores your faith in humanity.
At the outset of the trip, I'd been pretty sure that I knew how each day would go. At this juncture, it was pretty evident that I didn't know jack and in fact had very little control. What a wonderful feeling!
Day 3 Ride Stats
58 miles
7:35 saddle time
7.7 mph avg
26.2 mph max
164 total trip miles
Day 2 had been pretty demoralizing and we all agreed to just sleep on things and figure out our next step in the morning. The wind blew all night and into the morning of Day 3. On top of that, it looked like rain was coming our way. Scott had done what he'd come to do and was headed north on Highway 261 for the 10 or so miles into Ritzville, where he'd rendezvous with his wife for the lift home. He's a really good guy and it had been great riding with him and we took a minute to snap a parting-of-the-ways timer shot.
For me, this was the lowest point of the trip, enthusiasm-wise. I could have so easily decided to screw this shit. I had a week of vacation ahead of me and why did I want to waste it out here in the middle of nowhere, eating crap food and getting rained on and pounded by the wind? I could be sleeping in at home and chilling and living the good life. Bon bons and bubble baths. If I had been alone . . . I might have thrown in the towel. Or not. I'm not sure. Luckily, the weather didn't phase Eric all that much and deep down I wasn't ready to quit and was up for the challenge of another day. Touring partners are good to have, in so many ways. After a bit of cursory discussion, it was settled and we were on our way.
We started at somewhere around mile 85 on the map below and would have to get to mile 180 to catch back up. We weren't really thinking about it that way, though. We were just ready to adapt to our situation and do the best we could. As it turned out, we would get as far as Othello, at about mile 140. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Almost immediately after hitting the trail, things felt better. The wind began to die down and yeah, it was raining, but it was okay.
It would be 16 miles between Ralston and Lind, and it would be probably the roughest section of trail on the whole trip, dictating an average for the section of just under 7 mph. But we just found our pace and got into savoring and appreciating the experience of riding through some of the mostly gnarly and desolate terrain that we would experience on the trip. Crazy as it sounds.
Additionally, I was still kind of mourning the fact that the burger and beer that we were hoping for at the end of Day 2 didn't happen, and was thinking that maybe the consolation prize was a hearty, greasy breakfast waiting for us at the same bar and grill. So there was that.
At the bottom, and connecting the two paths, are these tunnels. So maybe there was something to the dream after all.
About 2-1/2 hours after we'd left Ralston, we finally arrived at Lind. Upon quick survey, the bar and grill didn't open until 4:00 that afternoon. No other cafes or anything. Damnit to hell. Oh well.
It was time to once again modify my expectations. Inside Jim's, they had just finished pre-heating some pizza pockets and those weird BBQ burritos you normally find only at gas stations and were loading them into the hot storage case with the glass doors. Freshest they would ever be, so apparently the force was with us.
Just outside of Lind, we encountered the amazing remains of what must have been a spectacular trestle. And another convergence of dead and live rail lines out here in the middle of nothing. So wonderful.
The trail was not all that friendly, but it's part of what added to the incredible character of the day.
The ranchers and farmers and others who make their homes out here, I suppose, get used to the sky because they see it every day. I'm sure they rely on what the sky tells them, but they probably become somewhat complacent to the beauty, how could they not. Those of us that live in more populous areas think we see it, but we don't much, really. I became so aware of the sky and it felt to me like such a privilege to be able to spend three or four straight days looking at it against the natural horizon, in all its moods.
What stories it could tell, if only . . .
Eric and I had just a couple of non-negotiable guiding principles on this trip and one of them was to avoid traps at all cost. Otherwise, we'd have gone right in.
We finally reached Warden late in the afternoon, legitimately hungry and thirsty, and bee-lined right for the Mexican restaurant . . . it was a genuine mom and pop shop. It could have been closed, given the lack of patrons and visible activity of any kind. But they were there and as we parked our bikes, they came out to greet us. As we were escorted inside and seated, pop retreated to the kitchen and our waiter, the 14-or-so-year-old son took over the hospitality duties. He was extremely attentive to our needs and in addition to his normal tasks, it was clear that he was charged with relaying questions from the kitchen and returning with answers. Since he spoke the best English. Where had we come from? Where were we headed? Where did we live? And most importantly, How much did one of my tires cost? The meal was fabulous and the experience even better.
We rolled from Warden to Othello via the detour I had recon'd along the irrigation canals. The wind was getting fairly strong again and we were pretty beat and so we just kind of got through it, what a shame. The master plan called for us hitting this section early in the day, when we had the energy and enthusiasm to fully enjoy the views. It was still very cool, don't get me wrong.
We hadn't yet thought much about Day 4. We would deal with that in the morning. For now, it was just so awesome to have soft, level ground upon which to retire.
Next morning, the custodial staff showed up at about 5:30 am to find us sleeping on the lawn. Their response was an offer to open up the school for us so that we could use the bathrooms and take showers and fill our bottles. I told them we didn't need towels, but they wouldn't take no for an answer. You hear about this stuff all the time from people who tour, but it's quite another thing to experience it firsthand. It instantly restores your faith in humanity.
At the outset of the trip, I'd been pretty sure that I knew how each day would go. At this juncture, it was pretty evident that I didn't know jack and in fact had very little control. What a wonderful feeling!
Day 3 Ride Stats
58 miles
7:35 saddle time
7.7 mph avg
26.2 mph max
164 total trip miles
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