Break Day: Bismarck, North Dakota

Descending from the Rocky Mountains into the high plains was a major milestone in our trip. For the first 21 days of riding, Jamie, Sara, and me slogged it up and down mountain passes. Our legs were exhausted, yet our spirits were high. Upon reaching our last "official" pass of the Rocky Mountains, Marias Pass (a beautiful climb that takes you up and over the continental divide), we all three rode as if we were shot out of a cannon. The wind was blowing from the west and the terrain before us splayed itself out flat in all directions. We rode nearly 100 miles in our first day on the plains. And we kept it coming. For four consecutive days we rode with and like the wind, picking up amazing speed on downhills and cruising at 20 mph a clip. Then North Dakota came. Contrary to expectations, North Dakota--at least the western half--is nothing like  the flat, cold waste-land you were taught to believe. Rather, it's a region of towering buttes, eroded sandstone, rolling hills, and vicious winds. The North Dakota badlands shock the rider out of their stupor not only by their beauty, but by the extreme way in which they come upon the scene--suddenly. Grass-shrouded hills turn into crumbling,stratified sandstone in exactly 10 seconds flat. The hues of brown, orange, and red radiate out from deep valleys that stretch on to the horizon. The badlands are so visceral and immediate that it's as if you can actually hear the erosion taking place.

For those of you unaccustomed to burning over 10,000 calories a day, I will now attempt to give you a run-down as to how cyclists eat. It all starts with a searing hunger that awakens you at night. You ignore it. You roll over and forget about the rumblings in your stomach; the morning will be there soon. If your hunger is stubborn, it will force upon your mind dreams of hamburgers, cheesecakes, and Chinese buffets (It's happened, trust me). When you can't take it anymore, or the sun has risen above the horizon, you awake to that still-grumbling stomach. To satiate its urges, you immediately rip open a pop tart pack and eat the 400 calories in exactly 10 seconds flat. This was not enough. So you dig through your panniers to find the holy of all holies, Peanut Butter. Upon getting the peanut butter jar out, you proceed to spread it on everything you can think of. No bread!? No problem. Peanut butter is good on pop tarts, on fruit, on cereal, in oatmeal, on chocolate, on tortillas, and with chips. Of course, eating a spoon of it plain does the body good. After this lovely breakfast, you go to the grocery store in town (if there is one) and you buy yogurt and a lot of donuts. You eat these too. Then you drink a lot of water. You're most likely behind about 4,000 calories starting the day, but you ignore it and pedal on. After 20 to 30 miles of riding (depending on the wind)  you stop for lunch. The best lunch days are those in buffets. You eat a minimum of four plates of literally EVERYTHING. Fried food? Eat it. Rice? Eat it. Mac and Cheese? Eat it. Ice cream? Eat it. Little octopuses at the Chinese buffet in Dickinson? Don't eat. Lunch is the time for you to literally engorge yourself. You want to eat as many calories as possible for you know dinner is a long way off--I try to shoot for 3,000 at a sitting. After lunch, you ride another 30 miles to your camping destination. The bikes are then leaned against a tree, where once again you commence to dig through your panniers for at least two frozen-dried meals--these babies pack over 600 calories a punch are served LAVA hot...all the time. You eat both of them. Then you eat chocolate. Ask your wife for some gatorade. And then, finally, after it is all said and done, drink a few beers. You go to sleep knowing that even though you have eaten 5,000 calories in one day, you're still most likely short by another 3,000.

Other thoughts on food: It is incredibly difficult to find fresh produce and fruit in the plains of the United States. Ironically, the "grain basket" of America has extremely paltry offerings. Thus, I am forced to eat little debbie snack cakes in place of  more healthy fair (not that I'm TOTALLY against eating an entire box of keebler fudge shop cookies). Additionally, fruit and veggies are the best, really. However, they lack the calorie count one needs to maintain energy. Thus, every cyclists goes through periods of "healthy eating" and "binge eating." I'm not so sure if this actually good or not, but it's something one has to do to keep those legs churning.

Two of the greatest myths we tell ourselves are these: 1) That North Dakota is flat and 2) that there is such a thing as a "Westerly Wind." Both are false. They are lies straight from the pit of hell. For when one climbs upon the saddle to seemingly glide across the plains states, one thinks they should go from West to East. Makes sense, right? Westerly winds = tailwind = speed. LIES. Lies. lies. Out of the 15 days we've been on the high plains, we've had a tailwind for exactly four days. Wind comes from every direction. It comes from the front, from the back, from the side, and sometimes from underneath. It's hard to explain. I don't know. But what I do know, is that it NEVER pushes me up a hill or down a descent. To the contrary, the wind makes cycling incredibly difficult and frustrating. The constant rushing of the wind past the ears literally drives you insane. Legs strain under the weight of the bike and against the seemingly endless gusts. Thirty miles turn into one hundred. Gradual rolling hills turn into mountain passes of 7,000 feet or more. And at the end of the day, one feels spent. I'm beginning to realize that each region of this country has its challenges. Mountains, of course, are difficult in that the climbs are exhausting. The plains--the "easy states"--are cursed with a malicious wind that is relentless. The great lakes dunes, I'm sure, will be arduous. And then you have the Appalachians. Each new state is a challenge. Few are easier or more difficult than the previous. If anything, this trip across the country humbles you; it makes you realize that traveling in a car inculcates you from the elements. Rarely are we Americans exposed to the ruggedness of the seemingly placid and calm farms of Eastern Montana. Nor are we accustomed to feeling the sudden temperature and pressure drops from ascending and descending the Cascades. Travelling this great land, in some sense, has become too easy. Biking it (or walking it) brings with the experience a sense of intimacy that rarely can be captured in a train, car, or plane. You feel, as you ride as though you are a part of the lands aches, pains, and most extravagant expressions. It makes me feel alive. And in a strange sense, more American.

More on what it is like to drink across the country when I  get another chance to sit in a library. Happy travelling!