Rest Day: Whitefish, Montana.

It's been fourteen days since we've embarked on our journey. It's been fourteen days since computer access. Fourteen days since Jamie and me dipped our back tire in the lapping Puget Sound around Anacrotes, WA. Fourteen days of sweating, agonizing, huffing, careening, and rolling. We've gone from high-desert trails that make your mouth as dry as a raisin, to mountain passes entombed in snow. We've seen dozens of Bald Eagles, innumerable deer, and bundles of Ospreys--I've even had the personal pleasure of riding within ONE FOOT of a group of big-horned sheep (I know, I could have been charged, but I thought about the danger only AFTER the fact). We've crossed three state lines--Washington, Idaho, and Montana--and now anxiously await our descent into the high plains, where the terrain will flatten out and, hopefully, with wind at our back, we'll be able to cruise at a clip of 80 - 100 miles a day. We've pushed our way through the Cascade peaks, through hail, into forgotten hollows and around mom-and-pop stores. We've met a travelling partner, Sara, from Lynden, Washington who has brought energy and youthful exuberance to our trip. We are all now taking a break. After fourteen days of riding our knees (mainly our minds) needed the rest. Tomorrow we will enter into Glacier National Park, our last major mountain pass until the Appalachians in New York.

Falling in love with my touring bike has been a process of patience and frustration. For those of you not attuned to or knowledgeable about cycling, I'll let you in on a little secret: Touring bikes are heavy as hell. Their frames are always made of steel for durability and when they are loaded with panniers (bike talk for "Saddle Bags") the weight can get up to 70 or 90 pounds. Even for the most seasoned cyclist, that is a load to carry. The first place one feels the weight is in the arms (surprised, right!?). A well-loaded bike should have about 60% of the weight on the front rack. Your arms are given the responsibility of controlling the side-to-side sway of the front fork of your bike. The way you control the weight at the front, is by keeping your arms fairly stiff, using your triceps and biceps to balance. This gets tiring. By putting most of theweight in the front, the bike will be more stable and ride smoother-- the added weight in the front actually pulls the head of the bike downhill, thus giving your legs some help with forward momentum. The next locale on the body that the weight is felt, is in the knees. If you ride with clips (cleats that attach to the pedals), you will have an easier time dealing with the weight, as you can engage all of your leg muscles when pedaling, however, the weight will cause you to strain on your down-stroke. To minimize this pain, you are taught to shift the bike into a lighter gear, where your RPM (leg revolutions per minute) is higher and the resistance lighter. This makes you go slow. Naturally, the tendency of all riders (especially males) is to downshift, ignore the pain, and pedal-push as hard as humanly possible. You go faster, of course, but your ultimately left with swollen and sore knees. The first two weeks have been a process of "locking" my body into a rhythm. I haven't done it just yet, but my knees are not nearly as sore as the first three days of riding and my arms, well, they are looking more "brawny" each and every day :). The bike itself has been holding up well and I'm now very comfortable riding with the weight. In fact, if I ride unloaded I lose all semblance of balance and look like a clown riding a noodle.

For those of you concerned with our safety, I'd like to just briefly touch upon what it is like to ride along windy, mountain roads with minimum berm: It's terrifyingly exhilarating. In all honesty, 95% of drivers are respectful and give you space. However, there are the few aggressive "doobs" in the mix who always seem to get a kick out of getting AS CLOSE AS POSSIBLE without actually clipping your arm. Semi-trucks are scary for their weight and speed, but most of the drivers wave and move over. Cars are annoying in that they go too fast and whip around bends. Motorcycles are startling in that they are loud. And RVs, well, they are the worst. I don't know what it is about a recreational vehicle that now makes my skin crawl, but every time I see a Ford F-250 coming up behind me, pulling a 36 foot "fifth wheel," I prepare to take cover as if blitzkrieg is about to get underway. They swerve. They go too fast. They tailgate. And worst of all, they are usually inexperienced drivers who seem to pay no attention to how long (or wide) their trailer is. I've seen all sorts of dazzling assortments of arrangements: trucks pulling trailers, trailers pulling boats, and trailers pulling people. I'm sorry to all of you who enjoy your weekend cruise to the local camp ground in the "fifth wheel," but be aware that your driving skills are not as good as those licensed truckers. Why is that any mid-aged insurance salesmen can drive a 39 foot RV around a hair-pin curve and not need a specialized license? Does this make any sense!? And please, do be mindful of the fact that three feet of space around a cyclist is NOT enough to mitigate against the powerful back draft of air that rushes along the road as you travel, blissfully, at 80 miles per hour. But, as I have stated, a vast majority of drivers are courteous and curious. So don't be alarmed. We're alright.

The beauty of the west is stunning. It's as grand and big as I imagined it to be. The mountain lakes are a radiant turquoise color and the mountain valleys are lush and colorful in their summer splendor. The wildlife is unchained and roams freely--sometimes right down main street, as was the case in Rexford, Montana. The stands of cedar, fir, and pine make for towering shadows along the road and sage brush dominates the desert. Rocks are a myriad of hues--brown, red, green, black, gray, and orange--and the sunsets are peaceful with streaks of pink and magenta. This country is vast both in its beauty and size.

One of the more unpleasant experiences of travelling across the country by bike, is the sweat. You sweat buckets during the day. It starts on your back and arms, crosses over to your forehead, and then drips down your nose. And it's always in your crotch. Your legs get wet. Your hair gets wet. Your shirt gets soaked. And your underwear, well, you can imagine. When you stop riding for the day and decided to set up camp, you often don't have access to a shower. The sweat then dries. It crusts into salt crystals. The salt gets into your eyes, stings them, then rubs off on your fingers. The mosquitoes start biting, so then you spray bug spray on top of your granulated skin, which only makes you sticky and smelly. Then you go to sleep in a sleeping bag that makes your feet sweat. The next day, you throw on the same shirt from the day before, ignore the fact that your shirt's collar is stiff from the salt crystals, and pedal onward. The time you take a shower is relished. You can scrub the salt from your temples and the grease marks from your calves. Thank god for warmshowers.org, it's an amazing site, full of wonderful families and people (which will be the next post).

My time is now up at the library. Cheers and happy travelling!