Waiting out storms west of Fargo

With storms headed this way today, I've battened the hatches and will wait it out in Cooperstown, about 110 miles west by northwest of Fargo. A small town with not too much going on, I'm just going to curl up with a good book or two for the day. Hopefully the storms will blow through tonight and I can hit the road early tomorrow. And if there is any justice in this world of ours, the wind should finally be to my back...

Eastern North Dakota

In the last three days I've ridden from Rugby to Minnewaukan, and then to Pekin, and finally on to Cooperstown. The weather has been beautiful, but the wind consistently has been blowing from the southeast and this headwind has culminated with a 30 mph headwind today. The wind is pleasant and cooling, though it saps my speed and reduces the amount of progress I can make each day.

The wildlife continues along the roadside. North Dakota has an impressive duck population and I've discovered that they employ two techniques of evading a threat: Typically they fly, leaving a wake as they fly mere inches above the water, often with their feet appearing to walk on the water as they go, heading to a safe spot in the center of the lake or pond. But I've also noticed a few that simply dive underwater, presumably staying as long as they can and eluding the predator.

The cows also take a variety of approaches, frequently viewing me cautiously as I pedal silently by them. More than once I thought of Orwell's Animal Farm as the cattle cast conspiratorial glaces over their shoulders as they suspiciously gather in a small corner of a large field. I wonder what sort of revolution these sly and cunning creatures are plotting... On other occasions, though, the local herd was startled enough that they charge off in their own impromptu cattle drive. In once case, they were in a long thin grazing area hemmed in by farmlands on one side and the road on the other, so I road a couple of hundred feet with a stampede of anxious cattle thundering to my side. Cattle aren't the most athletic creatures and they quickly lose steam as I cycle past them.

The most recent wild creatures that I've encountered are aggressive, ill-mannered dogs. While not seeing any canine threats for the entire journey, in the last two days I've been chased by three dogs. I have a clever three tier scheme for handling them, including (a) pedaling fast; (b) squirting them with water; and (c) as a last resort, I have the postman's friend, an anti-dog spray. Fortunately, I have not needed to employ that last deterrent quite yet, but as I have jaws snapping at my heels, it's nice to have in reserve. Some dogs just get awfully wound up by a juicy cyclist riding by. (Of course, in my opinion, there aren't bad dogs, only bad owners, but the negligent owners are never around for me to squirt them.)

The most notable feature of North Dakota, as in most of my ride, has been the generosity of the locals. Everyone has been so nice to me. Not infrequently, when taking my occasional roadside breaks in the vast stretches of country roads, drivers will stop to see if I need assistance. Last night, Les, the grandfatherly owner of the inn decided to show me around: He showed me rising lakes that had immersed a few unfortunate farms, and took me to a local bar for dinner. As the elections approach, we tend to divide the country into red and blue states (and make disparaging comments about those states of our less favored color), but the truth is that we have good, well-intentioned people across this country and we have more in common than we generally give ourselves credit.

Center of North America

Today I rode from Minot to Rugby, ND, whose claim to fame is as the geographic center of North America. The 70 mile ride was through nice weather (80s and 90s) over relatively flat terrain.

While not quite as devoid of life as the barren stretches in Montana, still North Dakota is sparsely populated. Traffic has been light through this largely agricultural countryside, dotted with tremendous wetlands. As I cycle along, my company ranges from easily startled ducks to bemused cows. I stumbled across my third touring cyclist in as many cycling days, though! Obviously, having shifted from the Lewis and Clark route to the Northern Tier, the latter is the more popular route (presumably because it is more direct).

Minot, ND

Today, on my ride from New Town to Minot, ND, I encountered my second transamerican cyclist, Margaret, going from Boston to Seattle like the cyclist I encountered a few days ago. Happy cycling to her!

Today's ride was a relatively flat 80 mile ride in azure skies dotted with a few cumulus clouds. The scenery ranged from oil derricks (I was surprised to discover the extent of the oil business in western Montana and eastern North Dakota) to farm lands (both agricultural and wind farms). It really was quite a nice day. The sense of small town America has been driven home: In Parshall (pop 200), where I stopped for lunch, all of the cafes only operate Monday through Friday (though all the bars seemed to be open!). Even Minot (pop 36,000), which features a big mall, seems to have rolled up the carpet at 7pm.

The only negative for the day was a "snake bite" flat (so named because of the pattern of two punctures very close to each other on the tube, resulting from the rim of the wheel grounding out on a bump ... this sort of flat is largely self-inflicted, resulting from underinflated tires and/or taking a sharp bump too quickly), but the tube was quickly repaired and I was back on the road.

Newtown

This morning, when I awoke, the skies were clear, but there was a tremendous dew on the ground, and my tent and a few items I had hanging to dry were wetter than they were last night. So, I laid everything out for the morning sun to dry and I grabbed breakfast at the pro shop of the golf course. At that time, I met the course architect, who not only resides in the same small village in Westchester County, NY, but was wearing a Boston Red Sox hat, much like the one I was wearing at the same moment. The chance of meeting him on his annual visit to this course in North Dakota is unlikely at best, but for him to be a fellow Sox fan from the very same NY Yankee bastion seems like a remarkable coincidence.

Chuckling over the chances of that, I packed up once everything had dried out. I'm currently reading the 1,000 page Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, and I've taken to discarding chapters as I finish them to lighten my load! Anyway, I cycled the pleasant 44 miles to New Town, ND, and called it a day.

North Dakota Storms

Last night, thunderstorms rolled into western North Dakota. My little tent was buffeted by the winds, and at one point this morning I sat up and held the tents poles for reinforcement as they bent under the force of the storm (in Sidney, winds of 60 mph were reported). The rain died down momentarily, so I availed myself of the storms' lull to escape my tent in favor of a nearby building while also collapsing the tent so the winds wouldn't destroy it. The storms picked up again and persisted until midafternoon. With my next shelter 50 miles away, I decided to camp here, again, tonight. That also presented the opportunity to go shoot another 18 holes of golf! Sadly, my tent was thoroughly drenched inside and out when I returned, but after a few hours of air drying, it looks good as new.

Weather permitting, I should be able to make good progress tomorrow.

Along Lake Sakakawea

Today was a very short ride out of Williston, ND, to the shores of Lake Sakakawea. I encountered my first fellow, transamerican cyclist, albeit westbound.

My campsite is operated by The Links of North Dakota, allegedly a Golf Digest top 100 course. Too bad I didn't pack my clubs. Turns out, they had excellent clubs for rental, so I just ran out for a quick nine holes on a wonderful, links-style course. For not having swung a club for over a year, I'm ecstatic with how I did (no slices, a few hooks, admittedly three lost balls, but greens in regulation on a few of the holes). For future reference, cycling gloves serve perfectly adequately for golf, though I had to change shoes after my mountain cycling shoes (which have been one of my best pre-trip acquisitions) left marks on the practice green.

That was a nice finish to a tough day of cycling. I was expecting a primitive campsite (and it is), but received the treat of a fun round of golf. Life doesn't get better than this.

Entering North Dakota

Today, I rode from Sidney, Montana to Fort Buford, North Dakota in the morning and then on to Williston, North Dakota in the afternoon. The roads were far more level, so I was able to enjoy the ride a little more than in the past few days. Historic Fort Buford rests on the confluence of the Yellowstone and Missouri Rivers, so I took the opportunity to enjoy the "Interpretive Center" there. Today's ride is marked by having now entered my sixth state (CA, OR, WA, ID, MT, and now ND), my third time zone (Pacific, Mountain, and now Central), and a total of 2,200 miles thus far.

Williston is smaller than I thought it was going to be, but I still found a TrueValue hardware store that had the right-sized tires (700x28cc), and I should be able to install them tonight. When I realized that my bike resource was going to be the TrueValue, I was skeptical, because when I asked for 700x28cc tires at the TrueValue in Sidney, they asked "what is that in American?" because the only tires they had were measured in inches. (In the old days, many bikes had 27" tires, but now it's hard to get a nice road bike with anything other than the 700cc tires, which are comparably, but incompatibly, sized.) Anyway, the Williston store had tires of the right size and while they don't sport the fancy anti-puncture features, these basic tires are better than my SuperGlue jury rig that I'm riding now.

Heading out of Montana

After a night camping at the primitive, but "good-value," Circle, MT city park, I packed up and proceeded to Richey, MT and the following day to Sidney, MT. As I pushed towards Sidney, the hills were less punishing than the last few days, but as I look back to the west, the undulating road fades into the horizon like a forgotten dream. Riding those hills were real enough a day ago, best likened to climbing a series of walls, never knowing how many more lay before you.

The roadside creatures change as I proceed along my trip. In California, I would repeatedly see small (3-4") lizards scurrying away from their sunbathing spots on the side of the road as I bicycled along. In western Montana, I was inundated with dense patches of crickets that would part like the Red Sea as I rode along (except for those unfortunate times that there was a strong side wind, in which case the unfortunate half of locust-like throngs trying to escape into the wind would inevitably be blown back into me and I'd suffer the whacking of hundreds of crickets against my body). More charmingly, in eastern Montana, there have been clouds of small white and yellow butterflies flitting amongst the roadside fields. Each area seems to enjoy a very different slice of our national biodiversity.

Today's little adventure was the untimely disintegration of my tires, with the treads separating from the tires themselves. This was doubly frustrating, as when I was in the last bike shop a week or so ago, I asked the mechanic repeatedly whether I needed new tires. And with my best interests at heart, he repeatedly told me that it was not necessary and that I could easily make it a few more states on these tires. Alas, 60 miles from the nearest bike store, my tires gave out. Ample application of SuperGlue helped me make it the last ten miles and I hope will carry me to a shop in Williston, ND tomorrow.

Continuing in Eastern Montana

The ride from Jordan to Circle was, like the previous day, marked by gruelingly steep hills, and a lack of facilities. After filling my water bottles in Jordan, I rode 30 miles to the only water for the entire day, a little public rest stop. A kindly truck driver advised me not to fill my bottles there since all of the tap water in the area is of dubious quality and he gave me a gallon of fresh water. When he heard that I had already drunk three bottles of "Jordan water," he laughed heartily, pointing out that it's healthy enough and that people out here live to ripe old ages, but he colorfully pointed out that "people in Jordan just don't know that it's not normal to have to s--- five times a day." Fortunately, I have not been afflicted with this Jordan-water side effect, so I'll count myself lucky.

The same driver advised against my planned route through the Ft Peck Reservation. I've had repeated warnings not to travel the "rez" by myself, so I accepted his gift of some old maps, and proceeded directly to Circle, MT.

Eastern Montana

After two days taking cover from thunderstorms passing through Lewistown, I finally headed out of town into what would be country out of reach of Verizon's not-so "Nationwide Network." While I set out on a nice, cool, cloudy day, I watched the innocuous clouds slowly transform into menacing, dark clouds. As I looked over my shoulder in the late afternoon, I could see bolts of lightning in the distance behind me, so I lifted my pace to 20 mph as I raced the storms from Lewistown to Winnett. While I felt a few drops of rain fall on me as I pulled into this little town, I counted myself lucky and checked into the inn.

The following morning I had my first of several days riding up and down short, but challengingly steep hills. While I made good progress from Winnett to Jordan, there was only one shop/cafe for the entire 78 mile ride and business was slow that the 80 year old owner was planning on shutting down, making the ride even tougher for future wheelmen. To add insult to injury, the pictured, cheeky, little grasshopper was freeloading on my bike for about ten miles, only adding to my burden. My bike is heavy enough as it is!

Lewistown

Today's ride from Geraldine to Lewistown (Meriwether Lewis has streets, towns, and businesses named for him across the entire Pacific northwest) was a tough 70 miles. The wind was in my face most of the day (confusingly, the few isolated clouds in the beautiful skies were going in the same direction as I was, so I do not understand how the winds on the road vexed me) and there were numerous short, yet challengingly steep, hills. While the views were great (see Square Butte pictured here), with the combination of heat and the required exertion, I exhausted my water bottles once before lunch and again, after. This evening, with 15 miles still ahead of me and little water remaining, I stopped at a welcoming private residence. They clearly are accustomed to the role of salvation as they recounted stories of many riders that stopped for water at their place, the only beacon of civilization for miles.

Great Falls to Geraldine

Today's ride from Great Falls to Geraldine, MT was a mixed bag. The morning consisted of a fabulous flat ride down to Fort Benton. This historic town featured a number of monuments of varying historical significance. The statue of the loyal dog, Shep, pictured here, caught my eye. After his master's passing in 1936, Shep watched the coffin loaded on the train, and proceeded to meet the train every day, vainly waiting for the return of his master until Shep's own death in 1942.

I made great time in the first 40 miles, on my descent to Fort Benton in a valley on the Missouri River. The climb out of the valley was more of a challenge and I called it a day in the quaint town of Geraldine, population 284. The campsite was a seedy little RV park, so at the restaurant I asked how to contact the local sheriff to see whether I could just camp out a the local picnic area in the park (it's always wise to contact the local authorities to make sure it's legal and they can also keep an eye out for you). The waitress' response was simply, "Darlin', we don't have a sheriff, so go ahead and pitch your tent." The site was great.

This farm is an example of the isolated evidence of life that I stumbled across every ten or twenty miles. Yesterday, stumbled across a little town of Carter, MT, (population 52) and received another little taste of Americana. I cycled into town just as their annual parade of horses and buggies was just winding down. I enjoyed a burger sponsoring the little league team. This is the real America.

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Update 10/26/06: Going through my pictures from my trip, I realized that this Shep statue reminds me of the Hachiko statue in Tokyo (I lived in Tokyo in the 1980s), with a very similar story of canine loyalty surviving well beyond the owner's own passing. See this link for more information.

Continental Divide

Yesterday, I rode over the Continental Divide from Lincoln to Augusta, Montana. Today, I pushed on from Augusta to Great Falls, Montana.

The ride over the Divide was one of my most enjoyable days of the entire trip. The climb, while daunting on paper, actually was merely a paper tiger, as the grade was forgiving enough to permit me to drop my bike into a modest gear and just grind it up to Rogers Pass. The thrill was in the high-speed descent, with outstanding vistas of the mountains behind me and the big sky country ahead of me. I grinned like a fool the entire way down and it took me a few hours to wipe the silly look from my face.

Augusta is a true cowboy town and at the general store, I overheard conversations about the damage imposed by a notable bull at the recent rodeo. Great Falls, in contrast, is a well established city with all the amenities. My bike was emitting a noise from the bottom bracket, so I found a bike shop in Great Falls, and it fortunately turned out to be a very simple fix and I'm ready to hit the road tomorrow morning.

Preparing for the Continental Divide

Today, I've enjoyed a short ride from Ovando to Lincoln, Montana. While this is an unusually short journey, my ride tomorrow will be a 60+ mile ride up and over the Continental Divide (at the prosaically named Rogers Pass at 5,610 ft, above in the distance). The dearth of campsites and motels in this area of the country limited my options, and 90+ miles up and over the continental divide today would have been too much.

Big Sky Country

I enjoyed a rest day in Missoula. I picked up new tubes after my flats in Idaho and I also found a good bookstore, recently having finished Master and Commander, I picked up the second book in Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey Maturin Series, Post Captain.

I also stopped by Adventure Cycling's offices in Missoula (they make the excellent cycling maps that I'm using). They have a wall of shame, photos of all of the bicyclists who stopped in their offices during various tours. They were telling me stories of various riders, including describing one particular rider as a bit of a "nut-cake." I corrected him, pointing out that anyone cycling across the country had a few nuts loose: Anyway, my picture is now up on the wall with the rest of the loons.

While at Adventure Cycling's offices, I picked up a few of their Northern Tier maps. Given how much time I spent going up the California coast, I'm a little behind schedule, and I may cut across North Dakota, Minnesota, and into Wisconsin, bypassing the rest of the Lewis and Clark route. This has the disadvantage that I won't be able to ride the route taken by my great grandfather, but it will probably get me home a week or two earlier. I can save that Mount Carmel, IL to Chicago route for another day.

At Adventure Cycling, I met Joseph, who is riding across the country with his adorable, chocolate-brown lab puppy (going with the dog theme, see picture of Meriwether Lewis' dog, Seaman, to the right ... Seaman made the entire round trip with Lewis and Clark). Joseph has been towing a trailer behind his bike, which houses the puppy. While I was envious of his riding partner (as many of you know, Rach and I are getting a dog when I return to New York), I had to believe that the hours on the hot roads, bouncing in the trailer, might be less than enjoyable for the puppy. Having said that, he looked happy, healthy, and well taken care of.

After my rest day (including an evening of thunderstorms that knocked out electricity for much of the town and the first rain they've seen "for months"), I rode from Missoula, Montana, to Ovando. Ovando is a charming town in the middle of nowhere, and it's tiny, sporting only a B&B, general store, and a restaurant. While I was cycling in the sun, just north of me I could see the ominous storms that hit Missoula the night before, and I could see the lines of heavy rain streaming from the dark clouds. While the storms never hit me, it was a pleasure to take shelter in a charming little town.

Entering Montana

Today's short 55 mile ride from Powell to Missoula was a challenge because of the climb to Lolo pass at 5,235 ft, combined with a surprising headwind on the opposite side of the pass. During the ascent, drivers were incredibly supportive, including one that gave me a round of applause as I neared the summit, which helped sustain me during the taxing climb. On much of the descent, the road was along the Lolo Creek which may have been less spectacular than the Columbia or Clearwater, but it featured great wildlife ranging from a moose, many deer, and one eagle's nest at the peak of a tree along the road (including plaintiff cries from the nest and an adult eagle who watched me carefully and did a few fly-bys until I moved on).

It's a thrill to hit my fifth state and watch the odometer roll over 1,500 miles. Mentally, entering the Mountain time zone makes me feel like I'm an hour closer to home!

Climbing out of Idaho

Today, I bicycled from Lowell to Powell. It was uphill all day from 1,800 to 3,800 ft. While I wanted to push to Lolo Pass, that was not practical, since that would not have only been a 77 mile climb, but the next campsite/motel after that was a good 30 miles further and with the time change I would not have been able to finish that before 10pm or so.

As a result after 65 miles (with no stop for lunch nor water due to the lack of facilities), I settled into a great little campsite that was free (though the shower was $2.50!). I shared the site with three cyclists headed west, and with no lunch, the burger for dinner at the cafe at the site was much appreciated.

Along the Clearwater

Today, I continued by ride along the Clearwater River, then along the Middle Fork Clearwater, and finally to the Lochsa River as I rode from Orofino to Lowell. The frontier feel of the ride continues along the winding rivers and tributaries. One can definitely appreciate why the Nez Perce called this crystal clear river the Clearwater.

The locals take a good deal of pride in this area. They've boasted that this is not only the largest county in the U.S., but that "there are more bears than people" and that this area features the "best Steelhead fishing in the lower 48."

The only disappointment of the day was my second flat in as many days. I'm starting to take this personally: I think the Idaho roads have it out for me.

Generosity of Strangers

Today, I cycled from Lewiston to Orofino, Idaho along the Clearwater River. The secluded river has a stronger frontier feel than the majestic Columbia, and as a result, evokes a greater sense of the history. Today, I easily imagined Lewis and Clark canoeing the rapids of the Clearwater. The historical context was filled in as I passed the site at which Lewis and Clark built their canoes, and there are frequent "Interpretive Centers" that provide background on the Nez Perce Indian nation (both in general, as well as their interaction with Lewis and Clark). The mental trip through history is made possible by the complete absence of man-made structures and vessels.

I was advised to take this route by Laurie S., a kindly waitress in Lewiston. As I sat planning my itinerary for the day at breakfast, she recognized my Adventure Cycling maps, and we struck up a conversation, discussing different local routes. By the end of the conversation, she had generously offered me the use of a vacation house that she and her husband have in Kooskia, with precise instructions on where to find the keys and how to get in. They were not using the house tonight, but I am struck by the generosity extended to a complete stranger. As it turns out, I didn't make it to Kooskia today, and will probably bicycle past it tomorrow, but I was still touched. How many of us would be that generous and trusting?

On less joyous note, today I experience my first flat tire after 1,310 miles on the road. There are tricks to minimizing the chance of punctures, but my luck finally ran out. I've encountered other wheelmen who complained of punctures literally every other day, and I've dodged the bullet for quite a while. I consider myself lucky for going this far without a flat, and I'll be thrilled if I can continue to suffer them this infrequently.

Lewis and Clark Route

Someone asked me about the Lewis and Clark route (or more accurately, where in the world I was going), and the adjacent map gives you a sense of the general course of their trip. See the Adventure Cycling Lewis and Clark site for more details.

Entering Idaho

Today I followed Lewis and Clark's "Forgotten Trail", so named because this overland leg of their return trip is often forgotten when their exploits are discussed. More importantly, I made it from Dayton, Washington to Lewiston, Idaho, rewarding me with a sense of progress as I hit another state. The ride consisted of numerous hills, ranging up to just short of 3,000 ft, but was relatively manageable, despite the climbs.

The scenery has varied from everything from yesterday's amber hills, to farm lands, to a return to the Columbia River, just shy of Clarkston, Washington. When I hit the plains, or the midwest farmlands, I'm sure I will be looking back fondly on the variety of sights I've enjoyed the last few weeks.

One of the farms:


A view of a bend in the Columbia River as I approached Clarkston:

Climbing Towards Idaho

Today, I cycled up to Dayton, WA. This short, 30 mile climb, up to 1800 ft, puts me into position to cycle 70 miles tomorrow into Lewiston, Idaho. Tomorrow will involve a climb up to nearly 3,000 ft, so my selection of Dayton was made with care.

Today's riding featured seemingly endless rolling hills, gold with dried wheat and grasses. From the distance, the desolate, amber colored hills looked like Sahara dunes (above), and Waitsburg, isolated in the valley in the middle of these hills, an oasis (left). The effect was magnified by the road's isolation (only one or two cars an hour) and the sun beating down from the cloudless sky with no discernable humidity in the air.

Walla Walla, Washington

Today, I entered Walla Walla, Washington. After a brief 30 mile ride, I stopped and got a bike tune up, and a shower (as my primitive campsite last night had no amenities short of cold running water). As I move east, more careful planning of my schedule is required. For example, the day before yesterday, the road had 82 miles between gas stations, so I have to plan both rations (especially water) and campsites carefully. Now, the additional wrinkle of preparing for the mountain climbs (up to 3000 feet this week, and nearly 7000 in the subsequent week or two) makes careful planning even more important. Hence, my short ride today positions me well for my climbs tomorrow, and hitting Idaho the day after that.

The terrain is dryer and reminiscent of the west I remember from my summers in Wyoming. The horse ranches rest in the dry plains, nestled between mountain ranges on both sides. I'm not hitting the big mountains, quite yet, but it brings back great memories.

I've been following the heat waves of the east and midwest with some interest. Fortunately, the weather here continues to be great, as I am spared the heat and humidity plaguing the rest of the country.