It's all downhill from here...

Wyoming has been a rather challenging stretch, I must admit. The land and scenery has been unsurpassed by anything I've seen yet, but the towns really, well, suck. It seems like a constant struggle to do the things I need to get done while in town, there doesn't seem to be much information around to help people find what they need, and it always feels like swimming against the current for as long as I'm in city limits. I've said it before, though, and I'll gladly say it again: thank heaven for libraries and librarians, surely some of the most knowledgeable and helpful people on the planet.

It looks like I spoke too soon about the Tetons containing the tallest pass I'd go over; I crossed Granite Pass in the Bighorn Mountains yesterday, at 9033 feet. I think that's it, though - aside from some hilly residue, I'm through the Rockies, and it's smooth (read: boring) sailing from here. My body did pretty well with riding at high altitudes. For the most part, I never noticed any shortness of breath while pedaling, except when I tried to sing or play my harmonica at the same time; usually, that works fine, but I could scarcely manage to belt out three notes before I was sapped of all my air. Not terribly surprising, really, given that I'm only taking in about 75% as much oxygen as sea level with each breath (thanks, Boyle's Law!).

The Rockies at 9,000 feet

The stretch from Cody to Greybull was stunningly desolate, and I was a bit worried about a thunderstorm rolling in (like it has every other night), given that I was pretty much the tallest thing and the only piece of metal for miles, save for the occasional car. It never came, though, thankfully. As I was cooking dinner that night, I noticed a herd of wild horses watching me from a nearby hill, so I went for a walk and watched them as the sun set.

Ye olde wild horses...

...and the sunset.

There are throngs of flying grasshoppers literally covering the roads here, and it's a little unnerving to here the inevitable crunch crunch crunch as you cruise down the pavement. Not as unnerving, however, as the ones that like to fly up and get stuck between your eye and the lens of your sunglasses, or the fact that they are highly cannibalistic, and for every one that gets squished, five more pounce on it to chow down. A note to all you bug-eating reptiles out there, there's a serious niche to fill here.

I accidentally slept in the spot of a deer last night, and it showed up around midnight and coughed at me for a few hours. I felt bad, and even invited it to sleep next to me, but given that it was pouring rain, I wasn't inclined to move. It was still around come morning, though, and it looked happy enough, so I won't worry too much.

I went through and uploaded some more photos to my previous posts, and added some captions to already-posted ones, so if y'all have the patience to wade through the old stuff, you might glean a bit more context.

Bison, Evangelists and Teddy Bears

I'm in Cody, one of Wyoming's ten largest cities, at a stunning 8,000 people. Yellowstone was beautiful and great and all the adjectives you'd expect. I came within about fifteen feet of a truly massive specimen of bison, while it was crossing the road; I'll tell you that the empty space of air that exists between a 2,000 pound bison and a person sitting on a bicycle seems quite a bit smaller than said animal and a car. The few seconds of mutual consideration that we shared was enough time to play through just about every imaginable outcome in my mind, many all of which, at that moment, involved me getting trampled; fortunately, I think Mr. Bison was thinking about the grass on the other side of the road. Oh, how I love the ruminant mind.

The Grand Canyon of Yellowstone fame

I met my first evangelist while camping in the park. Two other cyclists my age were camped there, doing pretty much the same trip as me (except backwards), and we spent the evening together. It was impressive how quickly the conversation turned to god, and kept on coming back to god no matter what we talked about, and how god is missing from my life, and everyone else who hasn't accepted Jesus into their hearts. I argued for a bit, but quickly realized that there was little point in doing so, because you can't reason with lack of reason. They wanted us all to spend some time hiking the next day (me and some other women camped nearby who were on a cross-country road trip), but I graciously made a hasty exit come morning. I'm happy for them that their beliefs inspire them so, but the minute that they start telling me what I'm doing wrong with my life, it just becomes insulting and offensive. Ugh. I hope I don't meet many more of those. Nice guys, though.

Geysers: more proof of the existence of God

The weather has been wildly unpredictable, with ten-minute storms with the ferocity of a hurricane blowing through without warning. Last night I shared a campsite in Shoshone Canyon (just east of Yellowstone) with a grisly, gun-toting motorcyclist from Utah named Chuck (who, by the way, slept in an adorable pair of jammies with a well-worn teddy bear). Just as I was getting ready for bed, I found myself in the most intense windstorm of my life. It scooted Chuck (who was inside his unstaked tent) across the ground. With my tarp almost acting like a sail, I'm shocked that it didn't get torn away, or at least torn up some, but it did an impressive job of keeping me dry. As I was falling asleep, I gladly realized that the wind was blowing in the direction I was headed. (Of course, come morning, it had turned into a headwind.)

I'm going to be making my way more or less across northern Wyoming, but I'm not really sure what I'll do when I get to the east side of the state; if I'm not careful, I'll end up in Sturgis just in time for the biggest motorcycle rally in the world, which, if possible, I would prefer to avoid like the plague. We'll see what happens...

Happy birthday to me

Number of miles: 906
Fastest speed: 42 mph
Estimated number of pedal revolutions: 292,147
Number of completed trips around the sun: 26

I'm kicking up my feet at the Snake River Brewery in Jackson, Wyoming, after a beautiful morning of riding. I climbed two passes this morning, Teton being the second and more difficult of the two, all 8,431 feet of it. I haven't crossed the continental divide yet, but it will likely be the most difficult pass I'll do on this trip. I saw a moose and her foal on my way up, mucking around in a stream. At the top of the pass there was a sort of hidden road that used to be the main road up the pass until the highway was completed in 1969. Now it's abandoned by cars and a bit overgrown, but is perfect for cyclists that know about it; I got a completely deserted and car-free trip down the mountain, passing through forests and by glacial ponds.

The ride down Teton Pass

I don't really like Jackson; it seems phony. Much in the way that Leavenworth is "Bavarian", Jackson is "Ol' West". I'm sure it has a rich and wild history, but it's hard to see it under all the kitsch. I think I'd rather camp somewhere in the Grand Teton Nat'l Park than stay here tonight, but I also really want to avoid arriving in Yellowstone on a weekend, so maybe I'll just take a ridiculously slow day tomorrow. But oh! The last day has been the most achingly beautiful part of by ride yet, and I'm sure it will only get better from here; I can't wait.

One of the many proud displays of Jackson's lack of shame

Sorry I haven't updated the map or posted pictures in a while, but I can't do that unless I fond myself an actual computer to use, which doesn't happen very often. Soon!

P.S. No wonder I don't like this town! This is where Dick Cheney is from!

Farewell to Idaho

I'm in Idaho Falls, about to get back on the road after arriving here early yesterday evening. I set out from Boise last Monday morning, but not before visiting what is surely the town's most famous landmark, the infamous Larry Craig bathroom at the airport (sadly, I think it is generally frowned upon to take pictures in public restrooms). Given the barren nature of Idaho's terrain, there were literally zero surface roads headed eastward out of town, so I got the pleasure of doing a blazing 35 miles (blazing both in speed and heat) down the interstate before getting to Mountain Home where Highway 20/26 headed up into the mountains, away from all things even remotely resembling civilization. I followed the highway through Craters of the Moon National Park, an ancient lava flow that seeped from the ground and created all sorts of bizarre shapes and tubes and caves and whatnot, and that somehow people travelling the Oregon Trail managed to get through (I still don't understand that). After that was Arco, the "free world's" first city to be powered by atomic energy. How's that for a claim to fame? It'll have to do, because there ain't much more to be said about it.

An abandoned barn that afforded a dry place to sleep

About two miles out of Arco, my rear tire promptly blew out on me, the culmination of days of struggling with leaks and flats. I had known for a while that my tire wouldn't last too long, so I had ordered a spare, which was waiting for me in Idaho Falls, an unfortunate 66 miles down the road. Fortunately, I was able to catch a ride with a passing caravan of jalopies filled to the brim with salvage and scrap headed for Blackfoot. The woman I rode with, Helen, told me about travelling the country for four years on bicycle with her husband, until she had too many kids to continue, so they traded in their bikes for a covered wagon, pulled by her eight daughters and two boys. They only took me as far as a highway junction (Blackfoot is not quite in the same direction as Idaho Falls), but the very first car that passed me picked me right up and took me the rest of the way, to the very door of the bike shop I needed. I decided that, with all the weight I'm carrying, I'd switch to a slightly wider tire in the back, and that way I still get to keep my spare if anything else goes wrong.

Idaho Falls is a cute little town. I found a nice wine and beer shop, and had a couple of drinks while listening to a local jazz duo running through the classics. I slept in the park downtown, overlooking the falls, and had an amazingly restful night of sleep until (of course) the sprinklers turned on in the middle of the night. I visited a music shop this morning, where the owner, Dave, took me on a tour of his collection of odd instruments, including an incredible combination valve/slide bass trombone that he built himself.

Coolest trombone ever, with coolest trombone-making guy ever

As soon as I got up into the mountains past Mountain Home, the weather pattern changed dramatically. It's hot in the morning and day, til afternoon, when the thunder and rainclouds start rolling in, often with lots of wind. I've gotten rained on a couple of times, and have had to pitch my tarp the last couple of nights, but I'll take a high of 73 and some raindrops over the record-setting heat in Seattle any day.

Everybody I've talked to has taken great pleasure in telling me how much of a doozy the Teton Pass is that I'm about to go over. I look forward to telling you myself soon!

The first of many legs

Miles completed: 569
Longest day: 113 miles
Number of flat tires: 3
Minimum number of distinct species of bugs that have bitten me: 5

I arrived in Boise today, having just crossed into Idaho sometime yesterday evening. Eastern Oregon was amazing, there's really no other way to put it. Except for some vague memories of road trips as a child, I've never been further east than Bend, and I've always envisioned it as a dry and desolate place. Well, no surprise here, it's exactly that, but my mind had failed to imagine the beauty and splendor that goes with such a climate. The native biota all exhibit a simultaneous mix of fragility and resilience, which is surely the result of adapting to such a harsh environment. With my reliance on sunscreen and water from gas stations, it's quite clear to me that I embody the fragility more than resilience.

The teeming waters of Badger Creek

I took highway 58 out of Eugene, and after crossing Willamette Pass, detoured to the Cascade Lakes Scenic Byway, which meanders by a dozen lakelets surrounding Mt Bachelor and the Sisters on its way to Bend. From Bend to Boise, I've pretty much stayed on Highway 26, detouring as I saw fit. It's stunning how quickly the climate can change from mountaintop to mountaintop, from dense, derby forest to semi-arid lodgepoles groves, to super-arid hills of sage brush, with not a tree in sight. About 20,000 square miles (I'm not making that number up) of eastern Oregon is currently recognized as one of the most well-preserved and abundant archeological sites in the world, and it's not hard to see why; the rugged landscape sports layer upon layer of exposed stratification, to be read like an open book for those who speak the language (I am certainly not one of these studied few). The John Day fossil beds exemplify this treasure trove, and absolutely should not be missed if you ever have the chance to see them.

Just me, my bike and the Painted Hills

I have already been blown away by the generosity of people. In just a week's travel, I've stayed with two separate households of people, managed to find three showers (all much-needed), and have met a dozen wonderful people in between. A man flagged me down by the side of the road as I was passing his mailbox with the words, "You can stay at our place! We're not ax murderers!" Walt and his wife Pat stuffed me full of pot stickers, beer and homemade kim chi before letting me relax in their hot tub, and even built a fire. By the end of the evening, it would've been okay with me if they turned out to be ax murderers after all.

There've also been several other cyclists headed in the other direction, which I often end up camping with at night. I met a fellow from Scotland named Andrew, a self-described bionic wanderer, determined to ride his bike and trailer across Canada in the middle of winter, powered by skateboard decks, wire and duct tape. I laugh easily at the idea, but after spending an evening with him, I can't help but feel that he'll actually figure out a way to pull it off. Look out, Eugene and Seattle, I think he's headed your way first; I'm not sure either town is big enough to contain him.

Enough for now, I need to start thinking about finding a place to stay for the night. Tomorrow I start the stretch across Idaho, and then into the Tetons and Yosemite. I have pictures that I'll put up here when I can, but I need to find an actual computer for that, and sadly, every library in the world seems to be closed on Sundays.

Aptly named Picture Valley, leading into John Day

Oh yeah. Yes, it's been about a million degrees every single day. I think I sunburned my eyeballs; one of the downsides to dumpstering sunglasses is, hella dank pieces of bling that they may be, I have no idea If they have any UV protection. Thank you random hardware store for providing me with a new $4 pair that are about one third as cool as my previous ones.

It begins...

Hippypotami

Dammitall, I wasn't planning on adding anything to this blag until I left on my trip, but inasmuch as it pertains to the wonderful world of bicycle-powered absurdities, I feel I have a duty to keep my audience informed of all such happenings and encounters and oddities. Friends, I want you to meet Mary Jane the Hippypotamus:

I encountered her at the Oregon Country Fair this year, and (no offense, Colin, seriously) she leaves the Minstrel Cycle in the dust (see previous post). Mary Jane is powered by four recumbent cycles buried deep within her bowels, with one person steering via a steering wheel, while another controls the movement of the eyes, eyelids and mouth. Every inch of her is fully customized, and her body is made of hammered aluminum. She is lightweight and quite easy to move with four people, and as if this weren't enough, get this: like all self-respecting hippopotami, she is semi-aquatic.

I'm hoping to get on the road by this Saturday at the latest; just a few loose ends to tie up in preparation for my trip (e.g., I accidentally set my shoes on fire at the Fair, and I think I'll be needing a new pair to last through the summer). Soon!