Proper incentive - Day 33: Moran to Lander

I exited the teepee to see that no one had put the horses away from last night. They were happily munching on the lawn and leftover party trash. I decided I should help clean up, so I collected trash, made a lost-and-found pile of valuable-looking things, and delivered dirty dishes to places that seemed sensible. I went back to the chair I had first sat down in, again preparing to eat granola and milk. Instead, the same girl I met yesterday - up surprisingly early, considering the hangover she must have had - put in an order for me in the kitchen, so I ate eggs, sausage, and pancakes while defending them from a local cat.

Maybe a week ago, Jon had picked up a Monster energy drink that fell out of a vending machine. He didn't want it, so he handed it to me and I'd carried it until I could find a good reason to use it. Since I would cross Togwotee Pass today, the second highest point on the Trans-Am route and >2,500 feet above Moran, I dumped half of it into each of my bottles and diluted it with water to make it more tolerable. Properly fueled, I left to attack the pass.

I had hoped that the bear situation at the pass would have cleared up by now, but there were still flashing signs imploring that I should stay in my vehicle. Several cyclists were crossing that pass every day, so I figured bear spray would be a sufficient replacement for a vehicle. Most of the road wasn't immediately bordered by forest, either, so I expected to see a bear before it could get close. Thankfully, all I saw when climbing the pass were several local cyclists and some biting flies that didn't care about my bug spray at all.

After two good meals and a Monster, I made the pass without much problem and embarked on a glorious downhill, now scanning the road ahead for imperfections in the pavement instead of grizzlies. I made it to Dubois without trouble and met three old, retired guys from New York on Harleys who called themselves The Three ROMEOs, which stood for Retired Old Men Eating Out. They told me about 60 mph winds and other stories.

I wasn't sure how far I wanted to go that day, as the only campsites listed on my map were either disappointingly close or unreasonably far. After eating in Dubois and evaluating my progress, I decided on Unreasonably Far, which was Lander, WY. My primary motivation was that Lander allows free camping in the city park. Road conditions and variable winds made things a little tougher than I imagined, but after a couple stops at Crowheart and Fort Washakie in the Shoshone Wind River Reservation, and inspired by the idea of "free", I got a second wind and made Lander about the time it got dark.

I stopped at an ice cream shop that was still open and checked my mileage for the day, which came in at 123 miles in total. This marked my first 100+ mile day, known as a "century" in the cycling community. I celebrated my progress with a German chocolate sundae and opened my map to find the park. Before I could read anything, a woman asked if I needed help finding the park - understandably, everyone stops there. She told me she works at a local bakery and invited me to stop by the next morning, saying that I could set up shop there as long as I wanted. I hope she doesn't regret that decision, because as of this writing I've dominated this table for about 6 hours, blogging, charging stuff, and taking care of miscellaneous online tasks that I've neglected.

Anyway, the Lander city park is quite nice. I kept my light off to avoid waking any other campers, and was rewarded for my consideration by stepping in a pile left by a dog that must have been very large and well-fed. I pledged to take care of that tomorrow, put my shoes far from my bivy bag, and went to sleep.

Oh, right, pictures. Here's the cat that wanted my breakfast:



A self-descriptive sign at Togwotee Pass:



The view from a lookout a little ways down the pass:



The view outside of Dubois, where some Badlands-ish scenery begins (lots of road in the picture, unfortunately):

Wedding crasher - Day 32: Jackson to Moran

I woke up, packed up, and thought about heading out right away to avoid an inevitably awkward goodbye, as the Brits planned to go south to the Grand Canyon while I headed back up north to rejoin the Trans-Am trail. Hamish caught me on the way out, though, so we all went to McDonald’s to work on our hangovers. It was the first time I’d been to a McDonald’s in a very long time, so I was a little worried that I’d lost my tolerance, but salt and grease is very welcome in most any form while on a bike.

As a form of condolences for the Brexit vote, I waived Hamish and Angus's tabs from the night before and headed north alone. I prepared myself to be alone for a while, as this stretch was pretty desolate and everyone I'd already met should be far ahead of me now, along with the bulk of eastbound cyclists for this season.

My preparations were not needed. I stopped at Hatchet Lodge about 1/4 mile from my planned campsite, intending to use their picnic table to eat my dinner of granola with milk, a perishable luxury that I had picked up at the general store that formed the entirety of the town of Moran a couple miles back. I did not make it to the campsite.

There was some kind of party going on inside the lodge, so I found a place far from the festivities and sat down to eat. This turned out to be the employee break area. I chatted with a woman and her grandson, both of whom worked there, and learned that the party was for the marriage of the couple that ran the restaurant. One girl offered to grab me a beer from inside, and I accepted. This was alredy a success.

My tight cycling shorts -- Lance Pants, as the New Yorkers had called them -- began to feel out of place, so I changed into long pants and a collared shirt, which sounds awfully fancy for a tour until I mention the pants were zip-offs with cargo pockets and the shirt was short-sleeved, plaid, and torn.

I situated myself strategically near the main staff thoroughfare between the kitchen and the party, and it wasn't long before a tall man in Western finery -- tall black boots, tailored black jeans, white shirt with a bolo tie, and black ten-gallon hat -- strode out of the kitchen and shook my hand. This was the groom and restaurant proprietor himself, already somewhat drunk. He insisted that I "get a beer, get some food, and come party with us," a phrase that he would repeat many times that night. I went inside. Even the Brits, polite as they were, had learned that you don't turn down free stuff while on the trail.

I had the best meal of my trip so far, stuffing my face with beef brisket, ribs, and mashed potatoes with cheese and garlic. Beer was flowing freely at the bar, so it was easy to get a party prop to hold as if I belonged there. I tried unsuccessfully to talk to some older guests then met the girl who gave me my first beer, along with some of her friends. She had apparently sent the groom out to bring me in, and now that dinner was done, they had the night free.

The DJ played hokey western music to match the hokey western ambiance, and some square dancing happened while one guy, clearly a hotshot, threw some women around in one corner of the dance floor in a very violent rendition of two-step. They seemed to enjoy it. The girl who had engineered my entrance to the party mentioned wanting to learn to lead swing, so I offered to follow and we danced, much to the amusement of a few guys who seemed to be unable to decide whether this was terribly emasculating or some kind of power move. Regardless, nothing we could have done was more awkward than anything else occurring on the dance floor at that point.

As the night went on, young people from nearby resorts got off work and joined the party. The DJ adjusted accordingly, hopping forward in time from Achey Breaky Heart to Uptown Funk and eventually Daft Punk. I demonstrated that blues dancing worked well to club music. An older woman tried to encourage her daughter to dance with me. The daughter wasn't into the idea but didn't know how to refuse, so I offered to dance with the mom, which was clearly preferable to both of them.

Outside, a couple horses had joined the party, mixing easily with the guests and helping themselves to unguarded food. A young woman in a sundress hopped up on one, bareback, competently guiding it around by the base of its mane. Someone's dog was slowly and patiently stalking chislers, the local name for prairie dogs, that kept popping up around the lawn. Another dog obliviously and energetically tromped through the first dog's hunting grounds every now and again, clearly failing to understand that chislers were food, not friends. The newlyweds took photos silhouetted by the setting sun. I wandered between the bar, the dance floor, and the ongoing dog-vs-chisler drama, reasonably drunk and floating as if in a dream.

I danced more with the first girl I met, who had apparently worked out with the groom that it was cool for me to sleep in a thematically-appropriate teepee on the property, which had some bunk beds inside. At this point, she was very drunk. No one seemed to mind that she would just go behind the bar and pour herself, and me, whatever she wanted. She made me a drink that was "like, really strong", but I suspect someone handed her water when she asked for vodka. I returned her to her friends, who had obviously handled this case before, and went off to set myself up in the teepee. A fight was going on uncomfortably close to the entrance, though, so I killed a little time sitting by a fire first, convincing a worker from a nearby dude ranch to try biking across the country next summer.

Here are some final views of the Grand Tetons on the way out of the park, along with photographic evidence of the wedding, though I wasn't thinking much about photos for most of the experience.

Trail angel - Day 31: Teton Village to Jackson

Jackson is about 12 miles from Teton village, with a nice paved bike path the entire way. It's Friday, so we wanted to check out the nightlife, if any. That meant trying to stay in town. We got no responses on Warm Showers, so we went for plan B: hanging out by a hippie grocery store's bike parking area and asking anyone with a bike rack on their car if they knew of a yard we could camp in. I'd estimate that 70% of cars in Jackson have bike racks, so we had some options.

We only had to accost three people before finding Molly, who was on a bike herself. She said she owed some trail angel service and invited us to follow her and camp in her yard. It was a beautiful yard, shared between her and two other housing units, with a creek flowing through it and some outdoor power outlets to charge our gadgets. Molly had a cool hat, played upright bass, and would be gone to a girls' jam that night. She'd also be leaving at 4:30 AM to mountain bike "around the rock", going 143 miles completely circling the Grand Tetons. Basically, she was much cooler than me. She even left her place unlocked for us to use the kitchen, laundry, or bathroom while she was gone.

We set up camp and took the free city shuttle downtown to see the hip, young, outdoorsy crowd I'd heard about. Instead, we found tourist families herding unimpressed children through Wild-West-themed shops and eateries. We spent a couple hours wandering indecisively between different spots, including the Cowboy Bar. I thought it was a little on-the-nose to just directly state their goal and destroy the illusion of authenticity like that, but they managed to fill the place while charging a $5 cover, so I guess they knew their audience.

I asked the bouncer where we might find a younger crowd, and he recommended The Rose, which was near empty when we arrived. I had an uninteresting conversation with prematurely drunk man who couldn't believe that cycling was enjoyable. The bartender said a local DJ would be playing that night, though, and assured us that it'd be hopping around 10:30 once food service workers got off. He was right; come 10:30, our spots at the bar were highly coveted.

We'd had a few drinks at this point to justify our continued existence at the bar, and I was enjoying the Brits' attempts to use American accents and say American things. I then got the idea to ask someone if they wanted to teach my British friends how to be American. Tess, ski instructor, professional skier, and donut shop proprietor, said she'd take that proposition back to her friends. They were interested. She essentially dragged the Brits over to her table and they became very popular very quickly.

Meanwhile, I spoke with Monique, an ex-reporter for NBC who had decided to quit her job and travel to Svalbard on a whim. Like biking across the country, or riding 143 miles of dirt to circle some mountains in a single day, this was apparently par for the course in Jackson. She was very impressed, and I was very surprised, by the fact that I knew that Svalbard is the northernmost town in Norway, within the Arctic Circle. It quickly became too packed and too loud to have a conversation, and the rest of the night was spent drinking, bumping into people (dancing?), and occasionally finding Hamish who repeatedly declared, happily, that he had "no idea what's going on".

I paid a random person a random amount of cash to drive us to a Lucky's, which I knew was in the general vicinity of Molly's place. After arguing that yes, I already gave him $12 (it was true, I did), we got out of the car several blocks from Lucky's and wandered back to Molly's yard. We fell asleep very quickly.

Here's the yard:

Political aside: Brexit

We got a late start again on day 31, though I suppose I should give the Brits a break to process the Brexit news. They're still in a state of disbelief, staring at their phones and alternating between quiet cursing and nervous laughter.

--- Begin political aside ---

My understanding of Brexit is as follows. UKIP, or the UK Independence Party, is a populist, nationalist movement that essentially mirrors our Tea Party. It's led by Nigel Farage, who mirrors our Trump. UKIP promised to withdraw from the European Union if they came into power, and actually got some support for the idea due mainly to concerns over immigration. Those "concerns" are that immigrants are essentially destroying Britain, taking British jobs and committing terrorist acts all over the place. It all sounds pretty familiar so far: "outsiders" are branded a threat to jobs, safety, and the English way of life. We have problems, and it's their fault. It's us versus them, and UKIP are the only ones prepared to fight "them" before it's too late!

Essentially no experts outside of UKIP believe that Brexit is a good idea. Without much in the way of natural resources, Britain depends heavily on the EU. Benefits of membership include free trade, free travel, cooperation on security and intelligence, agreements on workers' and human rights, environmental protections, and general membership in a larger community that collectively commands respect on the world stage. They even managed to join without accepting the Euro, giving them some insulation from the financial troubles of countries like Greece, Ireland, and Portugal. None of that is worth housing 20,000 refugees, apparently. Better to let let Britain's economy fall behind the rest of the world than to help ameliorate a humanitarian crisis.

UKIP gained significant support running on this xenophobic platform. Having learned nothing from the rise of the Tea Party and Trump, the Conservatives threw UKIP supporters a bone by promising to hold a referendum vote on leaving the EU if voted into power. It worked, they got in, and they held the vote assuming that Britain wouldn't really be racist enough to tank their own economy just to kick out the brown people. They were wrong. Trump approved.

Scotland and Northern Ireland both voted to stay in the EU, but are being forced out thanks essentially to older English voters who have officially lost the right to say that millennials are destroying their country. A new vote for Scottish independence is in the works, as well as a movement to reunify Ireland (as Star Trek prophesied). Cameron stepped down to allow a new government to lead the transition from the United Kingdom to the Independent Kingdom, standing proudly alone while the rest of the world passes it by. I guess they'll still have Wales, which appears to be little consolation.

I'm no expert, of course. I could be accused of just repeating alarmist, liberal talking points, but it's very difficult to find people who think this was a good idea. Searches for "what is the EU" spiked in Britain immediately after the vote, and there's already been a lot of people coming forward to say they regret voting to leave. It seems like this was a protest vote, a bluff, that went too far - people were eager to express dissatisfaction without considering the actual proposal itself. I really hope that we don't do the same thing with Trump.

Colter Bexit - Day 30: Colter Bay to Teton Village

Get it? Like, exiting Colter Bay? It's a politics joke, I'm sophisticated.

Anyway. Angus arranged a Warm Showers host for us tonight in Teton Village, which is a fancy ski resort town near Jackson, WY. Unfortunately, only he knew who the host was, and he left to go find Hamish when he didn't show up after a turn. We agreed to meet at a grocery store farther on, and after waiting about an hour and quizzing arriving motorists with no success, I decided they were gone forever.

I started to head back to the main Trans-Am route, but I had heard a lot of cool things about Jackson. It's supposed to be a very young and outdoorsy town, so I figured someone should be sympathetic to a lost cyclist that's been separated from his pack. I turned around again and fought headwinds to reach the only shop in Moose, WY, where Angus and Hamish happened to already be. Apparently they had taken another route to get there. Shortly after finding them, I received Hamish's message telling me where they were.

We left as a pack again toward Teton Village, traveling along a narrow road with traffic that included motorized "stagecoach" tours. While trailing along in their wake with cameras pointed at me, I felt like I should be part of the wildlife, frolicking and making dolphin noises to delight the tourists. Instead I focused on dodging potholes. My bike's past life as a mountain bike came in handy once the road turned to gravel - sliding around was a lot of fun, but seemed to scare the tourists. At least they gave me plenty of room.

A bike path appeared next to the road and took us into Teton Village. We met Cameron, our host, as well as his three roommates, all of which were as outdoorsy as expected with jobs like ski instructor, rafting guide, trail maintenance, and wildlife tagging/monitoring. Our bikes felt plenty at home in their stable of road and mountain bikes. My first shower in a week was pretty nice, and soon I'll have a clean bag of laundry too.

Some pictures from today:

Yawn - Day 29: Colter Bay

Today was another zero day, for no reason other than it's pretty here. I wandered around Coulter Bay a bit, marveled at some of the high mountains and high prices, and mostly just spent the day being useless.

There is one reasonably-priced food here: a gigantic frozen burrito named The Bomb that weighs in at 880 calories and something like $2.80. I've eaten three today, and resolved to find some vegetables in the near future.

I think that's about all I've got for today.

Rude name for a pretty place - Day 28, Grant's Village, Yellowstone, to Colter Bay, Grand Teton

Grant's Village opened only recently, so the wildlife hasn't quite figured out that they should avoid it yet. We saw some elk in camp, and in the morning I spoke with Jeremy, another cyclist, 15 minutes after a grizzly had wandered into his site. He had photographic evidence. The rangers actually sent a helicopter to track the thing, possibly to tranquilize it and fly it somewhere very far away.

Jeremy told me a great story about his stay in Eugene, Oregon, on this same trip. He stayed at an eco-village, and was invited to participate in a bike mob to celebrate the opening of some new bike lanes. He unloaded his bike and said he was ready to go. His host asked where his costume was. He hadn't packed one, so his host took him to a room and said he could choose anything from it. The first thing he found was a penguin costume, and shortly thereafter he was biking through the streets of Eugene in a penguin suit, wondering if this is what bike touring was always like.

We ran into Brandon and Ed again, and this time Brandon had managed to bake brownies in his giant skillet. They made a great breakfast.

We left not-quite-so-late and began fighting wind and RVs to get out of the park. After a few close brushes, Hamish stayed at the rear and started taking the full lane whenever a large vehicle might try to pass despite oncoming traffic. This approach pissed off a few RVers, but it got us out of the park in one piece.

Along the way, we met two westbound women from Boston. One was older, very tall, and had a German accent. The other was younger, very small, and had an interesting accent that was a mix of Boston and something southeast Asian. Hamish was "that guy" and asked Lubna, the shorter of the two, how much she weighed - 100 lbs, or thereabout, with a bike and gear that was about the same weight as my setup at 70 lbs. Despite Hamish's lack of tact, Lubna said to look her up on Warm Showers, a site to find places to stay while cycle touring, if we ever ended up in Boston.

Previously, the Katies had mentioned that Grand Teton National Park was way better than Yellowstone. They actually cancelled their last night in Yellowstone to go back there. Our first real view of the Tetons convinced me that they were right - see the pictures at the end of this post.

Eventually, we made it to Colter Bay, and heard a whole lot about Grizzly activity. A westbound cyclist told us about flashing signs up on the pass saying "GRIZZLY ACTIVITY - STAY IN VEHICLE". A passing pickup driver noticed that his bike wasn't exactly grizzly-proof, told him about a sow with two cubs in the area, and carted him a few miles over the pass. A little further on, a driver waved him down and said there was a lone male grizzly ahead. Having little other choice, he kept going. Sure enough, he saw it on the opposite side of the road. He waved down an RV and they agreed to drive slowly, staying between him and the bear until he was well past. That night, sitting in the cabin office of Colter Bay, I also heard a radio report of a grizzly sighting in the cabins nearby. When I rode back to camp that night, I kept my bear mace handy and sang a stupid tune to avoid startling a bear. They supposedly avoid you if they know you're coming.

Here are some first views of the Tetons, which apparently were named by rude French explorers who had never seen a human breast:

Desensitized to pretty things - Day 27, Canyon Village to Grant's Village, Yellowstone

Woke up and left late again with Hamish and Angus. Though they ride fast, they're definitely not in a hurry to get anywhere, probably because they have 6-month visas to use up.

What struck me today was really the variety of scenery in Yellowstone, from Geyser-basin hellscapes to dense old forests, young forests with pine trees about my height, burnt forests, large canyons, and sweeping vistas of rivers, lakes, meadows, and more. The thermal areas, with bubbling mudpits, rotten sulfur smells, steaming caves, and exploding geysers really justify the old explorer's name for the place: Colter's Hell, a joking, dismissive reference to John Colter's early descriptions of the place. He was known to tell tall tales, so no one believed him about it at the time.

I'd also like to take this opportunity to give a shoutout to Wilcoxson's fudge bars, which are both the price and size that I believe fudge bars should be: $1 and maybe 8" long. They've fueled my ride through Yellowstone. Here's hoping that they'll sponsor me.

Some images in no particular order:

Scenic route - Day 26, Madison Campground to Canyon Village, Yellowstone

I woke up strangely early, which worked out well for me. I saw a van with a British punk rock paint scheme and decided to say hello. The occupants were 4 Swiss and 1 South Korean who had all met in an English language class in Vancouver, BC. They rented the van from a service that specializes in badass vans and left to tour America. They were very generous with breakfast materials including cream cheese, which is a luxury I had not enjoyed in about a month.

Most of the old guys had left for Grant's Village when I returned to camp, which was a campground on the route that opened for the season that day. Brandon made a huge pan full of lentils, rice, peppers, and other things, so I ate pretty well. Half the stuff he was carrying was for cooking. I hung around camp late with Hamish and Angus, the only other cyclists interested in taking an extra day to do the long north route around the park. A local bike shop recommended the route due to reduced traffic and more wildlife, but also warned that it was significantly more hilly.

I had to stop at the first thermal feature we saw since it shared my girlfriend's middle name (Beryl). We stopped at a variety of pretty places and eventually ended up at Canyon Village after a lot of climbing. I bought a deck of cards and taught Hamish and Angus to play a game called Shithead, which is essentially a popular backpacker's version of Uno, if my friend Josh is to be believed. Angus taught Predictive Wist, trick-taking game with varying hand sizes and trump suits and a decidedly more British name than Shithead. The rules for Predictive Wist started to go out the window once it got dark, beers were consumed, and red cards became difficult to distinguish in the glow of Hamish's red headlamp.

Here's the Swiss/Canadian/Korean punk van:


Beryl Spring:




Some Asian newlyweds in their natural environment:


Gibbon Falls:


Porcelain Basin:


Some oversized cows:


And finally, me in all my warm gear, because it gets cold at 7,800 feet:

Swimmin' hole - Day 25: Madison Campground, Yellowstone

I still need to pad my schedule a bit to ensure that I don't arrive in Illinois before Halley does. Rather than hanging around in Illinois cornfields, I want to spend time in places like Yellowstone, where sleeping in a tent makes you an intrepid adventurer instead of a worthless bum in society's eyes. Originally, my plan was to add a day by going north around the main loop, but instead I gave in to peer pressure and went nowhere.

There were a lot of bikers in camp and I feel bad for not remembering all their names, especially the older folks. Ethan took off and Madi and Grant were delayed waiting for a package in West Yellowstone, but Jon, Christian, Hamish, Angus, Brandon, Ed, and I formed a large under-thirty contingent in the cyclist camp. Brandon is a high school physics teacher in Chicago and an excellent cook, and Ed is a 17-year-old student of his. Both of them were just biking around Yellowstone for fun. Ohio Mike and maybe 6 more cyclists represented the over-fifty demographic. I think some of the racers, Alvaro, and Alicia were the only cyclists I've met between 30 and 50, besides a few edge cases (Bart is something like 47, Brandon might be a little over 30, etc). Apparently, child-raising age kind of precludes big adventures unless you're Alvaro and Alicia.

The big event today was leaving our stuff in camp, cycling to Firehole Canyon, and swimming in the heated river. Christian, who's sponsored by basically every bike company as far as I can tell, couldn't go due to issues with his tires. Interestingly, his tire sponsor is WTB, the same company that made the two tires that split on me early on. Anyway, Jon, Hamish, Angus, and I went on without him, and had fun setting bad examples for all the tourist children by fighting our way up the current and jumping off ~20ft rocks into the warm river.

Back at camp, it sounded like Christian had a fun time of his own. I think Christian would agree that he can be kind of a dick to normal folks, but he said that the people who gave him a ride were so nice that even he couldn't make fun of them. They waited while he got his tires and gave him a ride 16 miles back into the park, assumedly 32 miles total out of their way.

Most of the day was just spent chatting, which I facilitated with a box of firewood. Ohio Mike shared a story about chasing a bear that raided his drink mix powder and stole his PB&J sandwiches. Hamish, an industrial/organizational psychologist, talked about the differences between the US and UK academic systems, and the problems he saw in each. Angus talked about wanting to be a perpetual bike tourist. Brandon and Christian discussed being a high school teacher. Jon talked about astronomy and astrophotography. On request, and I need to emphasize that it really was requested, I gave an impromptu lecture about basic transistor functioning, the advantages of a FinFET structure, and why I'm excited that FinFETs have finally become the standard for CPU and GPU chips. Jon and Hamish actually appeared interested and asked a bunch of followup questions.

Later, Jon and I went for a walk. We discovered that the nearby river had some miniature hot spots, saw some nice scenery, and met a few other campers. We spotted a camp with a slackline set up, decided that only hippies have slacklines, and assumed hippies would probably be friendly. They weren't at camp, so we wandered a bit farther until we met two Katies. The Katies seemed happy to meet someone else their age without 5 kids in tow, and invited us back for beers later. We talked with the slackline camp first and found that they weren't hippies at all, but were a very nice family that knew about cycling and invited us to stay with them in Indiana if we end up on the Northern Tier route somehow. It's not impossible that I'll switch to the Northern Tier after Illinois, I suppose.

After returning to camp for warm clothes, we went back to The Katies and talked for a while over Shock Top beer and a bottle of cheap gin I'd been carrying for far too long. The Katies were most recently from Colorado, aged 26 and 27. They had decided to go out and do something adventurous every year around this time in order to experience life instead of sitting around like a lot of their friends. I admired their initiative, and gained a little respect for myself when I realized that I was demonstrating that same quality just by being there. I also admired their friendship -- they kept implying that they were weird and had a silly sense of humor, but it seemed like the kind of weird that would make everything, even tough situations, enjoyable when they were together.

The Katies hadn't established a system for differentiating themselves, so one Katie declared herself Little Katie. Other Katie decided that meant she was Big Fat Katie. Neither of those descriptors seemed appropriate, so I think we settled on Little Katie and Just Katie. Good and evil were never established in the way that the Aris had done. Side note: I have since discovered that both Aris decided they are Evil Ari, so its back to the drawing board there. I think other people don't find it as important to differentiate themselves from others with the same name. I guess it's a personal issue, considering my famous name conflict.

Little Katie was a school psychologist and Just Katie was a neonatal nurse, which led to a lot of interesting discussion about nature versus nurture and education. Though I don't think Little Katie would describe herself this way, she was quite graceful in indulging my personal questions about life after grad school and finding meaning outside of work, both of which have been on my mind for a while. Overall, I was probably a little overexcited to meet them, which made me a little self-conscious, which made me more awkward and more self-conscious in the kind of positive-feedback loop that many nerds are familiar with. I was very eager to talk to people my age and at a similar place in life, but I'm concerned I dominated the conversation with prying questions and half-baked ideas. If it bothered them, they didn't show it, but I imagine they're also used to that kind of thing from guys. They kept throwing new logs on the fire, so I hope that means I wasn't too annoying. Maybe I can give myself a break for not being very socially active for the past month. Either way, Little Katie gave us a huge bag of homemade trail mix when we left. She said that she was disappointed with the batch, but it was salty, and that was enough for me.

Jon and I returned to the tent city that was hiker/biker camping at something like 1 AM. Overall, it was pretty good for a zero-mileage day.

Here's a panorama of tent city, which a ranger said was the most cyclists they had had in three years. I set up my green rain tarp, center, just to fit in:

Too many people - Day 24, West Fork area to Madison Campground, Yellowstone

I woke up early, confirmed that nothing was terribly wrong from last night's crash, and left before anyone took issue with my camp spot. I ate peaches and granola in front of the closed visitor's center at Quake Lake, saw a neat Osprey nest, and made it to West Yellowstone without further incident.

One of the first buildings I saw offered laundry and showers, so I stopped in, took a shower, and dumped nearly everything I have into the wash. I hunted fruitlessly for WiFi, only finding unsecured networks that ask for a password via the browser, which makes me unreasonably annoyed. I then started meeting a whole bunch of people.

First, I saw a couple loaded bikes outside an Arby's. I spoke briefly with Hamish and Angus, two Brits who have been making up their own route all over the place. They're planning to use most of their 6-month visas to wander pretty much everywhere in the US. I left the Arby's and met Lee, one of the pioneers of mountain biking and long-time bike shop owner. He showed me his first mountain bike, which was clearly just a road bike with some beefier equipment welded on. He also showed me binders full of pictures over the years, and I signed his guestbook. He sold me one of his rental helmets because it was the only one that fit my weird-shaped head, made some quick spoke adjustments on my front wheel, and topped off the air pressure in my tires. I returned to the laundromat and met Brian, a westbounder from Georgia who is doing the Trans-Am route pretty much immediately after through-hiking the Appalachian Trail. Hamish and Angus were still sitting in front of the Arby's looking aimless, so I brought them along to stop by the visitor's center to get some conflicting advice about what cyclists needed to do to get into Yellowstone. While there, we met Madi (sp?) and Grant, who I can only assume are a poster-couple for cycling ads, with matching gear and inappropriately good looks.

Next, Hamish, Angus and I went for groceries. They bought more food than I have ever seen a cyclist carry, including two large boxes of oatmeal cookies, full-size boxes of cereal, 6 bananas, and more. I got a little carried away as well, but I made it fit. I found that New York Ethan was still in town, so I arranged to meet Hamish and Angus inside Yellowstone that night after eating dinner with the other cyclists I'd met. New York Ethan, Ohio Mike (previously seen in Missoula), Georgia Brian, and I went to a pizzeria that some of them had scoped out earlier. While there, New York John and Georgia Christian rode by. We flagged them down and they joined us. The old crew was mostly reunited.

West Yellowstone itself is basically a staging area from which tourists mount daily assaults on the park in hopes of finding an open campground. As such, it's expensive, busy, and full of obnoxious advertising, including a beat up Oldsmobile that drove around while someone shouted through a distorted megaphone about a rodeo. I didn't want to stay there, so I talked Jon and Christian into riding into the park that night. No one was awake to ask for the $20 pass that the visitor's center sold me.

It took quite a while to finish chores like groceries, so we didn't get started until well after dark. You're supposed to make noise to avoid startling a bear, so we rode the ~15 miles to Madison yelling at imaginary bears, making nonsense sounds, and generally being obnoxious. The ride would likely have been more scenic during the day, but this way we had very light traffic. We did catch one nice sight: a lake we passed was steaming, heated by some nearby hotsprings. The near-full moon illuminated the steam to create an eerie backdrop for a couple large silhouettes with sparkling eyes, most likely elk. We watched them for a while then went for the campground, circling the whole place a couple times before discovering that hiker/biker camping was unmarked and stuffed behind the registration building.


Here's the osprey nest I mentioned:

Working harder, not smarter - Day 23, Ennis to somewhere in the West Fork area

I left my campsite this morning to forage for food at the local grocery. On the way, I met one of the last Trans-Am racers just wandering aimlessly around town. He explained that the headwinds leaving Ennis were so bad that he turned around and decided to wait them out in town. Seeing an opportunity to be more badass than a racer, I loaded up and headed out.

I had an idea what I was getting into, so it took me a while to really get frustrated by the wind. I set little rewards for every few telephone poles I passed, and guessed at the number of lane divider stripes between me and the next feature. I couldn't even distract myself with an audiobook because the wind was too loud and kept ripping the buds out of my ears. Two hours of grinding in my lowest gears only got me about ten flat miles, less than half my normal pace even in hilly terrain. I was very thankful to discover that Cameron, which was nothing more than a post office according to my map, actually had a fully fledged restaurant and bar called the Blue Moon. I locked up my bike and went inside.

I destroyed a $9 Blue Moon Burger and plugged in my laptop, planning to wait out the wind. A group of Missourians (Missourites?) spent half an hour asking me about my trip. I tried to be helpful and friendly instead of exhausted and surly, and was rewarded with beer. They also got the URL of my blog, so if you're reading this, thanks Missourians!

The Missourians left and I spoke with Darcy, a very happy woman who owned the place. She and her husband had moved here from California and literally just bought the town from its former mayor. They turned it into a small resort and had only opened for business last January. At some point I fell asleep in my chair, and Darcy woke me up to offer a spot to stretch out and sleep in back, which I gratefully accepted.

A while later, I woke up to find a blanket on top of me. Darcy mentioned "your friends are here", and I walked out front to see Christian and Jon again. We all sat around talking to bar patrons and getting a drink or two until about 8 PM before setting out again, hoping nighttime would bring reduced winds.

I probably made it about 30 still-windy miles before reaching a downhill section after the sun had finally set. Turns out, it's difficult to judge your speed at night. I ended up going too fast to properly react to road conditions within the distance illuminated by my light, and I hit a wooden wheel chock that caused the most comfortable crash of my life. It was cold enough that I was wearing pretty much everything I had, so I just hit the pavement with a "foomp" and skidded for a while. My rain jacket and helmet were the only casualties, along with a little skin off my elbow and some messed up spoke tension in my front wheel. I stood up, collected my lights, and assessed myself for a concussion - as far as I could tell, everything was fine. The impact even loosened a flood of built-up snot I had evidently been carrying around, which all came out of my nose in a single burst while I was assessing my bike. Thankfully, none of it was blood. Staying still meant getting cold, so I kept going. This time, I kept the diffuser off my light - it was less scenic and the resulting tunnel-vision was uncomfortable, but it allowed me to actually see far enough ahead.

There's basically nothing but scenery in the 74 miles between Ennis and West Yellowstone, and after exhausting myself earlier and then crashing, I decided to stealth camp instead of pushing all the way through to a place that I'd have to pay too much to stay anyway. Eventually, I found a good stealth camping spot and tucked in for the night.

Only one picture today, while the shadows were getting long:

More free stuff - Day 22, Twin Bridges to Ennis

I'm writing this from Grand Teton National Park, which means I have a huge backlog to catch up on. It'll be a little spotty for the past few days. Here goes.

I spent most of the morning with Jon and Christian sitting in the Twin Bridges general store, leeching off their WiFi and eating multiple $2.50 breakfast burritos. Both the WiFi and burritos were good, so we got a late start. I sprinted ahead, and besides encountering them again at a bar waiting out some minor showers, I didn't see them again all day.

The traffic grew noticeably heavier and more bike-oblivious as I approached Virginia City. Upon arrival, I discovered that Virginia City is a preserved wild-west style tourist trap, situated on the western approach to Yellowstone. This explained the traffic. I talked to a guy with a Wayne-and-Garth vibe who carried a guitar around and seemed to be excited to see a guy on a bike. I realized this guy was probably another cyclist's weed hookup, and let him know that I wasn't the guy he wanted. With nothing but tourist trinkets and weed to keep me there, I left to attack the climb between there and Ennis.

The climb was pretty standard, slowly grinding away in the shoulder while getting buffeted by the wakes of passing RVs. The view at the top, however, was like nothing I'd seen. The climb put me on about the same level as some building thunderclouds above Madison Valley and Ennis, and I spent a good half hour just sitting and watching them drift by before launching myself downhill at 40+ mph. In a reversal of the usual situation, I actually had to slow down behind a truck full of logs.

I made it to Ennis on the residual adrenaline, and headed straight to the local distillery on a tip I had received from a westbound cyclist. I camped for free in their bread-scented yard, set up my tarp against their building to brace for thundershowers, and left to find dinner. I found the Silver Dollar Saloon, probably one of several hundred with that name, which was empty besides the bartender and one patron. The patron explained that she had to work tomorrow and shouldn't be there. She also stayed for at least another hour. The woman behind the bar seemed pretty happy to have me there, and started handing me free drinks. We talked about being atheist and feminist (or feminist-supportive) in a place like this, and she became my guide to local life over the next few hours.

First, a very happy couple came in and claimed that "mama" had cut them off while drinking nearby. They played video poker while the bartender explained that Mama was a tough old broad and her role model. The couple left, we talked about the Orlando shootings and how the bartender had dyed her hair pink in response, and then Mama showed up. I shared the happy couple's accusation and, like a good journalist, got Mama's side of the story. Apparently, one member of the happy couple had spilled a few drinks and refused to drink from a sippy cup, so she stopped serving him. Mama said I was a lot better than the bartender's last boyfriend, then left. I got more free drinks, and we talked about the bartender's past as an exotic dancer and biology student. The next guest was Lou, a small woman in her 70s and the bartender's other role model. She had a very annoying habit of working up to what seemed like a profound point, and just before making it, stopping to look at me knowingly instead of revealing whatever it was she was building up to. She almost told me about how the youth and new technology were destroying this country and I almost gave some interesting counterarguments. Satisfied with our conversation, she left. I have no idea what was communicated.

Finally, a very small, very low-key bachelor's party came in to play pool. From the bartender's reaction, this was the worst possible thing to happen at the end of a night. I didn't mind, because the longer this bar was open, the longer I got to avoid the thunderstorm that had let loose with rain and hail outside. I offered to help close up, but got more free drinks instead. I didn't even get to pay for the drinks I had initially ordered. She also offered me a ride home, and insisted even after I explained that I was camping behind the distillery about one block away. Bemused, I accepted. She drove me one block, took twice that amount of time to convince herself that yes, I really was sleeping underneath that tarp over there in the rain, and then drove away. And then drove back, offering me blankets or something to help keep me warm. I assured her that the offer was very kind, but I would be just fine. I slept to the sound of rain bouncing off my tarp amidst rolling thunder.


Here's an attempt to capture the view from the hill before Ennis - it doesn't do it justice, but I can't talk about how great it was without at least trying to give an example:




Here's my very comfortable campsite, braced for wind, that the bartender couldn't believe I was actually sleeping in:





Finally, here's a little brook I liked on the way to Virginia City:

Flying - Day 21, Jackson to Twin Bridges

I have a lot to write about today.

Yesterday, I initially decided against Jackson after discovering that the resort there charges $30 for a campsite, but I went for it after a tip that there was a new, cheaper place across the street. On arrival, I called the number that said "for hotel assistance" and waited for Bob to show up. He told me it was $20 to camp, and that he couldn't take less because it wasn't his business. I didn't have much of a choice. He took my money and left, at which point I realized I could have just walked in, let myself into a room, and went to sleep without anyone ever knowing.

With Bob gone, the place was pretty empty. There was a Spanish couple asleep upstairs, but that was it. The main street was dead, Marty Robbins and other country singers were crooning from an old radio, and there were horse-related implements everywhere. It was cold, so I sat inside and soaked up the heat and ambiance, reminiscent of the Fallout game series. I sat behind the front desk for a while, but I didn't get to check in any guests. The log book showed that maybe 2-4 people checked in per week.

In the morning, I discovered that there is life in Jackson. I sat down to breakfast outside on the main (only) street, said hi to a few locals, and met another Trans-Am racer. He was clearly frustrated that there was nowhere to eat in this town, so I gave him some granola bars to get him 48 miles to real food. He hung around until another racer showed up, who became my new hero. She was hit by a car early in the race, was in the hospital for two days, got back on her bike despite a fractured shoulder, and is now back with the rear of the pack. Also, she's vegan, which makes eating extremely difficult out here. Apparently she sometimes has to rely on nothing but peanut butter. I gave her more granola bars. I have a lot of granola bars.

When she left, I was joined by Alvaro, Alicia, and Lucas. Alvaro and Alicia are the Spanish couple that was staying upstairs. They've biked all over the place, and are currently going from Salt Lake City to somewhere in Canada. Lucas is their 3-year-old, riding in a bike trailer. Apparently he does pretty well back there, watching Finding Nemo and taking in the sights. A swede named Pelle (Pele?) also arrived from Wisdom and ate with us. We talked about politics, including the corrupt leadership and 25% unemployment rate in Spain, neo-Nazi parliament members in Sweden, and of course, Trump and our own presidential election shitshow. None of us understood how these people manage to stick around.

The weather was looking bad, with rain and extreme winds. An old Danish couple rode past while I was packing up, and I caught up with them as they were deciding to head back to town and wait instead of riding 48 miles into hail and a headwind. I put on my jacket and went anyway. After a couple miles, I reached the leading edge of the storm and the wind came around and became an amazing tailwind. I sailed more than biked, completing two 1,000ish ft ascents and 48 miles in something like 2 hours or less, though I hadn't checked my exact departure or arrival times. The wind was whipping past even while descending faster than I could pedal, and I think I held 30+ mph for what felt like an hour as fitful gusts of wind threatened to knock me off my bike. I have never had a greater adrenaline rush in my life.

I made it to Dillon, a little shaky from marinating my brain in adrenaline for the last two hours, and was pointed toward a coffee shop that kept a biker log. I wrote snarky comments about the Trans-Am racer who checked in before me, then wandered around town while waiting to see if the wind would either die down or become a tailwind for the next leg to Twin Bridges. The wind died, I left, and the wind came back as a massive, freezing headwind. The 28 miles to Twin Bridges took longer than the 48 miles to Dillon.

I finally made it to Twin Bridges and their legendary free bike camp, where I met another cyclist heading my direction named Christian. He asked if I knew another guy named John, and I said no. Then New York Jon walked out of the building - I assumed they were gone forever, but apparently he'd taken a zero day due to the storm. Ethan had gone ahead with some of the other guys, which I'm calling the "old guard" now.

Jon described the camp as paradise, and he wasn't far off. It's indoors, it's free, and it has couches, showers, restrooms, electricity, cider, wine, whiskey, rum, gin, weed, and some kind of lime green abomination known as "winearita". The vices were mostly courtesy of some older guys who stopped by from I-don't-know-where. Kevin, possibly Hunter S. Thompson in disguise, was ex-military intelligence and slept for 18 hours a day thanks to Valium. John loved country music and brought a nice Bose wireless speaker to share some songs about Montana, including one about a cafe in Darby that we just rode through. Randy was an older guy who "smokes too much whiskey and drinks too much weed", and he brought his guitar over. All in all it was a real party.

I've already written too much, so I'll end by saying that I climbed into the rafters to sleep. Someone had thrown a board up there and I like climbing things. Don't judge me.

Here's the storm I was riding toward. I can't capture how windy it was. This is one part of the Danish couple, deciding to turn around:


An alley in Dillon:


Sunset from the Twin Bridges camp:

Big sky - Day 20, Darby to Jackson

Another Trans-Am racer passed me around 5 AM while I was packing up to leave. You can tell the racers from their gear – casual tourists like me have big, puffy bags sticking out to each side, while the racers just have streamlined frame and seat bags. I left with the goal of catching him, and actually succeeded when I saw his bike stopped outside a cafe in Sula. I spoke with him a while, wrote the previous blog posts, and left to attack Chief Joseph's Pass.

I had to stop frequently throughout my 3,200 ft climb due to allergies that kept making me cough and get short of breath. I'd been dealing with these all through the Bitterroot Valley, so it was nice when I finally summitted and felt a little better. Chief Joseph's Pass is also the Continental Divide, which I think means that I get to go downhill all the way to Virginia. I'll have to double-check that.

In the meantime, I've stopped in Wisdom, MT to clear my blog backlog (backblog?), which was starting to get pretty heavy. Wisdom is in the Big Hole Valley, land of 10,000 haystacks, which is clearly where Montana keeps its famous big sky. I skipped the Big Hole Battlefield Monument on the way because I expect it's more triumphant than contemplative. Maybe it'd prove me wrong, but I didn't really want to deal with it otherwise.

I think I'll push for Jackson tonight. Here are some pictures from today, including the current state of my beard, which grows much faster out here in the wild west. Also, I can't help but constantly squint if I'm not wearing my sunglasses.



















 

Redeparture - Day 19, Missoula to Darby

The New Yorkers left Missoula yesterday, and today I got a late start on my quest to catch up with them. Historically I’ve been a lot faster than them, but that might change now that they sent half their stuff home. I’m also currently spending a couple hours in Sula to write every blog entry since Lewiston, which isn’t helping the chase. I did, however, spend a good 8 miles or so keeping pace with a Trans-America race participant, so that probably helped my time.

On a tip from Chris, I stopped in Hamilton to try a burger from Nap’s Grill. It was delicious but also huge, which turned out to be a bad thing. I could hardly move when I left the place, and only made it to Darby, about 60 miles, when I had hoped to push for Sula, which is a little farther and higher. I stealth-camped outside a fishing access at the top of a low cliff over the Bitterroot River, which is very fast-flowing and provided some pleasant white noise for the night. Of course, I didn't think to take a picture. This was also the first night that it has been cold enough for me to really appreciate my 20-degree sleeping bag.


Here's a large rural Montana store:

Here's a sign that some local kids had put up for the Trans-America bike race. It's not for me, but I signed it anyway.

Finally, it's not easy to read, but here's a billboard I saw that doesn't appear to be advertising anything besides the human quality of grit. It features John Wayne saying that he doesn't "much like quitters, son."

Idle hands - Day 18, still Missoula

I also did nothing today. Continue dealing with it.

I went to a farmer's market in the morning, bought a cookie, and then stayed with Other Ari today, who mentioned that she hadn’t really hung out with Other Other Ari, though she thought they had a lot in common. She mentioned a quote from a TV show that I forget: “I thought you were Asian Me, but it turned out that I’m just Caucasian You”. I forgot to get her opinion on whether she was Good Ari or Evil Ari.

Anyway, Ari made a tray of delicious granola bars for my trip and we talked about UCSC stuff. I also got to officially meet her boyfriend Chris, with whom I am now Steam friends. Steam is an online gaming platform, so I expect that Steam friends will be important once I’m surrounded by corn living in Urbana-Champaign, IL.


Here's a dopey quail from the farmer's market: