I Have Arrived in Mecca

After a twenty year wait, I have fianlly arrived in touring-cyclist Mecca; Missoula, Montana.

Why is it Mecca? Missoula is the home of the offices of the Adventure Cycling Association (formerly BikeCentennial). BikeCentennial began in 1973 with a plan to create a cycling route across the US, and in 1976 several groups of riders crossed this huge continent on bicycles to celebrate the nation's bicentennial. There are now three major west to east routes and many other routes, including one that follows the Continental Divide.

Cyclists from all over the globe pass through every year.

Missoula is home to the University of Montana, and is a "blue" island in a very "red" state. It is one of the most wonderful cities I have ever visited, and has lived up to my expectations. It was even worth the effort of cycling 450 miles in five days to arrive in time to take two days off for R&R. The food's great and so is the beer, and there are bicycles everywhere one cares to look.

The Adventure Cycling office is a gathering spot for weary cross-country bikers. The cyclist lounge is a place to sit and enjoy cold water, free drinks, and free ice cream. With the temperatures hovering around 90 degrees, it is a welcome distraction.

Having only seen six cyclists in the past 2000 miles, it was nice to actaually talk to other people who are traveling by bike. I feel a lttle less alien when I can share adventures with others who are going through the same ordeals that I encounter on my journey.

I met two cyclist yesterday. Nick Evans from Virginia who is riding from Oregon back to Virginia on a Bontrager mountain bike with a BOB trailer. His web site is here.

I also met a guy named Dustin, who is riding a fixxer from the East Coast to the West Coast. For the uninitiated; a fixxer is a fixed-gear bicycle that is only one speed, and cannot coast. Dustin is my new hero. He gave me his web address, but I don't have it here with me. I'll post it at a later date. On his return to California, he intends to build bike frames and create a line of cycling gear that is going to be very cool.

I had two flats in the first 2000 miles of the trip. On my triumphant entrance into Missoula, I had two flats in the space of three miles. I blame it on seven ugly miles of Interstate 94, which is littered with debris and heavily traveled by lumber trucks and RVs.

Tomorrow, which is Saturday the 29th, I go forth into the Rockies and the high deserts of Idaho. Looks like another 750 miles of not very much except some of the most beautiful scenery in the country and long distances between water stops. This is a great big beautiful place. May we soon get the Corporatists out of the halls of our government and replace them with sensible people who are interested in preserving what's left of the beauty.

Relief from the Heat

Well, the temperature is down about twenty degrees today, although I have about 75 miles to ride through heavy wind and occasional rain. There's only one place to stop between here and there and first thing tomorrow morning I start to do the real climbing up into the Rockies.

I've ridden 225 miles in the last three days and have about 200 more to go until I hit Missoula for a two day rest. The heat has turned my brains to mush, and the cows and antelopes are looking at me in a funny way, but as long as I keep pedaling I don't think they'll say anything bad about me. At least within my range of hearing.

I'm off to battle headwinds.

More Heat in Montana

Well, the temperatures are supposed to get in the triple digits today. The long days in the saddle with the heat, are really draining. The things that keep me going are the beautiful Montana landscapes and the historical names of things along the way.

I rode through a little settlement called Terry yesterday on my way to Miles City. Interstate 94 has been my route of choice for a few days, but I found that Old Highway 10 actually parralleled I-94 for about 12 miles. The road ran between the Interstate and the Yellowstone River. I filled my water bottles with glorious ice, and pushed the bike off after lunch.

A few miles to the west of Terry, I came upon a small stand of cottonwoods between the road and a set of railroad tracks. It was a wonderful moment. Actual trees by the side of the road that I could get off my bicycle and stand next to in the wonderful shade and drink water that was not yet tepid. I couldn't even remember the last time I was able to get off the bike in shade that was not a cafe or some other sort of building.

The not-yet-hot water was refreshing, and I wandered over to a pair of signs that were posted by a bridge that crossed a small river. One of the signs told me that I was standing at the confluence of the Powder and Yellowstone Rivers and that George Custer, Captains Reno and Benteen and their men had camped on the west side of the Yellowstone eight days before their infamous battle in June of 1876. The other sign told me that 70 years earlier, Lewis and Clark had camped there on their way back from the Pacific Coast.

It turned into another of those moments that reminds me why I do this stuff. For people versed in the nuances of American history and Empire, the names of people and places call to mind events that led to Western conquest of North America. Custer, Rosebud, the Powder and Yellowstone Rivers are names that echo through our sometimes bloody and inglorious but always brave history. The land is as harsh and unforgiving as the people who fought and died for it, even now after two centuries of occupation by white Christians.

One hundred miles on tap for tomorrow, and in two more days I'll be in the Rockies.

Plugged in Montana

Well here I am in Miles City, Montana. North Dakota was a windswept place with no postcards and very few public computers. Now that I'm in Montana, I seem to be tripping over the darn things.

I left the North Dakota Badlands, and now I am in the Montana Badlands. There have been many miles between things, including food and water. I've had stretches of as much as 36 miles between water stops. Good thing I'm lugging all this crap along with me, as a few extra liters of water don't make that much of a difference in weight. Hey, it's survival too.

The temps are supposed to be in the triple digits tomorrow, with thunderstorms in the afternoon. Just like the weather in Arizona, it seems. I may find a place to lay low, and I do so look forward to those Rocky Mountains.

Thanks to all who are still with me.

Rockies Here I Come

Well, I am officially in Montana now, as opposed to unofficially I suppose. Lots of flat, winswept prairies behind me and some more to go, but at least the rockies await on the other side. It's been hot and humid and exhausting, but my trip through the Badlands and Theodore Roosevelt National Park made me feel as if I'm finally getting somewhere.

I hope to be in Missoula by July 28, and then its just a couple of mountain passes between me and Eugene, Oregon, which is where I will probably end the trip.

I'll do some real updating when I get back.

The camera story isn't over yet.

Now This is Bike Touring

Coming to you live from Mayville, North Dakota where I've been taken in for the evening by Dr. Timothy O'Keefe and his lovely wife Bonnie. They offered me a patch of grass in their yard and plenty of food and drink and great conversation.

There have been miles and miles and miles and miles of sweltering prairie, and the sky is not crying it is sweating. Oh, and the wind is almost always blowing. I had two days of delicious tailwinds and even covered a forty mile stretch in a bit more than two hours going into Moorhead/Fargo. One can see stuff from a LONG way away and it seems to take hours to get there. Oh, and the winds are no longer at my back. "Real" cycling for sure.

Fun does not begin to describe it.

I will eventually fill in the gaps in the story, but it will probably have to wait until I have a full-time computer in front of my face.

Time to try to get ahead of the winds.

It's not the Heat...

Well, maybe it is. I'm in Morris, Minnesota and the temperature is 97 degrees with comperable humidity. I've had tailwinds all day, so I will probably have my best mileage total to date.

The roads are getting increasingly desolate as I approach Fargo, which is still 110 milesor so away. I will then turn west into the headwinds and pine for the mountains in western Montana.

I've been informed that the coffee shop is closing. That's the update. I'll fill in the blanks as soon as possible.

First Leg

My bicycle is packed and I’m ready to leave Minneapolis for my solo trip back to the coast. The rest of the trip will have little resemblance to the first two weeks I spent traveling with Sartell. We did a fair job of hitting just about every bar along the way. Hey, it was hot the first week and later when the weather was crappy and the headwinds crushed our spirits, we needed every bit of help we could get just to keep going.

We set out on June 21 and for the four days and 228 miles it took to get to Walker, the temperature climbed every day. On the first day we didn’t stop for beer until late in the day, but as the temperature and the miles piled up, we began to stop earlier every day for our necessary fluids. There was Chico’s, the Trophy Bar—where we learned a lot about fishing and Kamikazes—the Blue Goose Inn which was the scene of shenanigans involving several members of the Minnesota Vikings football team, and the Green Lantern just to name a few.

The miles between Garrison and Brainerd were brutal. Headwinds and temps in the upper 80s, with the only relief being beer at the Green Lantern and a photo stop at the statue of Babe the Blue Ox. Paul Bunyan was nowhere to be found. It seems they moved the famed statues of Paul and Babe from Brainerd and no one we asked knew what happened to Paul. I suppose I’ll have to watch “Fargo” again when I get home and pretend that I was there.

Brainerd was the location of the trailhead of the Paul Bunyan trail, which is a paved path stretching more than 100 miles north to Bemidji. We only used 78 miles of the trail, which sounds bizarre in a country where bicycle trails of that length are almost as rare as hen’s teeth. According to the guy at Penn Cyclery, the shop around the corner from Sartell’s place, Minnesota has more than 1300 miles of paved trails. On our trip, we used at least 200 miles of them. If only a few more states were willing to commit resources to those kinds of trails, we could change the way we view transportation in this country. But I guess that’s a silly dream in the land of interstate freeways and Nascar.

Our first night on the Paul Bunyan Trail was spent in a little tourist town called Nisswa. I enjoyed my first helping of deep-fried pickles and some delicious peach schnapps drinks. As we sat in the Olde Pickle Inn, I had my first earful of Minnesota politics. A man was sitting at the end of the bar complaining about the “bullshit war” for oil and profit that’s going on in Iraq. He also claimed that WWII was the last “good” war and every one since has been for the profit of a handful of people.

Over breakfast the next morning, I heard a bunch of golfers complaining that they were unhappy with the way the country is being run unto the ground by the Bush Administration. “I’ve been a lifelong Republican,” said one particularly bellicose man. “I won’t vote Republican in the next election, I can tell you that.”

It was heartening talk to listen to, but I must have had too many peach schnapps the night before, because when we left Nisswa, my camera stayed behind at the motel and I didn’t realize it until we were about 20 miles down the road.

During our three day stay in Walker, we managed to hit every bar and restaurant in town. Pepper’s was right down the hill from our room on the lake, so we went down to the bar and had a beer as we watched the sun set on the lake. It was nice and warm outside and the outdoor bar had a tropical feel, except there were no palm trees and we had to run for cover when the mosquitoes came out. Well, I had to run for cover. Sartell was dressed sensibly in blue jeans and I learned then why he travels in denim rather than lycra.

Sartell’s sister Renee gave us a personalized historic tour of Walker. She’s the curator of the local museum, which has been chopped in half to make room for a state liquor store. It’s a really ugly story of development and the sacrifice of history to make room for what’s generally termed “progress.” My time in Walker showed me the economic threats that may eventually destroy small-town America. On the upside of the story, a team of economic development experts has advised a long-term project to build a multi-use trail around Leech Lake, and a focus on getting the hoards of Minnesota cyclists to use the many existing trails to visit Walker and the surrounding area.

During our tour, we stopped at a bar called Huddle’s for refreshment and a respite from the damn mosquitoes. As I drank my beer, the bartender looked at the tattoo on my left wrist. After complimenting me on the tattoo she said, “I do tattoos in Walker if you’re interested in getting another one.”

I’ve been thinking about getting a bicycle-themed tattoo for a few years and the convergence of things was just too rich for me to pass up. The day before we left Walker I went to Welaya’s studio above the Beehive hair salon, and for two hours we joked around and listened to a thunderstorm as she did a great freehand tattoo on my right wrist in honor of “Tour ’05.” If you ever find yourself in Walker wanting a tattoo, I highly recommend Welaya and the Beehive.

This is a brief overview of the first leg of the trip. Unfortunately, I don’t have an editor with me, so it may be a little rough. I’ll post more as soon as I find another computer. Any feedback from the people I’ve come in contact with along the road would be appreciated.

It’s time once again to hit the road.

Back to Civilization

Sartell and I just finished our 600 mile Minnesota loop. There are miles and miles of incredible bike trails throughout the state. It was difficult to find computer access, but over the course of the next few days I'll be resting up for the long slog home and writing about our two week trip. Stay tuned for much more.

The Route 

Pre-Trip Jitters

I’m off on another “great bike adventure” in a few short days. The last one was in February of 2000, when I rode from Santa Rosa, California to Tucson, Arizona. My life is so much different now than it has been in any of my previous trips. Our lives change in profound ways, and sometimes they’re not so subtle. Aside from being past the age of 40 now and married, I’m also lugging an extra twenty pounds around my midsection, which has to go over those big hills and long mountain passes along with the 40-50 lbs. of gear hung on my bike. Hopefully by the time I get to the mountains, several pounds of Abbott will be left behind. Middle age is a thing we must wrestle with here in America, where we’re supposed to be forever young.

Time can do funny, fluid things sometimes. This trip has been far away for several months and now that it’s only a few days away, time seems to compress and every moment is valuable and has, or should have purpose. Now suddenly, there are two airplane flights and one short week between me and the day I’ll be in Minneapolis throwing my leg over the bike, with the feeling that I’m nowhere near ready physically or psychologically.

I wake up at five o’clock almost every morning and think about how many miles I have to ride in order to make it back in time for all the responsibilities I’ve acquired in the past few months. There are 2200 miles and 39 cycling days between Minneapolis and the end of the trip. My calculator smokes from overuse and the Map Point program has several different versions of the route ranging from 2096 miles to 2304. I feverishly punch numbers as my wife dreams in an adjacent room while I try to figure the distance and the number of days and the number of miles per day that need to be done in order to make it back in the allotted number of days. When one set of data is not acceptable, another set of numbers swiftly takes its place in an attempt to find the surest, smoothest and shortest route across the northern plains. I’ve calculated by dividing the number of days by the number of miles, the number of miles by the number of days, the number of miles that I think I’m able to ride in my current physical condition and the miles I think I’ll be able to do when my body gets acclimated to being in the saddle for several hours every day. My mind spins at the thought that there won’t be time to stop and smell the roses or even talk to people, but I know from experience that those things will happen and everything will be okay so long as I breathe and keep moving forward. It may seem neurotic, but neurosis is probably a large part of the makeup of a 44 year old touring cyclist.

It’s all speculation at this point and I’d be better off if I just went out and rode my bike. If history is any guide I’ll go out there and beat my brains out every day for a few weeks and end up far ahead of schedule. All the doubts and conjecture will fall to the wayside once the bike is loaded and the cranks are turning.

I Hope It is not too Late...

There appears to be some opposition to corruption, demagoguery, and the fundementalist takeover of our government.

Bush on the Press

"We look forward to analyzing and working with legislation that will make—it would hope—put a free press's mind at ease that you're not being denied information you shouldn't see." —Washington, D.C., April 14, 2005

Bruce Under Construction 

Hold Them Accountable

Sign Conyers' petition

Dreams of 2006

It could happen...

Bikes not Politics?

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"Reality-based" Community

There was no point in seeking to convert the intellectuals. For intellectuals would never be converted and would anyway always yield to the stronger, and this will always be the "man in the street." Arguments must therefore be crude, clear and forcible and appeal to emotions and instincts, not the intellect. Truth was unimportant and entirely subordinant to tactics and psychology.
~Joseph Goebbels~

Riding my Bike as the World Burns

Two events in the news recently came together to remind me of the tragedy of 9/11. The first happened on May 11 when a Cessna flying out of Pennsylvania went off course and flew within three miles of Whitehouse airspace, causing panic and disorder for hundreds of Caucasian residents of our Nation’s Capital. The other was the visit to the US of our Unocal-fist-puppet and oil-drenched “leader” of Afghanistan, Hamid Karzai.

The former was a reminder because like our vaunted leader George W. Bush, I too was riding my bicycle and unaware that our freedom was under attack. I may as well have been sitting in a classroom reading a crappy kid’s book to a roomful of school children.

Like Dubya, I was happily pedaling through the sunshine and blissfully unaware. He was in Maryland riding his bicycle with his platoon of armed guards, and wasn’t told of the small plane which became lost in DC air space because the pilot relied on outdated maps. Of course unlike 9/11, F-16s were scrambled and Donnie Rumsfeld even authorized the planes to shoot if necessary.

The situation was deemed important enough to evacuate several buildings full of people and it was splashed all over the news ala Michael Jackson or the Runaway Bride. That filthy Liberal Media. I didn’t watch it, but I’m sure they managed to put their lefty spin on it. Poor Tom DeLay may have even been accused of causing the terror.

The joy of a bicycle cannot be overestimated here. For me the pre-9/11 world, the world where my government didn’t use fear tactics in order to try to keep me in line and steal my tax dollars, lasted for a few extra un-terrorized, sunny moments. For our vaunted “Wartime President,” the guy who weaseled his way out of Vietnam, an extra forty minutes of bliss while the “process,” aka Dick Cheney, took control of the situation

Likewise, I watched the recent visit of Hamid Karzai with a kind of cynical bemusement. Well honestly I look at everything political these days with cynical bemusement, when it’s not horror. It was sadly funny to watch our oily puppet from Afghanistan come to the U.S. and expect the Cheney Administration to give him more control of the country that he “leads.” If Afghanistan is the Bush bar of success, it’s a pretty low bar. Poppy production is up and 70% of the world’s opium is coming out of the fields of that country. Of course, when our main allies are thugs and we spend billions of dollars on graft and corruption instead of creating economic stability in a country that has been ravaged by war for centuries, we shouldn’t be surprised when oppressed and brutalized peasants do whatever they have to do to survive.

Karzai came to visit Dubya in hopes of gaining authority over U.S. troops so that he can get control of a country that is sliding into civil war. We never found Osama “dead” or “alive.” Now we are throwing hundreds of billions of dollars away on a failing foreign adventure in Iraq that has looked like Vietnam from the outset, and our brilliant civilian leaders have forgotten about Afghanistan, except when randon embarrassing facts come out about the occupation. Prisoner abuse and the Pat Tillman episode jump to mind.

Watching Bush bitch-slap Karzai reminded me of my initial opposition to the war in Afghanistan. I know, I know, “they” attacked us on 9/11. Those fifteen Saudis had something to do with Afghanistan… Oh yeah, our allies from Al Qaeda and Karzai’s Taliban trained there with Bush family friend Osama Bin Laden. Of course, they wouldn’t have had a foothold there if it weren’t for our brilliant Cold War policy of pouring money into training resistance fighters to fight the “Evil Empire,” the Soviet Union.

Funny how in order for Democracy to thrive on our shores, there must be an Evil (fill in the blank) over the horizon just waiting for us let down our guard, so that they can come to our malls and rape our navel-pierced children.

I don’t buy the argument that Afghanistan was a “justified” war. Terrorism is not an act of war. It is a crime and the only way to fight it is through police work. Police work does not mean creating a police state at home. There are many reasons that invading Afghanistan was a big mistake, not the least of which is that it is a place where empires go to die. Just ask our “coalition” friends the Brits, or our former enemies the Soviets. Better yet, read books about history. The Soviet Union spent ten years fighting U.S. funded Afghan nationalists, which contributed to its fall.

The country is on the verge of civil war, and all the positive Fox News spin about nascent women’s rights and “fair” elections will not change that. Afghanistan has been decimated by war for many, many years and has been bombed further back into the Stone Age by what they view as a hostile civilization. They have nothing to lose and will do anything in their power to get us out.

Invading Afghanistan perpetuated a cycle of violence and revenge, and revenge is not good foreign policy. It also softened public opinion to the invasion of Iraq to the shame of the American people. Have we learned nothing at all from our observations of history?

Our children and our National Guard units are stumbling around blind in a country they know nothing about, in a culture that is diametrically opposed to ours. We offend their sensibilities on a daily basis merely by being there. Anyone who does not think that our current policy in the Middle East isn’t exactly like Vietnam is not paying attention. The Domino Theory is doomed to fail once again.

So I’ll just keep riding my bike and hope that as the world falls down and burns around my ears, I’ll have that extra forty minutes of blissful indifference. Just like George W. Bush.

Harm America

“Our enemies are innovative and resourceful,
and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways
to harm our country and our people, and neither do we.”
W. Aug 5, 2004