An open letter

to my Cycle America community. To jog your memories, there will be one photo from each week, none of which have appeared here before:

Dear Friends,

trailer loaded, ready to head to ride start-WA

We have now been back in our respective real worlds for longer than we were away in our circus world. We used that metaphor during the trip because it seemed apt – we rolled into a new town every night, set up our tents, and were gone in the morning before most people were up and about. We didn’t put on much of a show, but…

Einstein in Jackson, WY

It’s also timely because I spent three days of the last week in Baraboo, home of the Ringling Brothers and the Circus World Museum. It was also where, for me, the two worlds intersected. My friends, my son and his wife, and my boss all came to Baraboo when the Cycle America Circus rolled through. It was my reminder that our circus world was fleeting, that the other world beckoned. It was the best of times…

Devil’s Tower, WY

And now we’re scattered across the globe doing whatever it is we normally
do; though even that is new for some – Ally went from being a student to being a nurse during those nine weeks. Mike stayed away longer than the rest of us to ride down the west coast of the US. How’d that go, Mike?

Did anybody do a Johnny Paycheck when going back to work?

Needles Highway, SD

I miss that world. I missed the daily routine of riding already by the first Monday I was home. I had my day of rest and was ready to ride again. I’m still looking for anyone who wants to pay me to ride my bike. From the headwaters of the Mississippi to the delta seems like a good route. Who’ll drive sag?

The jersey that got us in trouble in Belgium-Northfield, MN

But I also miss all of you. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna get all hold-hands-and-sing-Kumbaya on you. If we all lived in the same town it’s not like we’d all be hanging out every night after work (those of us who do still work) or be drinking coffee together every morning at the corner cafe (for the retired among us).

Wind farm – Pepin, WI

But we had a community for those nine weeks; a loose-knit one, perhaps, but we shared something I will never forget. We shared fun, we shared miseries, we shared deeply transforming moments.  We found out what we were made of. Some of you, who had done this before, may have had no doubts about it. But I bet most of us had moments when we weren’t really sure what we had gotten into, weren’t really sure we could do this. But we did. And we probably knew that all along but it seemed too arrogant to say out loud, just as voicing the fears seemed too insecure to say out loud.

100 miles is just a number – almost a century in Ontario

We ate some great food and some food that we may not have eaten had we not just ridden 80 miles. We saw the USA in a way that most people never will. We didn’t fly over flyover country. We didn’t cross the plains at 80 mph (~130 km/h for those of the metric persuasion), staring at the ribbon of pavement and ignoring all else. We did wake up sober in Nebraska (or close to it – Nebraska, I mean). Climbing mountain passes didn’t mean just stepping harder on the accelerator.

Cycle America International Bobsled Team – Lake Placid, NY

We did all that, and we did it together. I, for one, already think about a reunion. It’s entirely possible we will never see each other again. I know some of you are friends in real life and do hang out. The rest of us? Maybe we’d feel awkward, not knowing what to say. Maybe we’d need a long ride together with margaritas to follow. Maybe a short ride, but actually together as a group, like the brief stretches when we were together for ferry crossings or through construction zones.

End of the road, Gloucester, MA-only one way to go

And maybe doing it again in 2020 doesn’t sound crazy after all. (Don’t tell anyone here I said that!) If those of you with the wherewithal to do it again do it, I’ll meet you in Baraboo with a case of beer. Or we can find an Irish pub and Mike can show the bartenders the proper way to pull a pint of Guinness.

See you on the road!

Love,

Steve

Maybe a motor next time?

Maybe Hogwart’s next time?

Home again

 

Head ‘em off at the pass!

Today was a big day. While not a lot of miles, we did ascend to 8431 feet to cross Teton Pass. The average grade was 10%, with maximum of 14%.

The day dawned clear and cold and crisp as cider (in an attempt to quote Ken Kesey from “Little Tricker the Squirrel Meets Big Double the Bear”). It was 40 degrees in Ashton, ID.

We started in rolling hills through potato country. The irrigation machines were running and creating rainbows in the rising sun, that tracked our progress as we passed them.

After about 10 miles, the Tetons appeared in the distance. They seemed much too far away to get to today. The peaks were shrouded in fog and snow.

I started in tights, arm warmers, jacket, full finger , and a plastic shopping bag under the jersey as extra insulation.

It was the sort of morning that lets you know that the rollers are more up than down, or that you are no match for this ride. Luckily, it was the former. At lunch the datameister confirmed we had risen 1800 feet.

I knew the key to the day was to keep steady, not blow myself out before the climb, find a steady rhythm for the climb. My mantra for the day was “Steady Rollin’ Bob Margolin”. He is a blues guitarist who played with Muddy Waters in the 70s.  Any time I started to work too hard or lag too much, I repeated “Steady rollin’” to get back on track.

After an hour or so I was able to remove the bag. At lunch I took off the jacket but put it back on before leaving the park, as clouds obscured the sun.

We headed out on “Old Jackson Highway”, a quiet, two lane road with no traffic. I was hoping it continued all the way to the pass, but I knew it didn’t. It changed to a footpath and we moved onto the highway.

We continued a slow and steady climb for the next few miles. About 53 miles into the day the climbing started in earnest. I delaminated down to shorts and jersey for the climb.

At the 53 mile mark I met a group of women from Texas headed up the pass on matching bikes. They were part of a Texas to Alaska fundraising tour. I also met Santa Claus.

Our cue sheet estimated the grade at 6-7%. At a turnout I looked back and saw a sign for trucks going down warning of a 10% grade for the next two miles. We were still far from the point that our cue sheet indicated we’d hit 10%. As noted above, Dan’s 10% was actually 14%. I feel less wimpy knowing that.

I considered squirting my water bottle over my head, having a difficult time remembering that I had been chilly much of the day. I knew the summit was soon and that would be a bad idea. I stopped and took my helmet off for a few minutes instead.

The last stretch before the summit was a killer, though I did pass the Texans on that section. There are, of course, no photos from that section. I was going too slowly to clip out to stop and both hands were busy so I couldn’t pull out the camera while moving.

We took the obligatory summit photos and then quickly replaced the layers removed for the climb to prepare for the descent.

Winds were swirling and I tried to keep my speed below 40mph, feeling like I might become airborne as I rounded switchbacks and confronted the wind. Again, no pictures – all my concentration was needed for control on the descent.

40mph in mountain winds is way scarier than it is in Wisconsin – back there, I consider a ride a good one if it contains at least one 40mph downhill. 50 is a rare treat. I had no desire to see 50 today.

I had a wide open road for the descent – no cars in sight (on my side of the road) before or behind me. I sailed into Jackson and the route moved to a gorgeous bike path through woods and meadows, eventually leading to our weekend respite at Morse Science High (actually Teton Science Center), an educational retreat center about 5 miles out of town.

 

Suzanne, who rode with us last week, had ordered pizzas for us, which were waiting when I got out of the shower.